She hummed softly to herself as she knitted , and Timothy slept blackly at her feet . She looked at Eric with quiet affection in her large , candid eyes . She had liked Mr. West . But Eric had found his way into the inner chamber of her heart , by reason that his eyes were so like those of the little son she had buried in the Lindsay churchyard many years before . `` Mrs. Williamson , '' said Eric , with an affectation of carelessness , `` I chanced on an old deserted orchard back behind the woods over there last week , a charming bit of wilderness . Do you know whose it is ? '' `` I suppose it must be the old Connors orchard , '' answered Mrs. Williamson after a moment 's reflection . `` I had forgotten all about it . It must be all of thirty years since Mr. and Mrs. Connors moved away . Their house and barns were burned down and they sold the land to Thomas Gordon and went to live in town . They 're both dead now . Mr. Connors used to be very proud of his orchard . There were n't many orchards in Lindsay then , though almost everybody has one now . '' `` There was a young girl in it , playing on a violin , '' said Eric , annoyed to find that it cost him an effort to speak of her , and that the blood mounted to his face as he did so . `` She ran away in great alarm as soon as she saw me , although I do not think I did or said anything to frighten or vex her . I have no idea who she was . Do you know ? '' Mrs. Williamson did not make an immediate reply . She laid down her knitting and gazed out of the window as if pondering seriously some question in her own mind . Finally she said , with an intonation of keen interest in her voice , `` I suppose it must have been Kilmeny Gordon , Master . ''
`` Kilmeny XXXXX ?
Connors Eric Gordon Lindsay Timothy West Williamson house orchards years