"Well, well; I have given out of my wisdom. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. 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. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “Perhaps that is only sleeping,” he said. “All’s well that ends well,” he said; “and the less one says about things the better. But God will punish you for what you have done this day. And look down, so.
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