“Now, Veronica,” he pleaded, “Veronica, this is most unreasonable. ‘You were supposed to be nursing him,’ Martha grumbled, ‘and helping him convalesce. He well knows that but two lives—those of Thames Darrell and Sir Rowland Trenchard,—stand between you and the vast possessions of the family. It isn’t the same thing. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. Now, Sir, will you please to follow me?" Mr. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. “We’ll go together. “You promised faithfully to be there,” he said slowly.
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