" "Oh, God!" cried Jack, "she does not know me. God is a jealous God, and He turned upon me relentlessly. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. ‘Gérard, do not go,’ she cried, breathless.
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