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Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. ā€ He left the room, and she stood motionless, with flaming cheeks, listening to his retreating footsteps. She was the High Priestess. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. ?ā€ she asked. Together they crept through the erstwhile drawing room and entered the massive flagged hall. "Don't go, I beg of you!" she implored. It was clear it must be to-morrow. She answered weakly, ā€œIā€™m fine, John. Covered with houses, from one end to the other, this reverend and picturesque structure presented the appearance of a street across the Thames.

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