stifling, and could not draw in enough air to keep breathing.
"What is the matter with you, dear Antoinette?" said Camille, alarmed by
her pallor and her staring eyes.

She began to speak in a low, confused and broken voice, and Camille at
first could not understand what she was saying. But at last he did so,
and his soul was then divided between an immense pity for the grief that
overwhelmed her, and a ferocious joy at the thought of the utter rout of
his successful rival. Suddenly a step was heard on the garden path.

"Here he is," said Antoinette. "No, stay in here. I will call you if I
want you. In spite of all I have said I shall never believe that he has
deceived me unless I read the lie in his very eyes."

Instead of waiting for the visitor to be shown into her room, she ran
out, and met him in the garden. He came up to her smiling, thinking that
with the departure of Princess Gulof, all danger had vanished. But when
he saw the white face and burning eyes of Antoinette, he guessed that
she knew everything. He determined, however, to try and carry it off by
sheer audacity.

"I am sorry I left so early last evening," he said, "but that mad
Russian woman, whom I took into dinner, made me almost as crazy as she
was herself. She ought to be in an asylum. But the night repaid me for
all the worries of the evening. I dreamt of the Engadine, its emerald
lakes, its pine-trees, and its edelweiss."

"I, too, had a dream last night," said Antoinette slowly. "I dreamt that
this bracelet which you gave me belonged to the mad Russian woman, and
that she had engraved her name inside it." She threw the bracelet at
him. He picked it up, and turned it round and round in his trembling
fingers, looking at the plate which had been forced open.

"Can you tell me what I ought to think of Samuel Brohl?" she asked.

The name fell on him like a mass of lead; he reeled under the blow;
then, striking his head with his two fists, he answered:

"Samuel Brohl is a man worthy of your pity. If you only knew all that he
has suffered, all he has dared to do, you could not help pitying him,
yes, and admiring him. Samuel Brohl is an unfortunate ..."

"Scoundrel," she said in a terrible voice. "Madame Brohl!"--she began to
laugh hysterically--"Madame Brohl! No, I can't become Madame Brohl. Ah!
that poor Countess Larinski."

"You did not love the man," he said bitterly; "only the Count."

"The man I loved did not tell lies," she replied.

"Yes, I lied to you," he said, panting like a hunted animal, "and I take
all the shame of it gladly. I lied because I loved you to madness; and I
lied because you are dearer to me than honour; I lied because I
despaired of touching your heart, and I did not care by what means I won
you. Why did I ever meet you? Why couldn't I have passed you by, without
you becoming the dream of my whole life? I have lied. Who would not lie
to be loved by you?"

Never had Samuel Brohl appeared so beautiful. Despair and passion
lighted up his strange green eyes with a sombre flame. He had the
sinister charm of a fallen archangel, and he fixed on Antoinette a wild,
fascinating glance, that said:

"What do my name, my deceptions and the rest, matter to you? My face at
least is not a mask, and the man who moved you, the man who won you, was
I."

Mlle. Moriaz, however, divined the thought in the eyes of Samuel Brohl.

"You are a good actor," she said between her teeth. "But it is time that
this comedy came to an end."

He threw himself on the grass at her feet, and then sprang up, and tried
to clasp her in his arms.

"Camille! Camille!" she cried, "save me from this man."

Langis darted out after Brohl, and the Jew took to his heels. Langis
would have followed him as gladly as a hound follows a fox, but he saw
Antoinette's strength had given way, and running up to her, he caught
her in his arms as she reeled, and tenderly carried her into the house.
That evening, Count Abel Larinski disappeared from the world. Samuel
Brohl rose up from his grave at Bucharest, and took the name of Kicks,
and emigrated to America some time before the marriage of Mlle. Moriaz
to M. Camille Langis was announced in the "Figaro."

