In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. You don’t know about Mary because you live in Kent. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. She tore open the envelope and read it. [Illustration: Distinctive Pictures Photoplay.
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