Passing the old rectory, and still older church, with its reverend screen of trees, and slowly ascending a hill side, from whence he obtained enchanting peeps of the spire and college of Harrow, he reached the cluster of well-built houses which constitute the village of Neasdon. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. Warm life was behind that always, even if it slept. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away.
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