‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. She had once reconciled in her mind that she was happy as long as she had him. Lucy stood in front of the piano. . . “Dear husband,” she murmured.
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