*       *       *       *       *




WILKIE COLLINS


No Name

William Wilkie Collins was born in London on January 8, 1824.
From the age of eight to fifteen he resided with his parents
in Italy, and on their return to England young Collins was
apprenticed to a firm of tea-merchants, abandoning that
business four years later for the law. This profession also
failed to appeal to him, although what he learned in it proved
extremely useful to him in his literary career. His first
published book was a "Life" of his father, William Collins,
R.A., in 1847. The success of the work gave him an incentive
towards writing, and three years later he published an
historical romance, "Antonina, or The Fall of Rome." About
this time he made the acquaintance of Charles Dickens, who was
then editor of "Household Words," to which periodical he
contributed some of his most successful fiction. "No Name,"
published in 1862, depended less upon dramatic situations and
more upon analysis of character and the solution of a problem.
That he was successful in his purpose is chiefly evidenced by
the wide popularity the story received on its appearance. "The
main object of the story," he wrote in the introduction to the
first edition, "is to appeal to the reader's interest in a
subject which has been the theme of some of the greatest
writers, living and dead, but which has never been, and can
never be, exhausted, because it is a subject eternally
interesting to all mankind. A book that depicts the struggle
of a human creature under those opposing influences of Good
and Evil which we have all felt, which we have all known."
Like others of Collins' stories, "No Name" was successfully
presented on the stage. Wilkie Collins died on September 23,
1889.


_I.--Nobody's Children_


A letter from America, bearing a New Orleans stamp, had an extraordinary
effect on the spirits of the Vanstone family as they sat round the
breakfast table at Coome-Raven, in West Somersetshire.

"An American letter, papa!" exclaimed Magdalen, the youngest daughter,
looking over her father's shoulder. "Who do you know at New Orleans?"

Mrs. Vanstone, sitting propped up with cushions at the other end of the
table, started and looked eagerly at her husband. Mr. Vanstone said
nothing, but his air of preoccupation and his unusual seriousness, which
not even Magdalen's playfulness affected, proved clearly that something
was wrong. The mystery of the letter puzzled both Magdalen and her elder
sister Norah, and in particular aroused a feeling of uneasiness,
impossible to explain, in the mind of the old family friend and
governess, Miss Garth.

Though neither Mr. nor Mrs. Vanstone offered any explanation, Miss Garth
felt more than ever certain that something unusual had occurred, when,
on the following day, they announced their intention of going to London
on private business. For nearly a month they stayed away, and at the end
of that period returned without offering any account of what they had
done on their mysterious visit.

Life at Coome-Raven went on as usual in a round of pleasant
distractions. Concerts, dances, and private theatricals, in which
Magdalen cut a great figure, winning even the praise of the professional
manager, who begged her to call on him if ever she should require a real
engagement, passed the weeks rapidly by.

To Magdalen also, the return of Frank Clare, the son of a very old
friend of Mr. Vanstone's, provided an interesting interlude. As his
father put it, "Frank had turned up at home again like a bad penny, and
was now lurking after the manner of louts." Though Mr. Clare's estimate
of his son was frankly truthful, Magdalen loved him with all the
passionate warmth of her nature, and when Frank, in order to escape
being sent to a business appointment in China, proposed marriage to her,
she accepted him joyfully. She urged her father to consent to their
immediate union.

"I must consult Frank's father, of course," he said, in conclusion. "We
must not forget that Mr. Clare's consent is still wanting to settle this
matter. And as we don't know what difficulties he may raise, the sooner
I see him the better."

In a state of obvious dejection, he walked over to the house which Mr.
Clare occupied. When, after some hours, he returned once more to
Coome-Raven, he informed his daughter that Frank was to have another
year's trial in London. If he proved himself capable, he should be
rewarded at the end of that time with Magdalen's hand.

Both the girl and Frank were delighted, but Mr. Vanstone did not reflect
their good spirits. He wired to his lawyer, Mr. Pendril, to come down
from town at once to Coome-Raven. So anxious was he to see his lawyer
that he drove over to the local station and took the train to the
neighbouring junction where Mr. Pendril would have to change.

Hours went by, and he did not return. As the evening closed down a
message was brought to Miss Garth that a man wished to speak to her. She
hurried out, and found herself face to face with a porter from the
junction, who explained that there had been an accident to the down
train at 1.50.

"God help us!" exclaimed the governess. "The train Mr. Vanstone
travelled by?"

"The same. There are seven passengers badly hurt, and two------"

The next word failed on his lips; he raised his hand in the dead
silence. With eyes that opened wide in horror he pointed over Miss
Garth's shoulder. She turned to see her mistress standing on the
threshold with staring, vacant eyes. With a dreadful stillness in her
voice, she repeated the man's last words, "Seven passengers badly hurt,
and two------"

Then she sank swooning into Miss Garth's arms.

