so that concerning him there was not even that pity that she
might have felt had she believed - as he would have had her
believe that he was dying.

As she pondered the monstrous disclosure he had made, her heart
hardened against him, and even as she had asked him whether
indeed she was his daughter, so now she vowed to herself that
she would be his daughter no longer. She would leave Castle
Marleigh, never again to set eyes upon her father, and she
hoped that during the little time she must yet remain there - a
day, or two at most - she might be spared the ordeal of again
meeting a parent for whom respect was dead, and who inspired
her with just that feeling of horror she must have for any man
who confessed himself a murderer and a thief.

She resolved to repair to London to a sister of her mother's,
where for her dead mother's sake she would find a haven
extended readily.

At eventide she came at last from her chamber.

She had need of air, need of the balm that nature alone can
offer in solitude to poor wounded human souls.

It was a mild and sunny evening, worthy rather of August than
of October, and aimlessly Mistress Cynthia wandered towards the
cliffs overlooking Sheringham Hithe. There she sate herself in
sad dejection upon the grass, and gazed wistfully seaward, her
mind straying now from the sorry theme that had held dominion
in it, to the memories that very spot evoked.