All these emotions were added to her own shame and remorse and terrible disappointment; and, although Rose insisted that she should lie down beside her, yet neither closed an eye; and the rest of the night passed in long, though not uninterrupted, conversation. Often they listened for sounds, often they paused to meditate over all the painful circumstances that surrounded them; but still they turned to discuss, with faint and sinking hearts, either the gloomy past or the dark impenetrable time to come, which offered their eyes no tangible hope to rest upon, but in fresh sorrow, resistance and endurance. With the first ray of light, Rose d'Albret returned to her own chamber, determined to follow to the least particular the advice of the priest: but Helen remained in her uncle's room, in expectation of his return. Minute after minute fled, however, without his coming. She heard Rose call her maid, and voices speaking; she heard the sounds of busy life spread through the château; she heard distant tones of a hunting horn swell up from the woody country beyond. But still her uncle did not appear; and Helen, in terror at the thought of new calamity, watched for him in vain. CHAPTER XXXI. We must now return to Walter de la Tremblade, who closed the door of the room where he had left his niece, and paused one moment to think. "It must be risked," he said: "the boy owes me much--He will not dare to doubt me;" and, without farther consideration, he again descended the stairs. At the bottom he heard a step, and saw a light glimmering through the door at the far end of the hall. "It is that base villain!" he thought as he concealed himself behind one of the square masses of masonry that supported the roof above. "He goes upon his dark errand, like the silent withering frost of autumn, blighting all the flowers it falls upon. Ah, monster!" he muttered between his teeth, as he saw the Marquis pass not ten steps from him: and well was it for Chazeul, well for himself, that there was no dagger under that priest's robe. Covered with a dressing-gown of embroidered silk, and bearing a lamp in his hand, with a stealthy step and an eye looking eagerly forward, as if agitated with the very scheme in which he was taking part, Chazeul crossed the hall and approached the staircase. There was a slight rustle of the priest's gown, and the other paused suddenly and listened. All was still again; and he murmured, "It was the wind!" The next instant the clock struck one, and with a smile the Marquis mounted the stairs.