‘While you are making me this interrogation, my poor Jacques bleeds to death. Fool that I was to part with my lantern! But I'll soon set myself straight. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. Well, I'll take myself off. Be this as it may, Jonathan remained the victor; and shortly afterwards,—at the price of a third of his estate, it was whispered,—he procured Trenchard's liberation from confinement. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. An acute sense of living was in her veins, even the taste of her wine seemed magical.
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