She liked him better--far better--than
Judge Marriott; Sydney Fellowes hardly counted, and there was no other
man whose coming had pleased her or whose departure had caused her a
single regret. The man who had come to her help at Newgate was a shadow,
a dream. Only curiosity could account for her remembering him. Indeed,
it was doubtful if she did really remember him; were she to meet him she
would probably not know him again. No, she had no ground for disliking
Lord Rosmore. She did not dislike him, but, since he had been chosen for
her, there was ample reason why she could never love him. Any woman
would naturally hate the man she was commanded to love.
She turned from the terrace and, passing through a low doorway from
which the door had gone long ago, entered a wide space enclosed by
ruinous and moss-grown walls. It was open to the sky and littered with
_debris_. At one end the blocked-up entrance from the present house
was distinctly visible; at the other a small door, deeply sunk into the
massive masonry, gave entrance to a small round tower or bastion, which
rose some feet above the walls and overhung the terrace.
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