Yes, the fate I have foretold shall come to pass, and the son of Sir Jasper will live to curse the day of his birth.

And now I will remove my disguise, and wash and breakfast, for I feel the calls of hunger." The lower apartment of the hut on the heath was the very picture of abject poverty and dreary desolation.

The earthen floor was broken and rough; the sunlight came sifting through the chinks in the broken walls.

A smoky fire of wet driftwood smoldered, under a pot on the crook.

There was neither table nor chairs.