The Legacy of Cain. Wilkie Collins

reappearance of this woman on the scene—although she was only represented by her card—caused me a feeling of vague uneasiness, so contemptibly superstitious in its nature that I now remember it with shame. I asked a stupid question:

      “How did it happen?”

      “In the ordinary course of such things,” my friend said. “They were married by license, in their parish church. The bridegroom was a fine tall man, with a bold eye and a dashing manner. The bride and I recognized each other directly. When Miss Chance had become Mrs. Tenbruggen, she took me aside, and gave me her card. ‘Ask the Governor to accept it,’ she said, ‘in remembrance of the time when he took me for a nursemaid. Tell him I am married to a Dutch gentleman of high family. If he ever comes to Holland, we shall be glad to see him in our residence at South Beveland.’ There is her message to you, repeated word for word.”

      “I am glad she is going to live out of England.”

      “Why? Surely you have no reason to fear her?”

      “None whatever.”

      “You are thinking, perhaps, of somebody else?”

      I was thinking of the Minister; but it seemed to be safest not to say so. ——

      My pen is laid aside, and my many pages of writing have been sent to their destination. What I undertook to do, is now done. To take a metaphor from the stage—the curtain falls here on the Governor and the Prison.