Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. " At the door of this tavern, which was situated on the left of the street, not more than a hundred yards distant from the church, the bell of which began to toll as soon as the procession came in sight, the cart drew up, and the whole cavalcade halted. One night she apparently fell asleep. “Perhaps, as I’ve only just arrived,” she remarked, “I might be forgiven if I do not change my skirt. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. I am Lucilla Froxfield, you must know. Then he released her hand, and sat back a little, appearing to concentrate his thoughts on her face. \" 66 She commented as more doors slammed. One transgression; he was sure of that. " So saying, he slung it upon his wrist.
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