ch violence that she fell against the wall, and striking her head
sharply, sank stunned and unconscious at his feet.

"Serve her right well, the false minx, the evil jade!" spoke the
heartless father, as he strode back to his own room without so much
as going across to the girl to know if she were severely hurt. "She
will be safe enow for this night. She will not seek to go forth
again. She shall smart for this bare-faced defiance. I will not be
set at naught by both of my children. I will not--I will not!"

When Petronella awoke from what seemed to her a long dream, she
found herself in her own bed, tended by the deaf-and-dumb servant,
who was sitting beside her and watching her with wistful glances. A
glad smile lighted up the woman's face as Petronella made a sign
that showed she recognized her; but no speech was possible between
them, and the girl was too weary to care to ask questions by means
of the series of signals long since established between them. She
turned her eyes from the light, and fell asleep again like a tired
child.

For several days her life was more like one long sleep than
anything else. It was some while before she remembered any of the
events immediately preceding this mysterious attack of illness; and
when she did remember, the events of that night seemed to stand out
in fearful colours.

Yet there was one thought of comfort: Cuthbert was not far away.
Since her father had openly accused her of vileness, deceit, and
treachery; since he had struck her down so cruelly, and had not
even come to see her in her helplessness and weakness, must not
Cuthbert's surmise be the true one--must he not surely be mad? She
could see by the old woman's cowering looks if the door moved on
its hinges, how much she feared the terrible master; and when
Petronella was sufficiently recovered to be able to enter into the
kind of conversation by means of signals which in some sort
resembled the finger talking of more modern times, she learned that
indeed her father was in a more black and terrible mood than ever
before, and that old Martha herself went in fear of her life.

Bit by bit the old woman made the girl understand what had
happened. Shortly after the day upon which she had found her young
mistress lying cold and insensible on the stone floor of the hall,
Philip Trevlyn had come to the Gate House, and had demanded an
interview with the owner. Right well did both the women know the
nature of that errand,