recurred
to my mind. The more vividly my later remembrances of Miss Dunross were
associated with the idea of an unutterable bodily affliction, the higher
the noble nature of the woman seemed to rise in my esteem. For the
first time since I had left Shetland, the temptation now came to me to
disregard the injunction which her father had laid on me at parting.
When I thought again of the stolen kiss in the dead of night; when I
recalled the appearance of the frail white hand, waving to me through
the dark curtains its last farewell; and when there mingled with these
memories the later remembrance of what my mother had suspected, and of
what Mrs. Van Brandt had seen in her dream--the longing in me to find a
means of assuring Miss Dunross that she still held her place apart in my
memory and my heart was more than mortal fortitude could resist. I was
pledged in honor not to return to Shetland, and not to write. How to
communicate with her secretly, in some other way, was the constant
question in my mind as the days went on. A hint to enlighten me was all
that I wanted; and, as the irony of circumstances ordered it, my mother
was the person who gave me the hint.

We still spoke, at intervals, of Mrs. Van Brandt. Watching me on those
occasions when we were in the company of friends and acquaintances at
Torquay, my mother plainly discerned that no other woman, whatever her
attractions might be, could take the place in my heart of the woman whom
I had lost. Seeing but one prospect of happiness for me, she steadily
refused to abandon the idea of my marriage. When a woman has owned that
she loves a man (so my mother used to express her opinion), it is that
man's fault, no matter what the obstacles may be, if he fails to make
her his wife. Reverting to this view in various ways, she pressed it on
my consideration one day in these words:

"There is one drawback, George, to my happiness in being here with you.
I am an obstacle in the way of your communicating with Mrs. Van Brandt."

"You forget," I said, "that she has left England without telling me
where to find her."

"If you were free from the incumbrance of your mother, my dear, you
would easily find her. Even as things are, you might surely write
to her. Don't mistake my motives, George. If I had any hope of your
forgetting her--if I saw you only moderately attracted by one or other
of the charming women whom we know here--I should say, let us never
speak again or think aga