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Your mother's face was dark, and your mother's heart, Miss Fairlie, was the heart of an angel. 'I am sure I feel kindly towards you, I said, 'though I may not be able to express it as I ought. Why do you call me Miss Fairlie? 'Because I love the name of Fairlie and hate the name of Glyde, she broke out violently.
The register of the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde was in no respect remarkable except for the narrowness of the space into which it was compressed at the bottom of the page. The information about his wife was the usual information given in such cases. She was described as "Cecilia Jane Elster, of Park-View Cottages, Knowlesbury, only daughter of the late Patrick Elster, Esq., formerly of Bath."
Ballinger could no longer restrain a contemptuous laugh. "Really, if the Lunch Club has reached such a pass that it has to go to Fanny Roby for instruction on a subject like Xingu, it had almost better cease to exist!" "It's really her fault for not being clearer," Laura Glyde put in. "Oh, clearness and Fanny Roby!" Mrs. Ballinger shrugged.
She was close to the inscription on the side of the pedestal. Her gown touched the black letters. The voice came nearer, and rose and rose more passionately still. "Hide your face! don't look at her! Oh, for God's sake, spare him " The woman lifted her veil. "Sacred to the Memory of Laura, Lady Glyde " Laura, Lady Glyde, was standing by the inscription, and was looking at me over the grave.
I had some talk with her, and ventured on a delicate allusion to Sir Percival. She listened and said nothing. All other subjects she pursued willingly, but this subject she allowed to drop. I began to doubt whether she might not be repenting of her engagement just as young ladies often do, when repentance comes too late. On Monday Sir Percival Glyde arrived.
"After what you have just said to me," she replied firmly, "I refuse my signature until I have read every line in that parchment from the first word to the last. Come away, Marian, we have remained here long enough." "One moment!" interposed the Count before Sir Percival could speak again "one moment, Lady Glyde, I implore you!"
Both were men whose vigorous minds soared superior to narrow scruples both were labouring under temporary embarrassments both believed in ME. It was past five o'clock in the afternoon before I returned from the performance of these duties. When I got back Anne Catherick was dead. Dead on the 25th, and Lady Glyde was not to arrive in London till the 26th! I was stunned. Meditate on that.
Marian Halcombe is nothing now but my eldest sister, who provides for our household wants by the toil of her own hands. We two, in the estimation of others, are at once the dupes and the agents of a daring imposture. We are supposed to be the accomplices of mad Anne Catherick, who claims the name, the place, and the living personality of dead Lady Glyde. That is our situation.
Vesey's age and infirmity, and in all subsequent cases of the same kind from considerations of caution, I kept our real position a secret, and was always careful to speak of Laura as "the late Lady Glyde." Mrs. Vesey's answer to my inquiries only confirmed the apprehensions which I had previously felt.
My duty to myself, and my duty to Lady Glyde, alike forbade me to remain in the employment of a man who had shamefully deceived us both by a series of atrocious falsehoods. "I must beg permission, Sir Percival, to speak a few words to you in private," I said. "Having done so, I shall be ready to proceed with this person to Miss Halcombe's room." Mrs.
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