“I shall have all I want, bairnie. Earl Francis has provided for me. Go your ways to the house now, bairnie. Your friends will be speiring after ye.”
Wynnette took the shriveled hand of the creature and pressed it kindly before she left the old castle hall.
The early June morning was breaking brightly and beautifully over land and sea as Wynnette went down the half-ruined steps that led from the castle hall to the courtyard below.
She climbed over the piles of rubbish, and at length found herself on the flagged walk that led up to the west entrance of the new castle.
Not a soul was yet astir. It could not have been more than half-past four o’clock, and the servants of the castle were not accustomed to rise before six.
She went up the broad stone stairs and opened the door, which she found, as she had left it at midnight, unfastened.
She passed in silently, quietly replaced all the fastenings, and ascended noiselessly to her room. Her sister was still sleeping soundly. She felt no disposition to sleep. She resumed her seat at the west window, and looked out upon the morning view, as she had looked on the night scene, trying to understand the adventure she had passed through.
Was the old crone who had talked with her really mad? Had her only child been ruined and murdered by the wicked earl? Had she, Wynnette, really witnessed that wonderful vision in the dungeon under the castle, or had she been so psychologized by the crone as to have been the subject of an optical illusion?
She could not tell! She could make nothing of her night’s experience. While she was musing over it all her thoughts grew confused, her vision obscured, and perhaps she fell asleep; for she was presently roused as from profound unconsciousness by the voice of Odalite calling out to her:
“Wynnette! Wynnette! Child! you have never slept at that open window all night? How imprudent!”