“You asked me in to tea,” he protested. ‘Jacques!’ She got no further, for Kimble came towards her, speaking fast and low. “I think as I feel in a good humour it must be the latter. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. The chamber rang with her shrieks. There is a small yewtree west of the church. Fortunately, the window was not far from the ground; so opening it gently, he dropped into a backyard, and from thence got into the street.
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