doubt, there was alarm in his face, as he sat lost in his own thought.
Was the struggle of the past night renewing itself already? Did he feel
the horror of his hereditary superstition creeping over him again?

"Can you put me on my guard against her?" he asked, after a long
interval of silence. "Can you tell me her name?"

"I can only tell you what Mrs. Armadale told me," answered Mr. Brock.
"The woman acknowledged having been married in the long interval since
she and her mistress had last met. But not a word more escaped her about
her past life. She came to Mrs. Armadale to ask for money, under a
plea of distress. She got the money, and she left the house, positively
refusing, when the question was put to her, to mention her married
name."

"You saw her yourself in the village. What was she like?"

"She kept her veil down. I can't tell you."

"You can tell me what you _did_ see?"

"Certainly. I saw, as she approached me, that she moved very gracefully,
that she had a beautiful figure, and that she was a little over the
middle height. I noticed, when she asked me the way to Mrs. Armadale's
house, that her manner was the manner of a lady, and that the tone
of her voice was remarkably soft and winning. Lastly, I remembered
afterward that she wore a thick black veil, a black bonnet, a black
silk dress, and a red Paisley shawl. I feel all the importance of your
possessing some better means of identifying her than I can give you. But
unhappily--"

He stopped. Midwinter was leaning eagerly across the table, and
Midwinter's hand was laid suddenly on his arm.

"Is it possible that you know the woman?" asked Mr. Brock, surprised at
the sudden change in his manner.

"No."

"What have I said, then, that has startled you so?"

"Do you remember the woman who threw herself from the river steamer?"
asked the other--"the woman who caused that succession of deaths which
opened Allan Armadale's way to the Thorpe Ambrose estate?"

"I remember the description of her in the police report," answered the
rector.

"_That_ woman," pursued Midwinter, "moved gracefully, and had a
beautiful figure. _That_ woman wore a black veil, a black bonnet, a
black silk gown, and a red Paisley shawl--" He stopped, released his
hold of Mr. Brock's arm, and abruptly resumed his chair. "Can it be
the same?" he said to himself in a whisper. "_Is_ there a fatality
that follows men in the dark? And is it following _us_ in that woman's
footsteps