She looked at Lady Eversleigh with flashing eyes, as she remembered that by the subjugation of this empty-headed young nobleman she might attain a higher position and greater wealth than that enjoyed by Sir Oswald's envied wife. "As Lady Sumner Howden, I could look down upon the mistress of Raynham Castle," she thought. "As Countess of Vandeluce, I should take precedence of nobler women than Lady Eversleigh." The day waned. The revellers lingered long over the splendid collation, served in a marquee which had been sent from York for the occasion. The banquet seemed a joyous one, enlivened by the sound of laughter, the popping of champagne corks, the joyous talk that emanated alike from the really light-hearted and those whose gaiety is only a mockery and a sham. The sun was sloping westward when Lady Eversleigh arose, absent and despondent, to give the signal for the withdrawal of the ladies. As she did so, she looked to the other end of the marquee--to the table where her husband had been seated. To her surprise, his place was empty. Throughout the whole day Honoria had been a prey to gloomy forebodings. The estrangement between herself and her husband was so unexpected, so inexplicable, that she was powerless to struggle against the sense of misery and bewilderment which it had occasioned in her mind. Again and again she asked herself what had she done to offend him; again and again she pondered over the smallest and most insignificant actions--the lightest words--of the past few weeks, in order to discover some clue to the mystery of Sir Oswald's altered conduct. But the past afforded her no such clue. She had said nothing, she had done nothing, which could offend the most sensitive of men. Then a new and terrible light began to dawn upon her. She remembered her wretched extraction--the pitiable condition in which the baronet had discovered her, and she began to think that he repented of his marriage. "He regrets his folly, and I am hateful in his eyes," thought Honoria, "for he remembers my degraded position--the mystery of my past life. He has heard sneering words and cruel innuendoes fall from the lips of his fashionable friends, perhaps; and he is ashamed of his marriage. He little knows how gladly I would release him from the tie that binds us--if, indeed, it has grown hateful to him." Thus musing and wandering alone, in one of the forest pathways--for she had outstripped her guests, and sought a little relief for her overwrought spirits, constrained to the courtesies of her position for the moment--she scarcely knew whither, she came presently upon a group of grooms, who were lounging before a rough canvas tent, which had been erected for the accommodation of the horses. "Is 'Orestes' in that tent, Plummer?" she asked of the old groom who generally attended her in her rides and drives. "No, my lady, Sir Oswald had him saddled a quarter of an hour ago, and rode him away." "Sir Oswald has gone away!"