Burying her face in her hands, she shudderingly rehearsed over to herself what that struggle had probably been. It was foolish of her to do this, for it gave her unnecessary pain: but she had got into the habit of indulging these thoughts instead of checking them; and perhaps they came unbidden. You must not cherish your sorrow, we say to some friend who is overwhelmed with grief and despair. No, answers the poor sufferer: but how can I help it? Just so was it with Charlotte Guise. Day by day, night by night, she saw only her husband and his unhappy fate; she was as a sick person in some fever dream, whose poor brain has seized hold of one idea and rambles upon it for ever. "There's the ring in Mr. Castlemaine's bureau!--and if I could find some other token of his person here, elucidation might come of it," she resumed, lifting her head. "A button; a glove; a torn bit of cloth?--I should know them all. It is pénible to continue to lead this false life! As I am, unknown, I can do nothing. I may not even ask John Bent to let me take just one look at his dear effects, or as much as open the lid of his small desk. While I am Madame Guise, it is no affair of mine, I should be told; I must not concern myself with it: but if I might show to the world that I am Charlotte Castlemaine, the right would be all mine. It is awkward; because I may not show it to them: and I can only search out traces in secret; that Friar's Keep may hold proofs of what his fate has been, if I could but go in and look for them." She turned her head towards the old building, but not very courageously: at the best, it was but a ghostly-looking place at night: and then turned it back and gazed out to sea again. "No. I should not have the bravery to go in alone; even if I could secure a lantern. There's that revenant that comes; and it might appear to me. I saw it as distinctly last night from Mr. Castlemaine's window as I ever saw anything in my life. And if I were in the place, and it appeared to me, I should die of fear.--I think I half died of fear last night when I heard the voice of Mr. Harry," she went on, after a pause: "there was he, before me, and there was the revenant, over here, behind me; and----" Some sound behind her at this moment nearly made Charlotte Guise start out of her skin. When buried in ghostly visions--say, for instance, in reading a frightful tale alone at night--we all know how a sudden noise will shake the nerves. The gate was opening behind Charlotte, and the fright sent her bang against the wall. There she cowered in the corner, her black clothes drawn round her, suppressing the cry that would have risen to her lips, and, praying to escape detection.