However early Nance arose, and she was no sluggard, the old man, who had begun to outlive the earthly habit of slumber, would usually have been up long before, the fire would be burning brightly, and she would see him wandering among the ruins, lantern in hand, and talking assiduously to himself.

One day, however, after he had returned late from the market town, she found that she had stolen a march upon that indefatigable early riser.

The kitchen was all blackness.

She crossed the castle-yard to the wood-cellar, her steps printing the thick hoarfrost.

A scathing breeze blew out of the north-east and slowly carried a regiment of black and tattered clouds over the face of heaven, which was already kindled with the wild light of morning, but where she walked, in shelter of the ruins, the flame of her candle burned steady.