’ ‘What, even less delightful than Gerald?’ enquired Lucilla, her eyes dancing. What the devil is the matter, Dunster?” “I beg your pardon, sir,” the man answered, “there is a lady here to see you. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Now when I tell you exactly the truth, you will also not believe me. The pole-chair caravan resumed its journey.
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