" "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. There was one verse that haunted and mocked her. "Vill this do?" demanded the constable, taking the candle from the lantern, the better to display the narrow limits of the hole. I'd a good many things to say to you, besides—but you've put them all out of my head. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts.
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