Poor Kate, appalled by the possibility of making a new enemy, turned and retraced her steps slowly and sadly up the avenue.  As she glanced back she saw a gaunt, hard-featured woman trudging up the lane with a tin can in her hand.  Lonely and forlorn, but not yet quite destitute of hope, she turned to the right among the trees, and pushed her way through bushes and brambles to the boundary of the Priory grounds.  It was a lofty wall, at least nine feet in height, with a coping which bristled with jagged pieces of glass.  Kate walked along the base Of it, her fair skin all torn and bleeding with scratches from the briars, until she satisfied herself that there was no break in it.  There was one small wooden door on the side which was skirted by the railway line, but it was locked and impassable.  The only opening through which a human being could pass was that which was guarded in the manner she had seen.  The sickening conviction took possession of her mind that without wings it was an utter impossibility either to get away or to give the least information to any one in the world as to where she was or what might befall her.

When she came back to the house, tired and dishevelled after her journey of exploration, Girdlestone was standing by the door to receive her with a sardonic smile upon his thin lips.  “How do you like the grounds, then?” he asked, with, the nearest approach to hilarity which she had ever heard from him.  “And the ornamental fencing? and the lodge-keeper?  How did you like them all?”

Kate tried for a moment to make some brave retort, but it was a useless attempt.  Her lips trembled, her eyes filled, and, with a cry of grief and despair which might have moved a wild beast, she fled to her room, and, throwing herself upon her bed, burst into such scalding bitter tears as few women are ever called upon to shed.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A TALK ON THE LAWN.

That same evening Rebecca came down from London.  Her presence was a comfort to Kate, for though she had never liked or trusted the girl, yet the mere fact of having some one of her own age near her, gave her a sense of security and of companionship.  Her room, too, had been altered for the better, and the maid was given the one next door, so that by knocking on the wall she could always communicate with her.  This was an unspeakable consolation, for at night the old house was so full of the sudden crackings of warped timber and the scampering of rats that entire loneliness was unendurable.

Apart from these uncanny sounds there were other circumstances which gave the Priory a sinister reputation.  The very aspect of the building was enough to suggest weird impressions.  Its high white walls were blotched with patches of mildew, and in some parts there were long greenish stains from roof to ground, like tear streaks on the crumbling plaster.  Indoors there was a dank graveyard smell in the low corridors and narrow stair-cases.  Floors and ceilings were equally worm-eaten and rotten.  Broad flakes of plaster from the walls lay littered about in the passages.  The wind, too, penetrated the building through many cracks and crannies, so that there was a constant sighing and soughing in the big dreary rooms, which had a most eerie and melancholy effect.