cur to my mind which he used in reference to
old Bridget Fitzgerald, of Coldholme, whom he once encountered while
staying with me at Starkey Manor-House. I remember that the meeting
seemed to have produced some extraordinary effect upon his mind, as
though he had suddenly discovered some connection which she might have
had with his previous life. I beg you to let me know if I can be of any
further service to you. Your uncle once rendered me a good turn, and I
will gladly repay it, so far as in me lies, to his nephew.'

I was now apparently close on the discovery which I had striven so many
months to attain. But success had lost its zest. I put my letters down,
and seemed to forget them all in thinking of the morning I had passed
that very day. Nothing was real but the unreal presence, which had come
like an evil blast across my bodily eyes, and burnt itself down upon my
brain. Dinner came, and went away untouched. Early in the afternoon I
walked to the farm-house. I found Mistress Clarke alone, and I was glad
and relieved. She was evidently prepared to tell me all I might wish to
hear.

'You asked me for Mistress Lucy's true name; it is Gisborne,' she
began.

'Not Gisborne of Skipford?' I exclaimed, breathless with anticipation.

'The same,' said she, quietly, not regarding my manner. 'Her father is
a man of note; although, being a Roman Catholic, he cannot take that
rank in this country to which his station entitles him. The consequence
is that he lives much abroad--has been a soldier, I am told.'

'And Lucy's mother?' I asked.

She shook her head. 'I never knew her,' said she. 'Lucy was about three
years old when I was engaged to take charge of her. Her mother was
dead.'

'But you know her name?--you can tell if it was Mary Fitzgerald?'

She looked astonished. 'That was her name. But, sir, how came you to be
so well acquainted with it? It was a mystery to the whole household at
Skipford Court. She was some beautiful young woman whom he lured away
from her protectors while he was abroad. I have heard said he practised
some terrible deceit upon her, and when she came to know it, she was
neither to have nor to hold, but rushed off from his very arms, and
threw herself into a rapid stream and was drowned. It stung him deep
with remorse, but I used to think the remembrance of the mother's cruel
death made him love the child yet dearer.'

I told her, as briefly as might be, of my researches after the
descendant a