Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. "Who took it thence?" "Thames Darrell; the boy at your side. Managers and accountants are always shifting about, so he tells me. "Shall I fetch the light, Captain?" whispered Blueskin. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. And this great mellow place, this London, now was hers, to struggle with, to go where she pleased in, to overcome and live in. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. .
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