Nearly a fortnight had passed since Constance's return to Rawcliffe Hall, and during that interval much had happened. Sir Richard had been laid in the family vault. The interment took place at night, and was witnessed only by the household, the last rites being performed by Father Jerome. Mrs. Butler and her daughter were now inmates of the hall, but the old lady seldom left her chamber. Gloom seemed to have settled upon the mansion. The two young damsels never strayed beyond the park, and rarely beyond the garden. As yet, they had received no tidings of the Highland army, except that it had arrived at Derby. They knew nothing of the retreat, and fancied that the prince was on his way to London. The next news they received might be of a glorious victory—or of a signal defeat. Rumours there were of all kinds, but to these they attached no importance.

It was a dark dull December afternoon, and the principal inmates of the hall were assembled in the library. A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, and lighted up the sombre apartment. Father Jerome was reading near the window. Mrs. Butler was reciting her prayers, and the two girls were conversing together, when the door opened, and an unexpected visitor entered the room. It was Atherton. Uttering a cry of delight, Constance sprang to her feet, and was instantly folded to his breast.

Before he could answer any questions, Monica rushed up to him, and said:

"Oh! relieve my anxiety. Is Jemmy safe?"

"Safe and well," replied Atherton. "He is in Manchester with the regiment, but Colonel Townley would not allow him to accompany me."

"What am I to understand by all this?" cried Constance.

"All chance of our gaining London is over," replied Atherton. "The prince has retreated from Derby, and is now returning to Scotland."

"Without a battle?" cried Constance.

"Ay, without a battle," he replied, sadly.

"I can scarcely believe what I hear," cried Monica. "I would rather a sanguinary engagement had taken place than this should have happened."

"The prince was forced to retreat," rejoined Atherton. "The Highland chiefs would proceed no further."

"Will Jemmy retire from the regiment?" cried Monica.

"No, he will proceed with it to Carlisle. I shall go there likewise. I have obtained leave from the prince to pay this hasty visit. I must return in the morning. We may yet have to fight a battle, for it is reported that the Duke of Cumberland is in hot pursuit, and Marshal Wade may cut off our retreat."

"I will not say that all is lost," observed Constance. "But it seems to me that the prince has lost all chance of recovering the throne. His army and his friends will be alike discouraged, and the attempt cannot be renewed."

"Such is my own opinion, I confess," replied Atherton. "Nevertheless, I cannot leave him."

He then addressed himself to Mrs. Butler and Father Jerome, who had been looking anxiously towards him, and acquainted them with the cause of his unexpected return. They were both deeply grieved to hear of the prince's retreat.

Tears were shed by all the ladies when they were told of the execution of poor Erick Dickson, and they deplored the fate of the faithful Helen Carnegie. Atherton had a long conversation with Constance, but they could not arrange any plans for the future. At last the hour came for separation for the night, and it was in a very depressed state of mind that he sought his chamber.

It was a large apartment, panelled with oak, and contained a massive oak bedstead with huge twisted columns, and a large canopy. Though a wood fire blazed on the hearth, and cast a glow on the panels, the appearance of the room was exceedingly gloomy.

"'Tis the best bedroom in the house, and I have therefore prepared it for you," observed old Markland, who had conducted him to the room. "You will easily recognise the portrait over the mantelpiece. I have not removed it, as I have not received orders to do so."

Atherton looked up at the picture indicated by the old butler, and could not repress a shudder as he perceived it was a portrait of his uncle, Sir Richard.

However, he made no remark, and shortly afterwards Markland quitted the room.

Seating himself in an easy-chair by the fire, Atherton began to reflect upon the many strange events that had occurred to him, and he almost began to regret that he had ever joined the unlucky expedition.

While indulging these meditations, he fell into a sort of doze, and fancied that a figure slowly approached him.

How the person had entered the room he could not tell, for he had not heard the door open, nor any sound of footsteps. The figure seemed to glide towards him, rather than walk, and, as it drew nearer, he recognised the ghastly and cadaverous countenance.

Transfixed with horror, he could neither stir nor speak. For some time the phantom stood there, with its melancholy gaze fixed upon him.

At last a lugubrious voice, that sounded as if it came from the grave, reached his ear.

"I have come to warn you," said the phantom. "You have neglected my counsel. Be warned now, or you will lose all!"

For a few moments the phantom continued to gaze earnestly at him and then disappeared.

At the same time the strange oppression that had benumbed his faculties left him, and he was able to move.

As he rose from his chair, he found that the fire was almost extinct, and that his taper had burnt low.

On consulting his watch he perceived that it was long past midnight. He could not be quite sure whether he had been dreaming, or had beheld a vision; but he felt the necessity of rest, and hastily disrobing himself, he sought the couch, and slept soundly till morning.

He was awake when old Markland entered his room, but he said nothing to him about the mysterious occurrence of the night.

Determined to abide by his plans, and fearing his resolution might be shaken, he ordered his horses to be got ready in half an hour. He did not see Constance before his departure, but left kind messages for her, and for Mrs. Butler and Monica, by Markland.

The old butler looked very sad, and when Atherton told him he should soon be back again, he did not seem very hopeful.

A fog hung over the moat as he crossed the drawbridge, followed by his groom. On gaining the park, he cast a look back at the old mansion, and fancying he descried Constance at one of the windows, he waved an adieu to her.

As it was not his intention to return to Manchester, but to rejoin the retreating army at Preston, he forded the Mersey at a spot known to Holden, and avoiding Warrington, rode on through a series of lanes to Newton—proceeding thence to Wigan, where he halted for an hour to refresh his horse, and breakfast, after which he continued his course to Preston.

On arriving there he found the town in a state of great confusion. The Highland army was expected, but it was also thought that Marshal Wade would intercept the retreat.

To the latter rumour Atherton attached very little credence, but put up at an inn to await the arrival of the prince.