There was but one door--a huge structure, with shining panels, securely locked; and escape from that quarter was utterly out of the question.

There was one window, hung with dark curtains of tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them aside, she met only a dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters were firmly secured without.

Altogether, she could not form the slightest idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she sat down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling as if she were sitting in a tomb.
What would Sir Norman say?
What would he ever think of her, when he found her gone.

And what was destined to be her fate in this dreadful out-of-the-way place?
She would have cried, as most of her sex would be tempted to do in such a situation, but that her dislike and horror of Count L'Estrange was a good deal stronger than her grief, and turned her tears to sparks of indignant fire.

Never, never, never! would she be his wife! He might kill her a thousand times, if he liked, and she wouldn't yield an inch.