" "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. There’s sure to be a place somewhere. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Advancing towards him, he made him a formal salutation, which was coldly returned. Before a month has elapsed, your mother will be mine.
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