A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. But here the resemblance stopped. . ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. Over the Lodge, upon a dial was inscribed the appropriate motto, "Venio sicut fur. 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.
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