She thought of her blighted hopes--her premature death--the despair of her self-banished husband--the uncertain fate of their orphan child, for whom she felt, even at this distance of time, some touch of a mother's affection.
Upon such sad subjects her thoughts were turned, when, just as she attained the middle of the avenue, the imperfect and checkered light which found its way through the silvan archway, showed her something which resembled the figure of a man.

Lady Peveril paused a moment, but instantly advanced;--her bosom, perhaps, gave one startled throb, as a debt to the superstitious belief of the times, but she instantly repelled the thought of supernatural appearances.

From those that were merely mortal, she had nothing to fear.

A marauder on the game was the worst character whom she was likely to encounter; and he would be sure to hide himself from her observation.

She advanced, accordingly, steadily; and, as she did so, had the satisfaction to observe that the figure, as she expected, gave place to her, and glided away amongst the trees on the left-hand side of the avenue.