iss Halcombe read me the last sentences to which she had
referred--

"'And now, my love, seeing that I am at the end of my paper, now for
the real reason, the surprising reason, for my fondness for little Anne
Catherick. My dear Philip, although she is not half so pretty, she is,
nevertheless, by one of those extraordinary caprices of accidental
resemblance which one sometimes sees, the living likeness, in her hair,
her complexion, the colour of her eyes, and the shape of her face----'"

I started up from the ottoman before Miss Halcombe could pronounce the
next words. A thrill of the same feeling which ran through me when the
touch was laid upon my shoulder on the lonely high-road chilled me
again.

There stood Miss Fairlie, a white figure, alone in the moonlight; in
her attitude, in the turn of her head, in her complexion, in the shape
of her face, the living image, at that distance and under those
circumstances, of the woman in white! The doubt which had troubled my
mind for hours and hours past flashed into conviction in an instant.
That "something wanting" was my own recognition of the ominous likeness
between the fugitive from the asylum and my pupil at Limmeridge House.

"You see it!" said Miss Halcombe. She dropped the useless letter, and
her eyes flashed as they met mine. "You see it now, as my mother saw
it eleven years since!"

"I see it--more unwillingly than I can say. To associate that forlorn,
friendless, lost woman, even by an accidental likeness only, with Miss
Fairlie, seems like casting a shadow on the future of the bright
creature who stands looking at us now. Let me lose the impression
again as soon as possible. Call her in, out of the dreary
moonlight--pray call her in!"

"Mr. Hartright, you surprise me. Whatever women may be, I thought that
men, in the nineteenth century, were above superstition."

"Pray call her in!"

"Hush, hush! She is coming of her own accord. Say nothing in her
presence. Let this discovery of the likeness be kept a secret between
you and me. Come in, Laura, come in, and wake Mrs. Vesey with the
piano. Mr. Hartright is petitioning for some more music, and he wants
it, this time, of the lightest and liveliest kind."

IX

So ended my eventful first day at Limmeridge House.

Miss Halcombe and I kept our secret. After the discovery of the
likeness no fresh light seemed destined to break over the mystery of
the woman in white. At the first safe o