to speak to
her, or even to notice who she was.

I opened the letter. It was neither dated nor signed, and the
handwriting was palpably disguised. Before I had read the first
sentence, however, I knew who my correspondent was--Mrs. Catherick.

The letter ran as follows--I copy it exactly, word for word:--

THE STORY CONTINUED BY MRS. CATHERICK

SIR,--You have not come back, as you said you would. No matter--I know
the news, and I write to tell you so. Did you see anything particular
in my face when you left me? I was wondering, in my own mind, whether
the day of his downfall had come at last, and whether you were the
chosen instrument for working it. You were, and you HAVE worked it.

You were weak enough, as I have heard, to try and save his life. If you
had succeeded, I should have looked upon you as my enemy. Now you have
failed, I hold you as my friend. Your inquiries frightened him into
the vestry by night--your inquiries, without your privity and against
your will, have served the hatred and wreaked the vengeance of
three-and-twenty years. Thank you, sir, in spite of yourself.

I owe something to the man who has done this. How can I pay my debt?
If I was a young woman still I might say, "Come, put your arm round my
waist, and kiss me, if you like." I should have been fond enough of you
even to go that length, and you would have accepted my invitation--you
would, sir, twenty years ago! But I am an old woman now. Well! I can
satisfy your curiosity, and pay my debt in that way. You HAD a great
curiosity to know certain private affairs of mine when you came to see
me--private affairs which all your sharpness could not look into
without my help--private affairs which you have not discovered, even
now. You SHALL discover them--your curiosity shall be satisfied. I
will take any trouble to please you, my estimable young friend!

You were a little boy, I suppose, in the year twenty-seven? I was a
handsome young woman at that time, living at Old Welmingham. I had a
contemptible fool for a husband. I had also the honour of being
acquainted (never mind how) with a certain gentleman (never mind whom).
I shall not call him by his name. Why should I? It was not his own.
He never had a name: you know that, by this time, as well as I do.

It will be more to the purpose to tell you how he worked himself into
my good graces. I was born with the tastes of a lady, and he gratified
them--in other words, he