She asked no further questions for the moment. ’ ‘Truly?’ asked Melusine, warmth lighting her bosom. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. The militia were in already. She hurried with Jack as fast as she could to the open door to the passage. So, step by step, and hurt by hurt, Ruth was learning that John Smith was John Smith and nobody else. He delayed the blow till the fortunate conjuncture was past. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. 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.
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