ng for me again, and that Norah is in the conspiracy this time,
to reclaim me in spite of myself. It is enough for me to know that my
letter to my sister has been turned into a trap to catch me, and
that Mrs. Lecount's revenge has accomplished its object by means of
information received from Norah's lips.

"Shall I tell you what I suffered when I heard these things? No; it
would only be a waste of time to tell you. Whatever I suffer, I deserve
it--don't I?

"I waited in that inner room--knowing my own violent temper, and not
trusting myself to see you, after what I had heard--I waited in that
inner room, trembling lest the servant should tell you of my visit
before I could find an opportunity of leaving the house. No such
misfortune happened. The servant, no doubt, heard the voices upstairs,
and supposed that we had met each other in the passage. I don't know how
long or how short a time it was before you left the room to go and take
off your bonnet--you went, and your friend went with you. I raised the
long window softly, and stepped into the back garden. The way by which
you returned to the house was the way by which I left it. No blame
attaches to the servant. As usual, where I am concerned, nobody is to
blame but me.

"Time enough has passed now to quiet my mind a little. You know how
strong I am? You remember how I used to fight against all my illnesses
when I was a child? Now I am a woman, I fight against my miseries in the
same way. Don't pity me, Miss Garth! Don't pity me!

"I have no harsh feeling against Norah. The hope I had of seeing her
is a hope taken from me; the consolation I had in writing to her is a
consolation denied me for the future. I am cut to the heart; but I have
no angry feeling toward my sister. She means well, poor soul--I dare say
she means well. It would distress her, if she knew what has happened.
Don't tell her. Conceal my visit, and burn my letter.

"A last word to yourself and I have done:

"If I rightly understand my present situation, your spies are still
searching for me to just as little purpose as they searched at
York. Dismiss them--you are wasting your money to no purpose. If you
discovered me to-morrow, what could you do? My position has altered. I
am no longer the poor outcast girl, the vagabond public performer, whom
you once hunted after. I have done what I told you I would do--I have
made the general sense of propriety my accomplice this time. Do you know
who I am? I