Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like winds in simmer sighin'
Her voice is low an' sweet
Her voice is low an' sweet;
An' she's a' the world to me;
An' for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee!"

And all the beautiful influences of nature,--the bright sunshine, the
wealth of June blossom, the clear skies and the singing of birds, seemed
part of that enchanting old song, expressing the happiness which alone
is made perfect by love.

Meanwhile, no adventures of a startling or remarkable kind occurred to
Mary during her rather long and tedious journey. Various passengers got
into her third-class compartment and got out again, but they were
somewhat dull and commonplace folk, many of them being of that curiously
unsociable type of human creature which apparently mistrusts its
fellows. Contrary to her ingenuous expectation, no one seemed to think a
journey to London was anything of a unique or thrilling experience. Once
only, when she was nearing her destination, did she venture to ask a
fellow-passenger, an elderly man with a kindly face, how she ought to go
to Chancery Lane. He looked at her with a touch of curiosity.

"That's among the hornets' nests," he said.

She raised her pretty eyebrows with a little air of perplexity.

"Hornets' nests?"

"Yes. Where a good many lawyers live, or used to live."

"Oh, I see!" And she smiled responsively to what he evidently intended
as a brilliant satirical joke. "But is it easy to get there?"

"Quite easy. Take a 'bus."

"From the station?"

"Of course!"

And he subsided into silence.

She asked no more questions, and on her arrival at Paddington confided
her anxieties to a friendly porter, who, announcing that he was "from
Somerset born himself and would see her through," gave her concise
directions which she attentively followed; with the result that despite
much bewilderment in getting in and getting out of omnibuses, and
jostling against more people than she had ever seen in the course of her
whole life, she found herself at last at the entrance of a rather
obscure-looking smutty little passage, guarded by a couple of round
columns, on which were painted in black letters a considerable number of
names, among which were those of "Vesey and Symonds." The numeral
inscribed above the entrance to this passage corresponded to the number
on the address of the packet which she carried for "Mr. Bulteel"--but
though she read all the nam