at her side, as if it had been a living creature that
she could kill, and crushed it in both her hands with such convulsive
strength, that the few drops of moisture left in it trickled down on
the stone beneath her.

"Talk of something else," she said, whispering through her teeth. "I
shall lose myself if you talk of that."

Every vestige of the gentler thoughts which had filled her mind hardly
a minute since seemed to be swept from it now. It was evident that the
impression left by Mrs. Fairlie's kindness was not, as I had supposed,
the only strong impression on her memory. With the grateful remembrance
of her school-days at Limmeridge, there existed the vindictive
remembrance of the wrong inflicted on her by her confinement in the
Asylum. Who had done that wrong? Could it really be her mother?

It was hard to give up pursuing the inquiry to that final point, but I
forced myself to abandon all idea of continuing it. Seeing her as I
saw her now, it would have been cruel to think of anything but the
necessity and the humanity of restoring her composure.

"I will talk of nothing to distress you," I said soothingly.

"You want something," she answered sharply and suspiciously. "Don't
look at me like that. Speak to me--tell me what you want."

"I only want you to quiet yourself, and when you are calmer, to think
over what I have said."

"Said?" She paused--twisted the cloth in her hands, backwards and
forwards, and whispered to herself, "What is it he said?" She turned
again towards me, and shook her head impatiently. "Why don't you help
me?" she asked, with angry suddenness.

"Yes, yes," I said, "I will help you, and you will soon remember. I ask
you to see Miss Fairlie to-morrow and to tell her the truth about the
letter."

"Ah! Miss Fairlie--Fairlie--Fairlie----"

The mere utterance of the loved familiar name seemed to quiet her. Her
face softened and grew like itself again.

"You need have no fear of Miss Fairlie," I continued, "and no fear of
getting into trouble through the letter. She knows so much about it
already, that you will have no difficulty in telling her all. There
can be little necessity for concealment where there is hardly anything
left to conceal. You mention no names in the letter; but Miss Fairlie
knows that the person you write of is Sir Percival Glyde----"

The instant I pronounced that name she started to her feet, and a
scream burst from her that rang through the churchyard, a