One we already know, a stoutish gentleman, ruddy-faced and black-eyed, with check trousers, light waistcoat and heavy chain, legs widely parted, his hands in his pockets, and on his face that expression of irreverent and critical approval with which the travelled Briton usually regards the works of nature.

By his side was a young lady in a tight-fitting travelling dress, with trim leather belt and snow-white collar and cuffs.
There was no criticism in her sweet face, now flushed with excitement-- nothing but unqualified wonder and admiration at the beautiful scene before her.

An elderly placid-faced woman sat in a basket chair in the recess, and looked up with quiet loving eyes at the swift play of emotions which swept over the girl's eager features.
"Oh, Uncle George," she cried, "it is really too heavenly.

I cannot realize that we are free.

I can't help fearing that it is all a dream, and that I shall wake up to find myself pouring out Ezra Girdlestone's coffee, or listening to Mr.Girdlestone as he reads the morning quotations." The elder woman stroked the girl's hand caressingly with her soft, motherly palm.