The door was closed— locked,—and the pair were heard descending the stairs. "What would my poor mother say to it?" "I was sorry to see that about your mother, Jack," observed Hogarth. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. 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. She was nearly dead.
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