" "I hope such a thing never will happen again, my dear," observed Wood, mildly, "but, when it does, it will be time to consider what course we ought to pursue. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. You skulk in shadows, following an émigré. I thought perhaps you were staying with them, as you did not seem particularly anxious to recognize your old friends. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth.
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