From the shock of her husband's death, Mrs. Vanstone never recovered.

Heartbroken by the death of their parents, Norah and Magdalen had yet to
learn the full extent of the tragedy. That was first made clear to Miss
Garth by the lawyer.

Mr. Andrew Vanstone in his youth had joined the army and gone to Canada.
There he had been entrapped by a woman, whom he had married--a woman so
utterly vile and unprincipled that he was forced to leave her and return
to England. Shortly afterwards his father died, and, having been
estranged from his elder son, Michael Vanstone, bequeathed all his
property to Andrew.

Andrew Vanstone passed his life in a round of vicious pleasures, but as
his better nature had almost been destroyed by a woman, so now it was
retrieved by a woman. He fell in love, told the girl of his heart the
truth about himself, and she, out of the love she bore him, determined
to pass the rest of her life by his side, and Norah and Magdalen were
the children of their union.

"Tell me," said Miss Garth, in a voice faint with emotion, as the lawyer
laid bare the sad story, "why did they go to London?"

"They went to London to be married," cried Mr. Pendril.

In the letter from New Orleans, Mr. Vanstone had heard of the death of
his wife, and he had at once taken the necessary steps to make the woman
who had so long been his wife in the eyes of God his wife in the eyes of
the law. The story would never have been known had it not been for
Frank's engagement to Magdalen. The soul of honour, Mr. Vanstone thought
it his duty to inform Mr. Clare fully regarding his relations with Mrs.
Vanstone. His old friend proved himself deeply sympathetic, and then,
being a cautious man of business, inquired what steps Mr. Vanstone had
taken to provide for his daughters. The master of Coombe-Raven replied
that he had long ago made a will leaving them all he possessed. When Mr.
Clare pointed out that his recent marriage automatically destroyed the
effect of this testament, he was greatly distressed, and, hastening
home, had at once telegraphed to Mr. Pendril to come to Coome-Raven to
draw up another will without any loss of time. His tragic death had
prevented the execution of this plan, and the inability of Mrs. Vanstone
to sign any document before she died had resulted in Norah and Magdalen
being left absolutely penniless, and the estates passing to Michael
Vanstone.

"How am I to tell them?" exclaimed Miss Garth.

"There is no need to tell them," said a voice behind her. "They know it
already. Mr. Vanstone's daughters are 'nobody's children,' and the law
leaves them helpless at their uncle's mercy!"

It was Magdalen who spoke--Magdalen, with a changeless stillness on her
white face, and an icy resignation in her steady, grey eyes. From under
the open window of the room in which Mr. Pendril had told his story this
girl of eighteen had heard every word, and never once betrayed herself.

"I understand that my late brother"--so ran Michael Vanstone's letter of
instruction to his solicitor--"has left two illegitimate children, both
of them young women who are of an age to earn their own livelihood. Be
so good as to tell them that neither you nor I have anything to do with
questions of mere sentiment. Let them understand that Providence has
restored to me the inheritance that ought always to have been mine, and
I will not invite retribution on my own head by assisting those children
to continue the imposition which their parents practised, and by helping
them to take a place in the world to which they are not entitled."

"Norah," said Magdalen, turning to her sister, "if we both live to grow
old, and if ever you forget all we owe to Michael Vanstone--come to me,
and I will remind you."


_II.--Tricked into Marriage_


By fair means or foul, Magdalen, who, with Norah, had now made her home
with Miss Garth in London, had sworn to herself that she would win back
the property of which she had been robbed by Michael Vanstone. Selling
all her jewellery and dresses, she managed to secure two hundred pounds,
and with this sum in her pocket she secretly left home. The theatrical
manager, who had offered her an engagement should she ever require it,
had moved to York, and it was to that city that Magdalen hastened.

Her absence was at once discovered, and Miss Garth resorted to every
possible means of tracing her to her destination. A reward of fifty
pounds was offered, and her mode of procedure being suspected, handbills
setting forth her appearance were posted in York. It was one of these
bills that attracted the attention of a certain Captain Wragge.

Captain Wragge was the stepson of Mrs. Vanstone's mother, and had
persisted in regarding himself as a member of her family, and, having
known of the real relationship that existed between his half-sister and
Mr. Andrew Vanstone, had obtained from the latter a small annual subsidy
as the price of his silence. A confessed rogue, the captain imagined he
saw in this handbill an opportunity of re-stocking his exhausted
exchequer.

