had taken in me. The letter was
written without any alloy of mental reserve. My new life as a governess
was such a happy one that I had forgotten my paltry bitterness of
feeling against Lady Damian.

It was a relief to think of this change for the better, when the
secretary at Garrum Park informed me that he had forwarded my letter
to Sir Gervase, then at Madeira with his sick wife. She was slowly and
steadily wasting away in a decline. Before another year had passed, Sir
Gervase was left a widower for the second time, with no child to console
him under his loss. No answer came to my grateful letter. I should
have been unreasonable indeed if I had expected the bereaved husband to
remember me in his grief and loneliness. Could I write to him again, in
my own trumpery little interests, under these circumstances? I thought
(and still think) that the commonest feeling of delicacy forbade it. The
only other alternative was to appeal to the ever-ready friends of the
obscure and helpless public. I advertised in the newspapers.

The tone of one of the answers which I received impressed me so
favorably, that I forwarded my references. The next post brought my
written engagement, and the offer of a salary which doubled my income.

The story of the past is told; and now we may travel on again, with no
more stoppages by the way.

III.

THE residence of my present employer was in the north of England. Having
to pass through London, I arranged to stay in town for a few days to
make some necessary additions to my wardrobe. An old servant of the
rector, who kept a lodging-house in the suburbs, received me kindly, and
guided my choice in the serious matter of a dressmaker. On the second
morning after my arrival an event happened. The post brought me a
letter forwarded from the rectory. Imagine my astonishment when my
correspondent proved to be Sir Gervase Damian himself!

The letter was dated from his house in London. It briefly invited me to
call and see him, for a reason which I should hear from his own lips. He
naturally supposed that I was still at Sandwich, and requested me, in a
postscript, to consider my journey as made at his expense.

I went to the house the same day. While I was giving my name, a
gentleman came out into the hall. He spoke to me without ceremony.

"Sir Gervase," he said, "believes he is going to die. Don't encourage
him in that idea. He may live for another year or more, if his friends
will only persua