ad suffered from a love-change himself; he
knew its ache and longing, its black despairs and still more cruel
hopes. He was always on the lookout for Aspatria; and one day he heard
news which he thought would interest her. Lady Redware was at the
Hall. William had heard it a week before, but he had not considered it
prudent to name the fact. Brune had a kinder intelligence.

"Aspatria," he said, "Redware Hall is open again. I saw Lady Redware
in the village."

"Brune! Oh, Brune, is he there too?"

"No, he isn't. I made sure of that."

"Brune, I want to go to Redware. Perhaps his sister may tell me the
truth. Go with me. Oh, Brune, go with me! I am dying of suspense and
uncertainty."

"Ay, they're fit to kill anybody, let alone a little lass like you. It
will put William about, and it may make bad bread between us; but I'll
go with you, even if we do have a falling out. I'm not flayed for
William's rages."

The next market-day Brune kept his word. As soon as Squire Anneys had
climbed the fell breast and passed over the brow of the hill, Brune
was at the door with horses for Aspatria and himself. She was a good
rider, and they made the distance, in spite of hills and hollows, in
two hours. Lady Redware was troubled at the visit, but she came to the
door to welcome Aspatria, and she asked Brune with particular warmth
to come into the house with his sister. Brune knew better; he was sure
in such a case that it would prove a mere formal call, and that
Aspatria would never have the courage to ask the questions she wished
to.

But Aspatria had come to that point of mental suffering when she
wanted to know the truth, even though the truth was the worst. Lady
Redware saw the determination on her face, and resolved to gratify it.
She was shocked at the change in Aspatria's appearance. Her beauty
was, in a measure, gone. Her eyes were hollow, and the lids dark and
swollen with weeping. Her figure was more angular. The dew of youth,
the joy of youth, was over. She drooped like a fading flower. If Ulfar
saw her in such condition he might pity, but assuredly he would not
admire her.

Lady Redware kissed the poor girl. "Come in, my dear," she said
kindly. "How ill you look! Here is wine: take a drink."

"I am ill. I even hope I am dying. Life is so hard to bear. Ulfar has
forgotten me. I have vexed him, and cannot find out in what way. If
you would only tell me!"

"You have not vexed him at all."

"What then?"

"He i