” “I am sure,” Lady Lescelles said, gently, “that the last consideration need not weigh with you in the least. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. "Now, then, Saint Giles!" interposed Sheppard, "are we to be kept here all night?" "Eh day!" exclaimed Sharples: "wot new-fledged bantam's this?" "One that wants to go to roost," replied Sheppard. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies.
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