"He is gone!" cried Mrs. What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. She was certain he would hear, sleeping in the nearby castle. I guess. 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. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. She leaned a little towards him.
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