As he wandered on the walls of York, pondering how he should act, he met
Magdalen herself, and at once greeted her as a relative. The girl would
have avoided him, but on his pointing out that unless she placed herself
under his protection she was bound to be discovered and taken back to
her friends, she consented to accompany him to his lodgings. There he
introduced her to his wife, a tall, gaunt woman with a large,
good-natured, vacant face, who lived in a state of bemused terror of her
husband, who bullied and dragooned her according to his mood.

After listening to the frank exposition of his character and his method
of living, Magdalen decided to accept Captain Wragge's assistance. On
certain terms, Wragge agreed to train her for the stage and secure her
engagements, taking a half share of any money she might earn. In return
for these profits, he agreed to carry out certain inquiries whenever she
might think it necessary. As to the nature of these inquiries, she, for
the time being, preserved silence.

Magdalen's talent for acting proved highly successful, and under the
direction of the captain she began rapidly to make a reputation for
herself, and at the end of six months she had saved between six and
seven hundred pounds. She now decided that it was time to put her plan
of retribution into execution.

At her instructions, Captain Wragge had discovered that Michael Vanstone
was dead and that his son, Noel Vanstone, had succeeded to the property,
and was now living with his father's old housekeeper, a certain Swiss
lady, the widow of a professor of science, by name Mrs. Lecount, in
Vauxhall Walk, Lambeth. The remaining information that Wragge obtained
regarding the Vanstones was to the effect that the deceased Michael had
a great friend in Admiral Bartram, whose nephew George was the son of
Mr. Andrew Vanstone's sister, and therefore the cousin of Noel Vanstone.
Having this information, Magdalen calmly informed Wragge that their
alliance, for the moment, was at an end, and taking Mrs. Wragge with
her, journeyed to London. There she obtained rooms directly opposite the
house occupied by Noel Vanstone. Disguising herself as Miss Garth and
assuming her old governess's voice and manner, she boldly visited the
house. She found Noel Vanstone a weak, avaricious coward, who was
already terrified by the letters she had written him demanding the
restitution of her fortune. He was completely at the mercy of Mrs.
Lecount.

Something about the supposed Miss Garth excited the suspicion of Mrs.
Lecount, and she deliberately set about to try and make her visitor
betray what she was convinced she was concealing.

"I would suggest," said Mrs. Lecount, "that you give a hundred pounds to
each of these unfortunate sisters."

"He will repent the insult to the last hour of his life," said Magdalen.

The instant that answer passed her lips, she would have given worlds to
recall it. Her passionate words had been uttered in her own voice. Mrs.
Lecount detected the change, and, with a view to establishing some proof
of the identity of her visitor, she secured, by a subterfuge, a thin
strip of the old-fashioned skirt which Magdalen was wearing in the
character of Miss Garth.

Foiled in her appeal to Noel Vanstone, Magdalen determined to put in
train the plot she had long proposed to herself. She set out
deliberately to win the property of which she and her sister had been
despoiled, by winning the hand of Noel Vanstone. A letter from Frank
Clare had released her from her engagement, and with a bitter heart she
went down to Aldborough, in Suffolk, whither Noel Vanstone had removed
for his health.

In the character of the niece of Mr. Bygrave, which role Captain Wragge
adopted, she laid siege to the selfish affections of Noel Vanstone. Her
task proved ridiculously easy. Noel fell hopelessly in love with her,
and before many days were out proposed marriage. So far, everything had
worked smoothly, but at this point Mrs. Lecount's fears were aroused.
She determined to prevent the marriage at all costs, and used every
possible means to dissuade her master from having anything more to do
with the Bygraves, and the whole plot must have fallen to the ground had
it not been for the persistence and skilful diplomacy displayed by
Captain Wragge.

He arranged that Noel should visit Admiral Bartram, leaving Mrs. Lecount
behind to pack up. From Admiral Bartram's he was to proceed to London,
where he would be duly united to Magdalen. In order to secure the
non-interference of Mrs. Lecount, the captain sent her a forged letter,
summoning her at once to the death-bed of her brother at Zurich. But
Mrs. Lecount was not so easily disposed of as Captain Wragge had
imagined.

