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. I had that coming. She had found the mausoleum underneath a broken monument. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. As for himself, there had never been a touch of it. She saw how overworked he was. "So I will," rejoined Shotbolt; "so I will.
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