Still—I don’t know whether I quite like—Something ramshackle about those people, Vee. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. A pity you did not think to tell me that part of the tale at the outset. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed.
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