As soon as her master departed for Admiral Bartram's she took the
opportunity, when both Magdalen and the captain were out, to visit their
house. Readily persuading the simple-minded Mrs. Wragge, who had a
passion for clothes, to show her Magdalen's wardrobe, she discovered
there the skirt from which she had cut a piece on the occasion of the
girl's visit in the character of Miss Garth.

She was detected by Captain Wragge leaving the house, but, careless of
what the latter might think, she returned home in triumph. There she
found the letter summoning her to Zurich. There was no time to be lost;
she had to go. But before she set out she wrote a letter to Noel
Vanstone, disclosing the whole facts of the conspiracy.

Captain Wragge, positive in his own mind that Mrs. Lecount had
discovered everything, would have consulted Magdalen, but the girl was
in a condition which prevented her from taking any active part in the
affair. She wandered about Aldborough with a settled despair written
clearly on the beautiful features of her face. Her woe-begone appearance
attracted the attention of a certain Captain Kirke, and he carried away
with him on his ship the indelible memory of her beauty.

Captain Wragge had to depend solely on his own exertions. Waiting till
the housekeeper had left Aldborough, he discovered, by inquiries at the
post-office, that Mrs. Lecount had written to Noel Vanstone. That letter
must be stopped at all costs, and the captain acted boldly. The day was
Saturday. Obtaining a special licence, he hurried off to Admiral
Bartram's, before Mrs. Lecount's letter was delivered, and induced Noel
Vanstone to accompany him to London. At the same time he left behind him
several envelopes, addressed to "Captain Wragge," under cover of which
Admiral Bartram was to forward all correspondence which might arrive
after his departure. By this means, Mrs. Lecount's letter was prevented
from coming into the hands of her master, and two days later Magdalen
duly became the wife of Noel Vanstone.

Twelve weeks later, Noel Vanstone walked moodily about the garden of a
cottage he had taken in the Highlands. That morning Magdalen, without
even asking his permission, had set out for London to see her sister,
and her husband, his health greatly enfeebled, was left alone, weak and
miserable. He had a habit of mourning over himself, and as he rested,
looking over a fence, he sighed bitterly.

"You were happier with me," said a voice at his side.

He turned with a scream to see Mrs. Lecount. She told him how his wife
was Magdalen Vanstone, how she had married him simply from a desire to
recover the fortune of which she had been robbed by Michael Vanstone,
also suggesting that Magdalen intended to attempt his life.

Shivering with terror, Noel Vanstone became like wax in Mrs. Lecount's
hands. He at once agreed to draw up a new will at her dictation,
completely cutting off his wife. He bequeathed Mrs. Lecount L5,000, and
declared that he wished to leave the remainder to his cousin, George
Bartram. Such an arrangement, however, Mrs. Lecount foresaw, might be
fraught with those very dangers which she wished to avoid. George
Bartram was young and susceptible. It was conceivable that Magdalen,
robbed of the stake for which she had so boldly played, might, on her
husband's death, attempt to secure the prize by luring George Bartram
into a marriage. At the instigation of his housekeeper, Noel Vanstone
therefore bequeathed the residue of his estate absolutely to Admiral
Bartram. But this will was coupled with a letter addressed to the
admiral, secretly entrusting him to make the estate over to George under
certain circumstances. He was to be married to, or to marry within six
months, a woman who was not a widow. In the event of his not complying
with these conditions, which would prevent his marriage with Magdalen,
the money was to go to his married sister.

Having outwitted Magdalen, Mrs. Lecount's next object was to remove Noel
Vanstone down to London. In order that he might be strong enough to
travel, Mrs. Lecount prepared a favourite posset for him. Returning with
the fragrant mixture, she noticed him sitting at a table, his head
resting on his hand, apparently asleep.

"Your drink, Mr. Noel," she said, touching him. He took no notice. She
looked at him closer Noel Vanstone was dead.


_III.--The Darkest Hour_


In pursuance of her determination to discover the secret trust, Magdalen
secured a position as parlourmaid in Admiral Bartram's house. For days
she waited for an opportunity of examining the admiral's papers. At
night the admiral, who was addicted to sleep-walking, was guarded by a
drunken old sea-dog, called Mazey, and in the daytime she could do
nothing without being detected.

