"I'll go to her directly," said Wood, bustling towards the door. The smile had become a laugh. The air, perfumed with the delicious fragrance of the new-mown grass, was vocal with the melodies of the birds; the thick foliage of the trees was glistening in the sunshine; all nature seemed happy and rejoicing; but, above all, the serene Sabbath stillness reigning around communicated a calm to her wounded spirit. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. And so Misther Wudd lives near the Black Lion, eh?" "He does," replied Thames.
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