It was a lovely soft spring morning at the end of March, and unusually
balmy for the time of year; even Ernest's melancholy was relieved for a
while by the look of spring that pervaded earth and sky; but it soon
returned, and smiling sadly he said to himself: "It may bring hope to
others, but for me there can be no hope henceforth."
As these words were in his mind he joined the small crowd who were
gathered round the railings, and saw that they were looking at three
sheep with very small lambs only a day or two old, which had been penned
off for shelter and protection from the others that ranged the park.
They were very pretty, and Londoners so seldom get a chance of seeing
lambs that it was no wonder every one stopped to look at them. Ernest
observed that no one seemed fonder of them than a great lubberly butcher
boy, who leaned up against the railings with a tray of meat upon his
shoulder. He was looking at this boy and smiling at the grotesqueness of
his admiration, when he became aware that he was being watched intently
by a man in coachman's livery, who had also stopped to admire the lambs,
and was leaning against the opposite side of the enclosure.
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