But his gloom appeared to be occasioned by remorse, rather than sorrow.

No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.

He seemed inexorable, and inscrutable as fate itself.
"Well, Lady Trafford," he said, fixing a severe look upon her.

"You depart for Lancashire to-morrow.

Have I your final answer ?" "You have, Sir Rowland," she answered, in a feeble tone, but firmly.
"You shall have the sum you require, but----" "But what, Madam!" "Do not misunderstand me," she proceeded.