Perhaps the day of her recompense was at hand. Wood's, the carpenter in Wych Street. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. What matters it? My servant, he is wounded—and by a Frenchman, if you wish to make an arrest. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. ” He retorted smartly, looking at her with mischief. The summons was instantly answered by a shop-boy.
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