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. It seemed to her at this moment that there was nothing left for her to do. "I'm your dupe no longer. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. "Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. Trust you. “You may not leave. That really settles about that. You can’t! I tell you frankly you may break off your engagement to me—I shall hold myself still engaged to you, yours just the same. " "It'll be over in a few minutes," rejoined Jonathan, impatiently; "in fact, it'll be over too soon for me. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke.
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