He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. The picture of Mary Remenham was still on the wall. At this time of universal havoc and despair,—when all London quaked at the voice of the storm,—the carpenter, who was exposed to its utmost fury, fared better than might have been anticipated. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. "Well?" he whispered. I am a resolute man, and hitherto when I have wanted a thing I have got it; but I have never yet wanted anything in my life as I have wanted you.
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