The secret trust lay heavily on the admiral's mind, and it became the
more unbearable when George Bartram came down and announced his
intention of marrying Norah Vanstone. George's married sister was dead,
and thus one of the two objects contemplated by the secret trust had
failed, and only a fortnight remained before the expiry of six months in
which George Bartram had to marry in order to inherit the fortune. The
admiral objected to the marriage with Norah Vanstone, but was at a loss
how to dissuade George from the match.

While this problem was occupying the admiral's attention, Magdalen at
last found the chance of examining her master's private apartments.
Mazey, under the influence of drink, had deserted his post, and, with a
basket of keys in her hands, Magdalen crept into the room where the
admiral kept his papers. Drawer after drawer she opened, but nowhere
could she find the secret trust.

Suddenly she heard a footstep, and turning round quickly, she saw coming
towards her, in the moonlight, the figure of Admiral Bartram. Transfixed
with terror, she watched him coming nearer and nearer. He did not seem
to see her, and as he almost brushed past her she heard him exclaim:
"Noel, I don't know where it's safe. I don't know where to put it. Take
it back, Noel."

Magdalen, realising that the admiral was walking in his sleep, followed
him closely. He went to a drawer in a cabinet and took out a folded
letter, and putting it down before him on the table, repeated
mechanically, "Take it back, Noel--take it back!"

Looking over his shoulder, Magdalen saw that the paper was the secret
trust. She watched the admiral replace it in another cabinet, and then
walk back silently to his bed. In another moment she had taken
possession of the letter, when a hand was suddenly laid on her wrist,
and the voice of old Mazey exclaimed, "Drop it, Jezebel--drop it!"

Dragging her away, old Mazey locked her in her room for the night; but
early the following morning relented, and allowed her to leave the
house.

Three weeks later Admiral Bartram died, and though Magdalen instructed
her solicitors to set up the secret trust, and though the house was
searched from top to bottom, the letter could not be found. In
consequence, the property passed to George Bartram, who, two months
later, married Norah Vanstone.

Magdalen gave up the struggle in despair, and not daring to return to
her people, sunk lower and lower until she reached the depths of
poverty. At last, in a wretched quarter in the East End, she came to the
end of her resources. Ill and almost dying, the people from whom she
rented her one miserable room determined to send her to the workhouse. A
crowd collected to watch her departure. She was just about to be carried
to a cab, when a man pushed his way through the crowd and saw her face.

That man was Captain Kirke, who had seen her at Aldborough. He at once
gave instructions for her to be taken back into the house, paid a sum
down for her proper treatment, and secured the services of a doctor and
a nurse. Every day he came to inquire after her, and when at last, after
weeks of suffering, her strength returned, it was he who brought Norah
and Miss Garth to her.

After the long separation the two sisters had much to tell one another.
Norah, who had bowed patiently under her misfortunes, had achieved the
very object for which Magdalen had schemed in vain. She had obtained,
through her marriage with George Bartram, the fortune which her father
had intended for her. Among other things which she related to Magdalen
was the account of how she had discovered the secret trust simply by
chance. By the discovery of this document, Magdalen became entitled to
half her late husband's fortune; for, the secret trust having failed,
the law had distributed the estate between the deceased's next of
kin--half to Magdalen and half to George Bartram. Taking the paper from
her sister's hands, Magdalen tore it into pieces.

"This paper alone gives me the fortune which I obtained by marrying Noel
Vanstone," she said. "I will owe nothing to my past life. I part with it
as I part with these torn morsels of paper."

*       *       *       *       *

To Captain Kirke, Magdalen wrote the complete story of all she had done.
She felt it was due to him that he should know all. She awaited the
inevitable result--the inevitable separation from the man she had grown
to love. When he had read it he came to her.

Near to tears, she waited to hear her fate.

"Tell me what you think of me! Tell me the truth!" she said.

"With my own lips?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered. "Say what you think of me with your own lips."

She looked up at him for the first time, and then, he stooped and kissed
her.

*       *       *       *       *




The Woman in White

Wilkie Collins' greatest success was achieved on the
appearance of "The Woman in White" in 1860, a story described
by Thackeray as "thrilling." The book attracted immediate
attention, Collins' method of unravelling an intricate plot by
a succession of narratives being distinctly novel, and
appealing immensely to the reading public.


_I.--The Woman Appears_


_The story here presented will be told by several pens. Let Walter
Hartright, teacher of drawing, aged twenty-eight, be heard first_.

