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. With incredible labour, and by the aid of both spike and nail, he succeeded in getting the point of the bar beneath the fillet. “But I am your husband,” he said. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution. “I believe that he would bore me.
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