s, who also, it
seems, was ignorant of the aunt's death. This aunt, a sister of
Winifred's mother, named Davies, the widow of a sea captain who had
once known better days, resided in an old cottage between Bettws y
Coed and Capel Curig. Shales had found no difficulty in persuading
Winifred to go with him, for she had now sunk into a condition of
dazed stupor, and was very docile.

They started on their long journey across England by rail, and
everything went well till they got into Wales, when Winifred's stupor
seemed to be broken into by the familiar scenery; her wits became
alive again. Then an idea seemed to seize her that she was pursued by
me, as the messenger bearing my dead father's curse. The appearance
of any young man bearing the remotest resemblance to me frightened
her. At last, before they reached Bettws y Coed, she had escaped, and
was lost among the woods. Shales had made every effort to find her,
but without avail, and was compelled at last, by the demands of his
business, to give up the quest. He had returned on the previous
evening, and my mother had enjoined him not to tell me what had been
done, though she seemed much distressed at hearing that Winnie was
lost, and was about to send others into Wales in order to find her,
if possible. Shales, however, had determined to tell me, as the
matter, he said, lay upon his conscience.

On getting this news I went straight home, ordered a portmanteau to
be packed, and placed in it all my ready cash. Before starting I sat
down to write a letter to my uncle. On hearing of my movements, my
mother came to me in great agitation. In her eyes there was that
haggard expression which I thought I understood. Already she had
begun to feel that she and she alone was responsible for whatsoever
calamities might fall upon the helpless deserted girl she had sent
away. Already she had begun to feel the pangs of that remorse which
afterwards stung her so cruelly that not all Winnie's woes, nor all
mine, were so dire as hers. There are some natures that feel
themselves responsible for all the unforeseen, as well as for all the
foreseen, consequences of their acts. My mother was one of these. I
rose as she entered, offered her a seat, and then sat down again.

She inquired whither I was going.

'To North Wales,' I said.

She stood aghast. But she now understood that grief had made me a
man.

'You are going,' said she, 'after the daughter of the scoundrel who
desecrated y