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. "Don't you hear those shouts? Yon fellow's clamour has brought the whole horde of jail-birds and cut-throats that infest this place about our ears. My poor Hoddy! I had to talk harshly, or break down and have hysterics. And, though neither peace nor innocence can be restored to my bosom; though tears cannot blot out my offences, nor sorrow drown my shame; yet, knowing that my penitence is sincere, I do not despair that my transgressions may be forgiven. "No; it's only a fresh gale," Ben returned: "hark! now it comes. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. That is what stands between us, if you would know—that. But perhaps he was right not to tell you the truth. “I do hope you will see how things are, and not be offended with me or frightfully shocked and distressed by what I have done. Things haven't gone quite as smoothly as I anticipated; but they might have been worse.
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