” “Think not,” that young man remarked laconically. She had known that Remenham House would be deserted, for Martha—released, as she had carefully explained to her charge, by her vows to God from servitude and obedience to Nicholas Charvill, a mere mortal—had begun a correspondence with a friend of her youth, Mrs Joan Ibstock, née Pottiswick. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. As he crossed this chamber, his foot struck against something on the floor, which nearly threw him down, and stooping to examine the object, he found it was a key.
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