conceived the most intense hatred and distrust
of him in consequence. To that hatred and
distrust—which had expressed itself in various
ways in the Asylum—the anonymous letter
written, after her escape, was plainly
attributable. If Miss Halcombe's or Mr. Gilmore's
recollection of the document did not confirm that
view, or if they wished for any additional
particulars about the Asylum (the address of which
he mentioned, as well as the names and
addresses of the two doctors on whose certificates
the patient was admitted), he was ready to
answer any question and to clear up any
uncertainty. He had done his duty to the
unhappy young woman, by instructing his
solicitor to spare no expense in tracing her, and
in restoring her once more to medical care; and
he was now only anxious to do his duty towards
Miss Fairlie and towards her family, in the
same plain, straightforward way.

I was the first to speak in answer to this
appeal. My own course was plain to me. It is
the great beauty of the Law that it can dispute
any human statement, made under any
circumstances, and reduced to any form. If I had felt
professionally called upon to set up a case
against Sir Percival Glyde, on the strength of
his own explanation, I could have done so
beyond all doubt. But my duty did not lie in
this direction: my function was of the purely
judicial kind. I was to weigh the explanation
we had just heard; to allow all due force to the
high reputation of the gentleman who offered it;
and to decide honestly whether the probabilities,
on Sir Percival's own showing, were plainly with
him, or plainly against him. My own conviction
was that they were plainly with him; and I
accordingly declared that his explanation was, to
my mind, unquestionably a satisfactory one.

Miss Halcombe, after looking at me very
earnestly, said a few words, on her side, to the
same effect—with a certain hesitation of manner,
however, which the circumstances did not seem
to me to warrant. I am unable to say,
positively, whether Sir Percival noticed this or not.
My opinion is that he did; seeing that he
pointedly resumed the subject, although he
might, now, with all propriety, have allowed it
to drop.

"If my plain statement of facts had only been
addressed to Mr. Gilmore," he said, "I should
consider any further reference to this unhappy
matter as unnecessary. I may fairly expect
Mr. Gilmore, as a gentleman, to believe me on
my word; and when he has done me that
justice, all discussion of the subject between us has
come to an end. But my position with a lady
is not the same. I owe to her, what I would
concede to no man alive—a proof of the truth
of my assertion. You cannot ask for that proof,
Miss Halcombe; and it is therefore my duty to
you, and still more to Miss Fairlie, to offer it.
May I beg that you will write at once to the
mother of this unfortunate woman—to Mrs.
Catherick—to ask for her testimony in support
of the explanation which I have just offered to
you."

I saw Miss Halcombe change colour, and look
a little uneasy. Sir Percival's suggestion,
politely as it was expressed, appeared to her, as it
appeared to me, to point, very delicately, at the
hesitation which her manner had betrayed a
moment or two since.

"I hope, Sir Percival, you don't do me the
injustice to suppose that I distrust you," she
said, quickly.

"Certainly not, Miss Halcombe. I make
my proposal purely as an act of attention to
you. Will you excuse my obstinacy if I still
venture to press it?"

He walked to the writing-table, as he spoke;
drew a chair to it; and opened the paper-case.

"Let me beg you to write the note," he said,
"as a favour to me. It need not occupy you
more than a few minutes. You have only to
ask Mrs. Catherick two questions. First, if her
daughter was placed in the Asylum with her
knowledge and approval. Secondly, if the share
I took in the matter was such as to merit the
expression of her gratitude towards myself? Mr.
Gilmore's mind is at ease on this unpleasant
subject; and your mind is at ease—pray set my
mind at ease also, by writing the note."

"You oblige me to grant your request, Sir
Percival, when I would much rather refuse it."
With those words Miss Halcombe rose from
her place, and went to the writing-table. Sir
Percival thanked her, handed her a pen, and then
walked away towards the fireplace. Miss Fairlie's
little Italian greyhound was lying on the
rug. He held out his hand, and called to the
dog good-humouredly.

"Come, Nina," he said; "we remember each
other, don't we?"

The little beast, cowardly and cross-grained
as pet-dogs usually are, looked up at him
sharply, shrank away from his outstretched
hand, whined, shivered, and hid itself under a
sofa. It was scarcely possible that he could
have been put out by such a trifle as a dog's
reception of him—but I observed, nevertheless,
that he walked away towards the window very
suddenly.

Miss Halcombe was not long in writing the
note. When it was done, she rose from the
writing-table, and handed the open sheet of
paper to Sir Percival. He bowed; took it
from her; folded it up immediately, without
looking at the contents; sealed it; wrote the
address; and handed it back to her in silence.
I never saw anything more gracefully and more
becomingly done, in my life.

"You insist on my posting this letter, Sir
Percival?" said Miss Halcombe.

"I beg you will post it," he answered. "And
now that it is written and sealed up, allow me
to ask one or two last questions about the
unhappy woman to whom it refers. I have read
the communication which Mr. Gilmore kindly
addressed to my solicitor, describing the
circumstances under which the writer of the
anonymous letter was identified. But there are
certain points to which that statement does not
refer. Did Anne Catherick see Miss Fairlie?"