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They were both conscious, however, that something had intervened between them. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. 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. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. He whispered in her ear. CHAPTER XIII. You wish another name? Eh bien. Fear nothing. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly.
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