rom the river; the apparition of her in the
summer-house; the after-meetings with her in Edinburgh and in London;
the final parting which had left its mark of sorrow on my face--all
these events, all these sufferings, I confided to her as unreservedly
as I have confided them to these pages. And the result, as she sat by me
in the darkened room, was summed up, with a woman's headlong impetuosity
of judgment, in the words that I have just written--"I don't like your
Mrs. Van Brandt!"

"Why not?" I asked.

She answered instantly, "Because you ought to love nobody but Mary."

"But Mary has been lost to me since I was a boy of thirteen."

"Be patient, and you will find her again. Mary is patient--Mary is
waiting for you. When you meet her, you will be ashamed to remember that
you ever loved Mrs. Van Brandt--you will look on your separation from
that woman as the happiest event of your life. I may not live to hear of
it--but _you_ will live to own that I was right."

Her perfectly baseless conviction that time would yet bring about my
meeting with Mary, partly irritated, partly amused me.

"You seem to agree with Dame Dermody," I said. "You believe that our two
destinies are one. No matter what time may elapse, or what may happen in
the time, you believe my marriage with Mary is still a marriage delayed,
and nothing more?"

"I firmly believe it."

"Without knowing why--except that you dislike the idea of my marrying
Mrs. Van Brandt?"

She knew that this view of her motive was not far from being the right
one--and, womanlike, she shifted the discussion to new ground.

"Why do you call her Mrs. Van Brandt?" she asked. "Mrs. Van Brandt is
the namesake of your first love. If you are so fond of her, why don't
you call her Mary?"

I was ashamed to give the true reason--it seemed so utterly unworthy of
a man of any sense or spirit. Noticing my hesitation, she insisted on my
answering her; she forced me to make my humiliating confession.

"The man who has parted us," I said, "called her Mary. I hate him with
such a jealous hatred that he has even disgusted me with the name! It
lost all its charm for me when it passed _his_ lips."

I had anticipated that she would laugh at me. No! She suddenly raised
her head as if she were looking at me intently in the dark.

"How fond you must be of that woman!" she said. "Do you dream of her
now?"

"I never dream of her now."

"Do you expect to see the apparition of her again?"