He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. Why should God give particular attention to such a prayer, when He had ignored all others? Certainly there was a trap somewhere. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too. A. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies.
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