Germaine to forgive me for going away without thanking him. I
daren't wait! I may be followed and found out. There is a person whom I
am determined never to see again--never! never! never! Good-by; and try
to forgive me!' She hid her face in her hands, and said no more. I tried
to win her confidence; it was not to be done; I was compelled to leave
her. There is some dreadful calamity, George, in that wretched woman's
life. And such an interesting creature, too! It was impossible not to
pity her, whether she deserved it or not. Everything about her is a
mystery, my dear. She speaks English without the slightest foreign
accent, and yet she has a foreign name."

"Did she give you her name?"

"No, and I was afraid to ask her to give it. But the landlady here
is not a very scrupulous person. She told me she looked at the poor
creature's linen while it was drying by the fire. The name marked on it
was, 'Van Brandt.'"

"Van Brandt?" I repeated. "That sounds like a Dutch name. And yet you
say she spoke like an Englishwoman. Perhaps she was born in England."

"Or perhaps she may be married," suggested my mother; "and Van Brandt
may be the name of her husband."

The idea of her being a married woman had something in it repellent
to me. I wished my mother had not thought of that last suggestion. I
refused to receive it. I persisted in my own belief that the stranger
was a single woman. In that character, I could indulge myself in the
luxury of thinking of her; I could consider the chances of my being able
to trace this charming fugitive, who had taken so strong a hold on my
interest--whose desperate attempt at suicide had so nearly cost me my
own life.

If she had gone as far as Edinburgh (which she would surely do, being
bent on avoiding discovery), the prospect of finding her again--in that
great city, and in my present weak state of health--looked doubtful
indeed. Still, there was an underlying hopefulness in me which kept
my spirits from being seriously depressed. I felt a purely imaginary
(perhaps I ought to say, a purely superstitious) conviction that we who
had nearly died together, we who had been brought to life together, were
surely destined to be involved in some future joys or sorrows common to
us both. "I fancy I shall see her again," was my last thought before my
weakness overpowered me, and I sunk into a peaceful sleep.

That night I was removed from the inn to my own room at home; and that
night I saw her