The sense of publicity, of people coming and going about them, kept them both unemotional. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. "Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. Uttering a few inarticulate ejaculations,—for he was completely out of breath,— the fugitive placed a bundle in the arms of the carpenter, and, regardless of the consternation he excited in the breast of that personage, who was almost stupified with astonishment, he began to divest himself of a heavy horseman's cloak, which he threw over Wood's shoulder, and, drawing his sword, seemed to listen intently for the approach of his pursuers. "But we must be getting along if we are to lunch in the tower of the water-clock.
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