He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. He was in trouble and she could not help him; that was the ache in her heart. ’ There was a chuckle in his voice. The black, meantime, began to ply his hammer, and speedily unriveted the chains. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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