’ He bowed and indicated the open door at the back of the hall. She is no longer mine; she is yours. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. But the Remenhams in the days of Charles the First, with the need for an escape route from Cromwell’s increasingly victorious forces, had cut a trapdoor through its floor into the cellars below, and thence hewn the long rough passageway that led underground right outside the boundary of the estate. The characters of the youthful occupants of the room might be detected in every article it contained.
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