a will, and I want you to know why I have left you only half
of what I have to leave. The other half will go to some one who has an
equal claim on me, though you don't know it. She has asked me to tell
you. If I get thoroughly well again, there will be no need of this
letter, and I shall tell you in private something that will astonish
you very much. But if I were to die, it will be best for you to learn in
this way that Mrs. Damerel is much more to us than our mother's sister;
she is our own mother. She told me at the time when I was behaving like
an idiot at Bournemouth. It ought to have been enough to stop me. She
confessed that she had done wrong when you and I were little children;
that was how she came to marry again whilst father was still alive.
Though it seemed impossible, I have come to love her for her great
kindness to me. I know that I could trust you, dearest Nancy, to let her
share whatever you have; but it will be better if I provide for her
in my will. She has been living on a small capital, and now has little
left. What I can give her is little enough, but it will save her from
the worst extremities. And I beg you, dear sister, to forgive her fault,
if only for my sake, because she has been so loving to a silly and
useless fellow.

I may as well let you know about my wife's death. She was consumptive,
but seemed to get much better at Bournemouth; then she wanted to go to
Brighton. We lived there at a boardinghouse, and she behaved badly, very
badly. She made acquaintances I didn't like, and went about with them in
spite of my objections. Like an obstinate fool, I had refused to believe
what people told me about her, and now I found it all out for myself. Of
course she only married me because I had money. One evening she made
up her mind to go with some of her friends in a boat, by moonlight. We
quarrelled about it, but she went all the same. The result was that she
got inflammation of the lungs, and died. I don't pretend to be sorry for
her, and I am thankful to have been released from misery so much sooner
than I deserved.

And now let me tell you how my affairs stand--

At the first reading, Nancy gave but slight attention to this concluding
paragraph. Even the thought of her brother's death was put aside by
the emotions with which she learnt that her mother still lived. After
brooding over the intelligence for half a day, she resolved to question
Mary, who perhaps, during so long a residence in G