He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. And he liked her. It was astonishing how seldom it was that his instincts betrayed him. "He called me a wanton, Hoddy. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. Nor as I’ve to put up with a French spy in my parlour—’ ‘Peste, how you talk,’ interrupted Melusine impatiently, barely taking in his complaints. She was beauty, the key of magic, the teacher of spells, the predictor of wars, and the gate of the future. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her.
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