But you have woven your
spells round his kinsman, and his only hope lies in your disgrace--"
"My disgrace!"
"Yes, Lady Eversleigh. Life is a battle, in which the weakest must be
trodden down; you have triumphed hitherto, but the hour of your triumph
is past. Yesterday you were queen of Raynham Castle; to-morrow no
kitchen-wench within its walls will be so low as you."
"What do you mean?" asked Honoria, more and more mystified every moment
by her companion's words.
For the first time, an awful fear took possession of her, and she began
to perceive that she was the victim of a foul and villanous plot.
"What do you mean?" she repeated, in accents of alarm.
"I mean this, Lady Eversleigh--the world judges of people's actions by
their outward seeming, not by their inward truth. Appearances have
conspired to condemn you. Before to-morrow every creature in Raynham
Castle will believe that you have fled from your home, and with me--"
"Fled from my home!"
"Yes; how else can your absence to-night--your sudden disappearance
from the pic-nic--be construed?"
"If I live, I shall go back to the castle at daybreak to-morrow
morning--go back to denounce your villany--to implore my husband's
vengeance on your infamy!"
"And do you think any one will believe your denunciation? You will go
back too late Lady Eversleigh."
"Oh, villain! villain!" murmured Honoria, in accents of mingled
abhorrence and despair--abhorrence of her companion's infamy, despair
inspired by the horror of her own position.
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