Southampton. Catherick had found it a hard
matter to get her to marry him— in consequence
of her holding herself uncommonly high. He
had asked and asked, and given the thing up at
last, seeing she was so contrary about it. When
he had given it up, she turned contrary, just the
other way, and came to him of her own accord,
without rhyme or reason seemingly. My poor
husband always said that was the time to have
given her a lesson. But Catherick was too fond
of her to do anything of the sort; he never
checked her, either before they were married or
after. He was a quick man in his feelings,
letting them carry him a deal too far, now in one
way, and now in another; and he would have
spoilt a better wife than Mrs. Catherick, if a
better had married him. I don't like to speak
ill of any one, sir—but she was a heartless
woman, with a terrible will of her own; fond
of foolish admiration and fine clothes, and not
caring to show so much as decent outward
respect to Catherick, kindly as he always treated
her. My husband said he thought things would
turn out badly, when they first came to live near
us; and his words proved true. Before they
had been quite four months in our neighbourhood,
there was a dreadful scandal and a miserable
break-up in their household. Both of them
were in fault— I am afraid both of them were
equally in fault."

"You mean both husband and wife?"

"Oh, no, sir! I don't mean Catherick—he
was only to be pitied. I meant his wife, and
the person—- "

"And the person who caused the scandal?"

"Yes, sir. A gentleman born and brought
up, who ought to have set a better example.
You know him, sir— and my poor, dear Anne
knew him, only too well."

"Sir Percival Glyde?"

"Yes. Sir Percival Glyde."

My heart beat fast— I thought I had my hand
on the clue. How little I knew, then, of the
windings of the labyrinth which were still to
mislead me!

" Did Sir Percival live in your neighbourhood
at that time?" I asked.

"No, sir. He came among us as a stranger.
His father had died, not long before, in foreign
parts. I remember he was in mourning. He
put up at the little inn on the river (they have
pulled it down since that time), where gentlemen
used to go to fish. He wasn't much noticed
when he first came— it was a common thing
enough for gentlemen to travel, from all parts
of England, to fish in our river."

"Did he make his appearance in the village
before Anne was born?"

"Yes, sir. Anne was born in the June month
of eighteen hundred and twenty-seven— and I
think he came at the end of April, or the
beginning of May."

"Came as a stranger to all of you? A stranger
to Mrs. Catherick, as well as to the rest of the
neighbours?"

"So we thought at first, sir. But when the
scandal broke out, nobody believed they were
strangers. I remember how it happened, as well
as if it was yesterday. Catherick came into our
garden one night, and woke us with throwing
up a handful of gravel from the walk, at our
window. I heard him beg my husband, for the
Lord's sake, to come down and speak to him.
They were a long time together talking in the
porch. When my husband came back up-stairs
he was all of a tremble. He sat down on the
side of the bed, and he says to me, "Lizzie! I
always told you that woman was a bad one; I
alway said she would end ill—and I'm afraid,
in my own mind, that the end has come already.
Catherick has found a lot of lace lace handkerchiefs,
and two fine rings, and a new gold watch and
chain, hid away in his wife's drawer—things
that nobody but a born lady ought ever to have
—and his wife won't say how how she came by them."
"Does he think she stole them?" says I. "No"
says he, "stealing would be bad enough. But
it's worse than that—she's had no chance of
stealing such things as those, and she's not a
woman to take them, if she had. They're gifts,
Lizzie—there's her own initials engraved inside
the watch—and Catherick has seen her, talking
privately, and carrying on as no married woman
should, with that gentleman in mourning
—Sir Percival Glyde. Don't you say anything
about it—I've quieted Catherick for
tonight. I've told him to keep his tongue to himself,
and his eyes and ears open, and to wait
a day or two, till he can be quite certain." "I
believe you are both of you wrong," says I.
"It's not in nature, comfortable and respectable
as she is here, that Mrs. Catherick should take
up with a chance stranger like Sir Percival
Glyde." "Ay, but is he a stranger to her?" says
my husband. "You forget how Catherick's wife
came to marry him. She went to him of her
own accord after saying No, over and over
again, when he asked her. There have been
wicked women, before her time, Lizzie, who
have used honest men who loved them as a
means of saving their characters—and I'm
sorely afraid this Mrs. Catherick is as wicked as
the worst of them. 'We shall see,' says my
husband, 'we shall soon see.' And only two
days afterwards, we did see."

Mrs. Clements waited for a moment, before
she went on. Even in that moment, I began to
doubt whether the clue that I thought I had
found was really leading me to the central
mystery of the labyrinth, after all. Was this
common, too common, story of a man's treachery
and a woman's frailty the key to a secret which
had been the life-long terror of Sir Percival
Glyde?

"Well, sir, Catherick took my husband's
advice, and waited," Mrs. Clements continued.
"And, as I told you, he hadn't long to wait. On
the second day, he found his wife and Sir
Percival whispering together, quite familiar, close
under the vestry of the church. I suppose they
thought the neighbourhood of the vestry was
the last place in the world where anybody would
think of looking after them— but, however that
may be, there they were. Sir Percival, being