At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. Wood, regarding her husband with a glance of vindictive triumph. She made a slow tour of the front of the house without success, and then started back along the rooms behind, dragging open the drapes each time to get just enough light to recognise what was on the walls. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will.
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