The story of the elopement had been fully discussed on the previous day at the "Hen and Chickens," and everywhere else in the village of Raynham. The country gossips shook their heads over Lady Eversleigh's iniquity, but they said little. This new event was of so appalling a nature, that it silenced even the tongue of gossip for a while.
The pedlar took his breakfast in the little parlour behind the bar, and listened quietly to all that was said by the villagers and the groom.
"And where is my lady?" asked the innkeeper; "she came back yesterday, didn't she?"
"Yes, and went away again yesterday afternoon," returned the groom.
"She's got enough to answer for, she has."
* * * * *
Terrible indeed was the consternation, which reigned that day at Raynham Castle. Already Sir Oswald's guests had been making hasty arrangements for their departure; and many visitors had departed even before the discovery of that awful event, which came like a thunderclap upon all within the castle.
Few men had ever been better liked by his acquaintances than Sir Oswald
Eversleigh.
His generous nature, his honourable character, had won him every man's respect. His great wealth had been spent lavishly for the benefit of others. His hand had always been open to the poor and necessitous. He had been a kind master, a liberal landlord, an ardent and devoted friend. There is little wonder, therefore, if the news of his sudden death fell like an overwhelming blow on all assembled within the castle, and on many more beyond the castle walls.
The feeling against Honoria Eversleigh was one of unmitigated execration. No words could be too bitter for those who spoke of Sir Oswald's wife.
It had been thought on the previous evening that she had left the castle for ever, banished by the command of her husband. Nothing, therefore, could have exceeded the surprise which filled every breast when she entered the crowded hall some minutes after the discovery of Sir Oswald's death.