poor dazed Anne Catherick
were nearer to each other then than they are now!'"

"Did you remember her, Laura, when she told you her name?"

"Yes, I remembered your asking me about Anne Catherick at Limmeridge,
and your saying that she had once been considered like me."

"What reminded you of that, Laura?"

"SHE reminded me. While I was looking at her, while she was very close
to me, it came over my mind suddenly that we were like each other! Her
face was pale and thin and weary--but the sight of it startled me, as
if it had been the sight of my own face in the glass after a long
illness. The discovery--I don't know why--gave me such a shock, that I
was perfectly incapable of speaking to her for the moment."

"Did she seem hurt by your silence?"

"I am afraid she was hurt by it. 'You have not got your mother's
face,' she said, 'or your mother's heart. Your mother's face was dark,
and your mother's heart, Miss Fairlie, was the heart of an angel.' 'I
am sure I feel kindly towards you,' I said, 'though I may not be able
to express it as I ought. Why do you call me Miss Fairlie?----'
'Because I love the name of Fairlie and hate the name of Glyde,' she
broke out violently. I had seen nothing like madness in her before
this, but I fancied I saw it now in her eyes. 'I only thought you
might not know I was married,' I said, remembering the wild letter she
wrote to me at Limmeridge, and trying to quiet her. She sighed
bitterly, and turned away from me. 'Not know you were married?' she
repeated. 'I am here BECAUSE you are married. I am here to make
atonement to you, before I meet your mother in the world beyond the
grave.' She drew farther and farther away from me, till she was out of
the boat-house, and then she watched and listened for a little while.
When she turned round to speak again, instead of coming back, she
stopped where she was, looking in at me, with a hand on each side of
the entrance. 'Did you see me at the lake last night?' she said. 'Did
you hear me following you in the wood? I have been waiting for days
together to speak to you alone--I have left the only friend I have in
the world, anxious and frightened about me--I have risked being shut
up again in the mad-house--and all for your sake, Miss Fairlie, all for
your sake.' Her words alarmed me, Marian, and yet there was something
in the way she spoke that made me pity her with all my heart. I am
sure my pity must have been sincere, for it made