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To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty. 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. “I am sorry. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. It was obvious that he had waited for her. “I’m sorry.
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