"Do not despair, my sweet soul," said Wood, in a soothing tone. "Stay!" cried Wood, "this is a most perplexing business—if you really are privy to the affair——" "We'll talk of it to-morrow, Sir," returned Jackson, cutting him short. He laughed lightly. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. ‘But I will tell you this, mon vieux. ” “I’ll wait, then. ’ A reluctant laugh escaped him.
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