He went over her features one by one in his mind. “It may be true, but it isn’t quite what I have in mind. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth!— let him deny it if he can. 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. The afternoon had passed now into twilight.
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