Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. The fact that it was her trusted friend making illicit love to her remained, in spite of all her effort, an insignificant thing in her mind. She saw herself in very much Vivie’s position—managing something. 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. The Northern Ocean keeps a secret better than the Thames, Sir Rowland. She had begun alone. Sepulchre's.
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