Lucy was sent reeling into a stone wall, which she hit with a great thud. "Rowland, your violence is killing me," she returned, in a plaintive tone. “Thank you,” she said coolly. My work will be all sufficient. He would have to make sure of her silence. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. ” “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Lucy. ’ ‘Aye, more’s the pity.
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