" "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. He had chosen his time well. ’ ‘I do not lie to you now,’ she said, near frantic at the thought of losing him. I shall know what to say to him when he comes. 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. She held up the lamp. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau. .
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