’Lady Howard was married four times; she had one daughter by her first husband, whom she hated.’ ’Perhaps she only despised him because he was not noble, and had taken advantage of her poverty to marry her.’ ’On the contrary, she was rich, an heiress, and her first husband was a son of the Earl of Northumberland.’ ’Then I understand nothing about it,’ said Mirelle, leaning back in the carriage as if the story had ceased to interest her. ’When she was married to her second husband she refused to see her daughter. The poor girl came here to Okehampton; some relations sought to effect a reconciliation. She was introduced to her mother under a feigned name—here, in this castle, and Lady Howard did not know her. But when the daughter fell on her knees to her mother and entreated recognition, Lady Howard started to her feet with an exclamation of aversion, and attempted to leave the room. The girl clung to her, entreating her love, as the unnatural mother was escaping through the door. But Lady Howard flung together the oak valves as she escaped, and they caught the daughter’s arm between them and broke it.’ ’She was a bad woman; but she is expiating her crime in purgatory.’ ’Her purgatory is a strange one,’ said Herring. ’Every night she drives along this road from Okehampton Castle to Launceston Castle in her great coach drawn by four headless horses, with a skeleton driver on the box, and her favourite bloodhound runs beside the coach. When they arrive at Launceston the dog plucks a blade of grass from the mound on which the keep stands, and then they return in the same way to Okehampton, which they reach before break of day. And she is condemned to do this nightly, till every blade of grass has been plucked off Launceston Castle hill; and that will not be till the end of the world, for the grass grows faster than the hound can pluck it.’ ’Have you ever seen the carriage with the lady in it?’ ’No. During the war French prisoners have been confined in the dismantled castle, parts of which have been converted into prisons for them, and several who have died in confinement are buried in Okehampton churchyard.’ Mirelle shivered. ’I would not, I could not lie here. I should be wet under this dripping sky. Poor men! Why did you not tell me this before, and I would have visited their graves and prayed over them in their native tongue? It contracts my heart to think of them, lying here, away from la belle France, and the golden sun, and the vineyards, and the waving corn, and the scent of incense, and the shadow of the cross.’ ’The sun shines here. It is shining now.’