Of the four great towers, one lay a shattered ruin, one only
remained habitable. Above the rooms occupied by Mrs. Borisoff and
her guests was that which had imprisoned the Queen of Scots; a
chamber of bare stone, with high embrasure narrowing to the slit of
window which admitted daylight, and, if one climbed the sill, gave a
glimpse of far mountains. Down below, deep under the roots of the
tower, was the Castle's dungeon, black and deadly. Early on the
morrow Helen led her friend to see these things. Then they climbed
to the battlements, where the sun shone hot, and Helen pointed out
the features of the vast landscape, naming heights, and little dales
which pour their tributaries into the Ure, and villages lying amid
the rich pasture.
"And yonder is Hawes," said Irene, pointing to the head of the dale.
"Yes; too far to see."
They did not exchange a look. Irene spoke at once of something else.
There came to lunch Mrs. Borisoff's cousin, a grouse-guest at a
house some miles away. He arrived on horseback, and his approach was
watched with interest by two pairs of eyes from the Castle windows.
Mr. March looked well in the saddle, for he was a strong, comely man
of about thirty, who lived mostly under the open sky. Irene had met
him only once, and that in a drawing-room; she saw him now to
greater advantage, heard him talk freely of things he understood and
enjoyed, and on the whole did not dislike him.
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