I had once saved Professor Pesca from drowning, and in his desire to do
"a good something for Walter," the warm-hearted little Italian secured
me the position of art-master at Limmeridge House, Cumberland.

It was the night before my departure to take up my duties as teacher to
Miss Laura Fairlie and her half-sister, Miss Marian Halcombe, and
general assistant to Frederick Fairlie, uncle and guardian to Miss
Fairlie. Having bidden good-bye to my mother and sister at their cottage
in Hampstead, I decided to walk home to my chambers the longest possible
way round. In the after-warmth of the hot July day I made my way across
the darkened Heath. Suddenly I was startled by a hand laid lightly on my
shoulder. I turned to see the figure of a solitary woman, with a
colourless youthful face, dressed from head to foot in white garments.

"Is that the road to London?" she said.

Her sudden appearance, her extraordinary dress, and the strained tones
of her voice so surprised me that I hesitated some moments before
replying. Her agitation at my silence was distressing, and calming her
as well as I could, and promising to help her to get a cab, I asked her
a few questions. Her answers showed that she was suffering from some
terrible nervous excitement. She asked me if I knew any baronet--any
from Hampshire--and seemed almost absurdly relieved when I assured her I
did not. In the course of our conversation, as we walked towards St.
John's Wood, I discovered a curious circumstance. She knew Limmeridge
House and the Fairlies!

Having found her a cab, I bade her good-bye. As we parted she suddenly
seized my hand and kissed it with overwhelming gratitude. Her conveyance
was hardly out of sight when two men drove past in an open chaise, and
drawing up in front of a policeman, asked him if he had seen a woman in
white, promising a reward if he caught her.

"What has she done?" queried the policeman.

"Done!" exclaimed one of the men. "She has escaped from our asylum."

The day following this strange adventure I arrived at Limmeridge House,
and the next morning made the acquaintance of the household. Marian
Halcombe and Laura Fairlie, her half-sister, were, in point of
appearance, the exact reverse of each other. The former was a tall,
masculine-looking woman, with a masculine capacity for deep friendship.
The latter was made in a slighter mould, with charming, delicate
features, set off by a mass of pale-brown hair. Mr. Frederick Fairlie I
found to be a neurotic, utterly selfish gentleman, who passed his life
in his own apartments, amusing himself with bullying his valet,
examining his works of art, and talking of his nerves.

With the other members of the household I soon became on a friendly
footing. Miss Halcombe, when I told her of my strange adventure on
Hampstead Heath, turned up her mother's correspondence with her second
husband, and discovered there a reference to the woman in white, who
bore a striking resemblance to Miss Fairlie. Her name was Anne
Catherick. She had stayed for a short time in the neighbourhood with her
mother, and had been befriended by Mrs. Fairlie.

As the months went by I fell passionately and hopelessly in love with
Laura Fairlie. No word of love, however, passed between us, but Miss
Halcombe, realising the situation, broke to me gently the fact that my
love was hopeless. Almost from childhood Laura had been engaged to Sir
Percival Clyde, a Hampshire baronet, and her marriage was due to take
place shortly. I accepted the inevitable and decided to resign my
position. But before I set out from Limmeridge House, many strange
things happened.

Shortly before the arrival of Sir Percival Clyde to settle the details
of his marriage, Laura had an anonymous letter, warning her against the
union, and concluding with the words, "your mother's daughter has a
tender place in my heart, for your mother was my first, my best, my only
friend." Two days after the receipt of this letter I came upon Anne
Catherick, busily tending the grave of Mrs. Fairlie. With difficulty I
persuaded her to tell me something of her story. That she had been
locked up in an asylum--unjustly, it was clear--I already knew. She
confessed to having written the letter to Laura, but when I mentioned
the name of Sir Percival Glyde, she shrieked aloud with terror. It was
obvious that it was the baronet who had placed her under restraint.

The Fairlies' family solicitor, Mr. Gilmore, arriving next day, the
whole matter was placed before him. He decided to send the anonymous
letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors and to ask for an explanation.
Before any reply was received, I had left Limmeridge House, bidding
farewell to the place where I had spent so many happy hours, and to the
girl I loved.


_II.--The Story Continued by Vincent Gilmore, of Chancery Lane,