"Rowland," said Lady Trafford, regarding him with a look of indescribable anxiety, "you have assured me that I shall behold my son. O God! O God!" And he appeared convulsed with agony. “Get you a cold one?” “No thanks. ’ She shook her head. 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. P. ” He said. .
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