daggers in Dame Katharine's heart; and 'she rebuked her greatly,
seeing that she was too loathly for any gentleman who was equal to her
in birth.'

Poor Jane bore all these coarse reproaches with much outward meekness;
but the spirit which they woke up in her was little interpreted by the
drooping head and tearful eyes. A fiery demon, breathing rage and
vowing revenge, took such meek-seeming as this, and blinded the old
grandam to the mischief she was working, until it was too late to
repair it. Dame Katharine took the girl home; Sir Mighell and his wife
consenting in gratitude to be so well delivered from such a heavy
burden. Dame Elizabeth, the girl's mother, truly shed a few tears,
quickly dried; and so young Jane parted for ever from her father's
house.

Like a dead thing, revived by the fresh winds of heaven, Jane's
comparative freedom aroused in her the most passionate abhorrence of
the life to which she was destined, and the most passionate desire for
liberty and affection. With each breath she drew by the open casement,
with each glance cast into the depths of the dark woods beyond, rose
up the strong instincts of her age, and turned her for ever from the
convent gate. In vain the dame insisted; Jane stood firm; and declared
that she would still refuse, at the very altar, to take the vow. Yet
was she timid in all things but those of love and liberty; and Dame
Katharine, by violence and threats, so worked on her fears, that she
at last consented, amid grievous tears and bitter reproaches, to be
deprived of her name and state, and given forth to the castle people
as a poor gentlewoman, godchild to the dame.

'Anything for freedom!' sighed Jane, as she took the oath of secrecy.