He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. Ben had scarcely adjusted his oars, when the gleam of a lantern was seen moving towards the bank. ’ Looking round, she found the little coterie of soldiers crowded into the passage behind them.
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