One of them, the prettiest and most secluded, was also the smallest; a low white-walled cottage, with casement windows above, and old-fashioned bow-windows below, and a porch overgrown with roses.

The house lay back a little way from the green; and there was a tiny brook running beside the holly hedge that bounded the garden, spanned by a little rustic bridge before the gate.
Pausing just beside this bridge, Mr.Fenton heard the joyous barking of a dog, and caught a brief glimpse of a light muslin dress flitting across the little lawn at one side of the cottage While he was wondering about the owner of this dress, the noisy dog came rushing towards the gate, and in the next moment a girlish figure appeared in the winding path that went in and out among the flower-beds.
Gilbert Fenton knew that tall slim figure very well.

He had guessed rightly, and this low white-walled cottage was really Captain Sedgewick's.

It seemed to him as if a kind of instinct brought him to that precise spot.
Miss Nowell came to the gate, and stood there looking out, with a Skye terrier in her arms.

Gilbert drew back a little, and flung his cigar into the brook.