g slowly from end to end of it in
the full radiance of the moon.

"I want you to listen while I read the concluding passages in this
letter," said Miss Halcombe. "Tell me if you think they throw any
light upon your strange adventure on the road to London. The letter is
addressed by my mother to her second husband, Mr. Fairlie, and the date
refers to a period of between eleven and twelve years since. At that
time Mr. and Mrs. Fairlie, and my half-sister Laura, had been living
for years in this house; and I was away from them completing my
education at a school in Paris."

She looked and spoke earnestly, and, as I thought, a little uneasily as
well. At the moment when she raised the letter to the candle before
beginning to read it, Miss Fairlie passed us on the terrace, looked in
for a moment, and seeing that we were engaged, slowly walked on.

Miss Halcombe began to read as follows:--

"'You will be tired, my dear Philip, of hearing perpetually about my
schools and my scholars. Lay the blame, pray, on the dull uniformity
of life at Limmeridge, and not on me. Besides, this time I have
something really interesting to tell you about a new scholar.

"'You know old Mrs. Kempe at the village shop. Well, after years of
ailing, the doctor has at last given her up, and she is dying slowly
day by day. Her only living relation, a sister, arrived last week to
take care of her. This sister comes all the way from Hampshire--her
name is Mrs. Catherick. Four days ago Mrs. Catherick came here to see
me, and brought her only child with her, a sweet little girl about a
year older than our darling Laura----'"

As the last sentence fell from the reader's lips, Miss Fairlie passed
us on the terrace once more. She was softly singing to herself one of
the melodies which she had been playing earlier in the evening. Miss
Halcombe waited till she had passed out of sight again, and then went
on with the letter--

"'Mrs. Catherick is a decent, well-behaved, respectable woman;
middle-aged, and with the remains of having been moderately, only
moderately, nice-looking. There is something in her manner and in her
appearance, however, which I can't make out. She is reserved about
herself to the point of downright secrecy, and there is a look in her
face--I can't describe it--which suggests to me that she has something
on her mind. She is altogether what you would call a walking mystery.
Her errand at Limmeridge House, however