The hymnal lyrics had never stirred her; she had memorized and sung them parrotwise. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. For two years he thought himself secure; and, secretly engaged in the Jacobite schemes of the time, in which, also, Sir Cecil was deeply involved, he began to relax in his watchfulness over Aliva. Sheppard returned no answer. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. “I rue the day I ever met you, Sebastianus.
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