"
"Oh! by all means," she answered; "but it is just a little
tame, is it not?--for a sentimental visit, to be looking
through these iron bars."
"That is the very place where I sat," said Graham, not heeding
her, "and took you on my knee."
"I don't remember anything about it, Monsieur Horace----"
"Nothing, Madelon?"
"Well, perhaps--you gave me a fish, I remember--it was the fish
that won my heart; and I have it still, you see."
"Oh! then, your heart was won?"
"A little," she answered, glancing up at him for a moment; and
then, moving on, she said, "See here, Horace, this is the
hawthorn bush under which I slept that morning after I had run
away from the convent. How happy I was to have escaped! I
remember standing at this gate afterwards eating my bread, and
that dreadful woman came out of the hotel."
"Is there no way of getting in?" said Graham, shaking the
gate.
"None, I am afraid," Madelon answered. "Stay, there used to be
a path that led round at the back across a little bridge into
the garden. Perhaps we might get in that way."
They were again disappointed; they found the path, and the
wooden bridge that crossed the stream, but another closed gate
prevented their entering the garden.
Pages:
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593