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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, Solicitor to the Fairlies

I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright, to describe the events which took place after his departure from Limmeridge House.

My letter to Sir Percival Glyde's solicitors regarding Anne Catherick's anonymous communication was answered by the baronet in person on his arrival at Limmeridge House. He was the first to offer an explanation. Anne Catherick was the daughter of one of his old family servants, and in consideration of her mother's past services he had sent her to a private asylum instead of allowing her to go to one of the public establishments where her mental condition would otherwise have compelled her to remain. Her animus against Sir Percival was due to the fact that she had discovered that he was the cause of her incarceration. The anonymous letter was evidence of this insane antipathy.

My next concern with this history deals with the drawing up of Miss Fairlie's marriage settlement. Besides being heiress to the Limmeridge property, Miss Fairlie had personal estate to the value of £20,000, derived under the will of her father, Philip Fairlie. To this she became entitled on completing her twenty-first year. She had a life interest, moreover, in £10,000, which on her death passed to her father's sister Eleanor, the wife of Count Fosco, an Italian nobleman. In all human probability the Countess Fosco would never enjoy this money, for she was well advanced in age, while Laura was not yet twenty-one.

Regarding the £20,000, the proper and fair course was that the whole amount should be settled so as to give the income to the lady for her life, afterwards to Sir Percival for his life, and the principal to the children of the marriage. In default of issue, the principal was to be disposed of as the lady might by her will direct, thus enabling her to make provision for her half-sister, Marian Halcombe. This was the fair and proper settlement, but Sir Percival's solicitors insisted that the principal should go to Sir Percival Glyde in the event of his surviving Lady Glyde and there being no issue. I protested in vain, and this iniquitous settlement, which placed every farthing of the £20,000 in Sir Percival's pocket, and prevented Miss Fairlie providing for Miss Halcombe, was duly signed.