I wonder what it was. He was an imaginative young man. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. "Did you ever see the like of her?" "No," answered McClintock, gravely. "I've obtained two packets, containing letters from Sir Rowland Trenchard, which I've no doubt will establish your title to the estates.
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