So, adroitly and patiently, he pulled Ruth apart; that is, he plucked forth a little secret here, another there, until he had quite a substantial array. They stopped talking, except to each other. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. He was, however, instantly beaten back; and the fury of the mob was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn.
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