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. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply. On gaining a stack of chimneys at the back of the house, he came to a pause, and again unmasked his lantern. The detective backed out slowly and closed the door without sound. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. Before leaving the place he looked upwards, and could just discern the blue vault and pale stars of Heaven through an iron grating at the top.
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