not trust myself to look at her when I took her hand, and when I thought of the next morning.
“My departure must be a very early one,” I said. “I shall be gone, Miss Fairlie, before you----”
“No, no,” she interposed hastily, “not before I am out of my room. I shall be down to breakfast with Marian. I am not so ungrateful, not so forgetful of the past three months----”
Her voice failed her, her hand closed gently round mine—then dropped it suddenly. Before I could say “Good-night” she was gone.
The
woman in white. And yet, I did connect him with them. