It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. At the eastern gate of the churchyard stood the carriage with the steps lowered. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand. We WERE thieves. But, though I cannot reward you, Heaven will. By the will of Mr. \"Hey, don't be a stranger, Lucy. 126 Lucy drank them as the first rays of watery sunlight seeped through the mullioned windows, then put their husks in the claw-footed bathtub. “I had no idea that it was so abominably late. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. Wood.
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