As for Ethel, she was now a prey to the deepest anxiety. All was discovered except the mere fact of Hawbury's removal, and how long that would remain concealed she could not know. Every moment she expected to hear the cry of those who might discover the exchange. And Hawbury, so long lost, so lately found--Hawbury, whom she had suspected of falsity so long and so long avoided, who now had proved himself so constant and so true--what was his fate? She had gazed with eyes of horror at that grave wherein he lay, and had seen the men shoveling in the earth as she came up. The recollection of this filled her with anguish. Had they buried him?--how deep was the earth that lay over him?--could there, indeed, be any hope? All depended on the priest. She hoped that he had prevented things from going too far. She had seen him watching the grave, and motionless. What did that inactivity mean? Was it a sign that Hawbury was safe, or was it merely because he could not do any thing? She was distracted by such fearful thoughts as these. Her heart once more throbbed with those painful pulsations which she had felt when approaching Hawbury. For some time she sat supporting her agony as best she could, and not daring to ask the priest, for fear their guards might suspect the truth, or perhaps understand her words. But at last she could bear it no longer. She touched the priest's arm as he sat beside her, without looking at him. The priest returned the touch. "Is he safe?" she asked, in a tremulous voice, which was scarce audible from grief and anxiety. "He is," said the priest. And then, looking at the man before him, he added immediately, in an unconcerned tone, "She wants to know what time it is, and I told her two o'clock. That's right, isn't it?" "About right," said the man. Now that was a lie, but whether it was justifiable or not may be left to others to decide. As for Ethel, an immense load of anxiety was lifted off her mind, and she began to breathe more freely. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE DEMON WIFE. When Dacres was overpowered by his assailants no mercy was shown him. His hands were bound tight behind him, and kicks and blows were liberally bestowed during the operation. Finally, he was pushed and dragged into the house, and up stairs to the room already mentioned. There he was still further secured by a tight rope around his ankles, after which he was left to his own meditations. Gloomy and bitter and fierce, indeed, were those meditations. His body was covered with bruises, and though no bones were broken, yet his pain was great. In addition to this the cords around his wrists and ankles were very tight, and his veins seemed swollen to bursting. It was difficult to get an easy position, and he could only lie on his side or on his face. These bodily pains only intensified the fierceness of his thoughts and made them turn more vindictively than ever upon the subject of his wife.