” Anna looked at her sister gravely. She obeyed, extending her arm. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. He was a fool. 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. At the back of the house, on a bank, rose an old-fashioned terrace-garden, full of apple-trees and other fruittrees in blossom, and lively with the delicious verdure of early spring. She had flung away from her father’s support with the finest assumption of personal independence. ‘Well, shan’t I come to the major’s house up Stratton Street, sir?’ ‘I’ll give the major your report, Trodger.
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