When she came to school on Friday, she almost tripped twice going up the stairs. Michelle sat on her bed, which emanated scents of powdered laundry detergent and Sweet Honesty perfume. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. "By Heaven!" cried Darrell, "it is the poor fellow whom I placed in such jeopardy a short time ago.
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