” Chapter XXXII SIX MONTHS AFTER Up the moss-grown path, where the rose bushes run wild, almost met, came Anna in a spotless white gown, with the flush of her early morning walk in her cheeks, and something of the brightness of it in her eyes. Spurlock's vision was oddly of the past. "I am sorry. If only you knew what this means to me!" "We do, lad," replied McClintock, gravely. She turned there, clasped her hands behind her back and put up her chin. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. That he’s come here at all shows he’ll stop at nothing. You came to me, you wished me to speak to Anna.
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