Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. He was a handsome man, and Lucy could see the strong resemblance of John to him. You need have no apprehensions about him, Sir Rowland. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. " "I will try to do so," replied the widow, forcing a smile. Finally she decided upon a step that had always seemed reasonable to her, but that hitherto she had, from motives too faint for her to formulate, refrained from taking.
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