Ruth, standing by, heard his true laughter for the first time. She leaves me almost without comparisons. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. As the time when his identity had to be proved approached, this rigour was, in a trifling degree, relaxed, and a few persons were occasionally admitted to the ward, but only in the presence of Austin. A forgotten island beyond the ship lanes, where that grim Hand would falter and move blindly in its search for him! From what he had read, there wouldn't be much to do; and in the idle hours he could write. Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. .
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