Painting is only one slender branch of the great tree. “I did it for love of you,” he said. He was roused from the stupor of despair into which he had sunk by the voice of Ben, who roared in his ear, "The bridge!—the bridge!" CHAPTER VII. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. "You'd have hit it off better if you'd called her The Sow. Anna looked at her, startled. "Intruding!" echoed Mrs.
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