" "Of what am I accused?" asked Thames, who though a good deal alarmed at first, had now regained his courage. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. 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. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his countrymen. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand.
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