"Jack Sheppard's mother," answered the little girl, dejectedly; "she has brought a basket of eggs from Willesden, and some flowers for you. You know, Melusine. She took the tray with both hands, gulped, and gave way to tears. Leave the rest to me. Does HE know I keep you?. 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. “You must be the Miss Pellissier of whom David has told me so much,” he said, shyly.
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