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. She fought a compulsive urge to yank his shirt free. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. You are my slave—and such you shall continue. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together.
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