Then the lady smiled and her radiance, even in the darkness, warmed Gerald unexpectedly. The old woman told him she had no such article to dispose of, but recommended him to a neighbouring blacksmith. Saint Giles's Round-house. Petrified and speechless, he turned an imploring look at Wild, who was himself filled with astonishment at the pile of rubbish lying before him. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. “I got your note just in time,” he remarked. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you.
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