mother a form of letter to write to Miss Halcombe,
exonerating me from any bad motive in putting her under restraint.
I've spent, I'm afraid to say how much, in trying to trace her, and in
spite of it all, she turns up here and escapes me on my own property!
How do I know who else may see her, who else may speak to her? That
prying scoundrel, Hartright, may come back without my knowing it, and
may make use of her to-morrow----"

"Not he, Percival! While I am on the spot, and while that woman is in
the neighbourhood, I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr.
Hartright--even if he does come back. I see! yes, yes, I see! The
finding of Anne Catherick is the first necessity--make your mind easy
about the rest. Your wife is here, under your thumb--Miss Halcombe is
inseparable from her, and is, therefore, under your thumb also--and Mr.
Hartright is out of the country. This invisible Anne of yours is all we
have to think of for the present. You have made your inquiries?"

"Yes. I have been to her mother, I have ransacked the village--and
all to no purpose."

"Is her mother to be depended on?"

"Yes."

"She has told your secret once."

"She won't tell it again."

"Why not? Are her own interests concerned in keeping it, as well as
yours?"

"Yes--deeply concerned."

"I am glad to hear it, Percival, for your sake. Don't be discouraged,
my friend. Our money matters, as I told you, leave me plenty of time
to turn round in, and I may search for Anne Catherick to-morrow to
better purpose than you. One last question before we go to bed."

"What is it?"

"It is this. When I went to the boat-house to tell Lady Glyde that the
little difficulty of her signature was put off, accident took me there
in time to see a strange woman parting in a very suspicious manner from
your wife. But accident did not bring me near enough to see this same
woman's face plainly. I must know how to recognise our invisible Anne.
What is she like?"

"Like? Come! I'll tell you in two words. She's a sickly likeness of my
wife."

The chair creaked, and the pillar shook once more. The Count was on
his feet again--this time in astonishment.

"What!!!" he exclaimed eagerly.

"Fancy my wife, after a bad illness, with a touch of something wrong in
her head--and there is Anne Catherick for you," answered Sir Percival.

"Are they related to each other?"

"Not a bit of it."

"And yet so like?"

"Yes, so like. What are you la