In olden days it boasted a chapel, dedicated to Saint Thomas; beneath which there was a crypt curiously constructed amid the arches, where "was sepultured Peter the Chaplain of Colechurch, who began the Stone Bridge at London:" and it still boasted an edifice (though now in rather a tumbledown condition) which had once vied with a palace,—we mean Nonesuch House. "I am happy—quite happy now. It was obvious that he had waited for her. Good-bye, Anna!” Annabel sprang up. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. He ate of the bread with great appetite, and having drunk as much as he chose of the water, poured the rest on the floor. Blueskin, you are a true friend. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone.
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