"I know that; but he was disinherited before I crossed his uncle's pathway."
"True; but had you not crossed Sir Oswald's path, there is no doubt Reginald would have been restored to favour. 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?"