Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. " Mr. She closed her eyes and felt again an echo of the swamping warmth that had attacked her when his lips met hers. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. Besides these there was a warm gooseberry-tart, and a cold pigeon pie—the latter capacious enough, even allowing for its due complement of steak, to contain the whole produce of a dovecot; a couple of lobsters and the best part of a salmon swimming in a sea of vinegar, and shaded by a forest of fennel. Mrs.
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