“That is as you will,” she said. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. Glancing towards him she saw that a shadow had fallen upon his face. Those were dreams. His eyes were fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. " "So far you are correct," observed Trenchard; "still, this is no secret. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. ‘Dear me.
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