Blessed with her husband's love, she had for a while closed her eyes upon that horrible picture of the past; but now, in the hour of despair, it came back to her, hideously distinct, awfully palpable. "How could I hope for happiness?" she thought; "I, the daughter of an assassin! The sins of one generation are visited on another. A curse is upon me, and I can never hope for happiness." The sun rose, and shone broad and full over the barren moorland; but it was several hours after sunrise before the man who took care of the ruins came to release the wretched prisoner. He picked up a scanty living by showing the tower to visitors, and he knew that no visitors were likely to come before nine o'clock in the morning. It was nearly nine when Honoria saw him approaching in the distance. It was after nine when he drew up the bridge, and came across it to the ruined fortress. "You are free from this moment, Lady Eversleigh," said the surgeon, whose face looked horribly pale and worn in the broad sunlight. That night of watching had not been without its agony for him. Honoria did not condescend to notice his words. She took up the plumed hat, which had been lying among the long grass at her feet. The delicate feathers were wet and spoiled by the night dew, and she took them from the fragile hat and flung them away. Her thin, white dress was heavy with the damp, and clung round her like a shroud. But she had not felt the chilling night winds. Lady Eversleigh groped her way down the winding staircase, which was dark even in the daytime--except here and there, where a gap in the wall let in a patch of light upon the gloomy stones. Under the archway she met the countryman, who uttered a cry on beholding the white, phantom-like figure. "Oh, Loard!" he cried, when he had recovered from his terror; "I ask pardon, my lady, but danged if I didn't teak thee for a ghaist." "You did not know, when you went away last night, that there was any one in the tower?" "No, indeed, my lady. I'd been away for a few minutes look'n' arter a bit of peg I've got in a shed down yander; and when I keame back to let down th' drawbridge, I didn't sing out to ax if there wur any one in th' old too-wer, for t'aint often as there be any one at that time of night." "Tell me the way to the nearest village," cried Honoria. "I want to get some conveyance to take me to Raynham." "Then you had better go to Edgington, ma'am. That's four miles from here--on t' Raynham ro-ad." The man pointed out the way to the village of which he spoke; and Lady Eversleigh set forth across the wide expanse of moorland alone. She had considerable difficulty in finding her way, for there were no landmarks on that broad stretch of level turf. She wandered out of the track more than once, and it was one o'clock before she reached the village of Edgington.