That night a grave was dug in Willesden churchyard, next to that in which Mrs. His instinct was in the direction of considering his daughters his absolute property, bound to obey him, his to give away or his to keep to be a comfort in his declining years just as he thought fit. His smile faded. That delightful sense of free, unembarrassed movement was gone. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say to her aunt, “Now, dear?” and rise and hold back the curtain through the archway. During this colloquy, Jack had contrived unobserved to put on the hood and cloak, and being about the size of the rightful owner, presented a very tolerable resemblance to her.
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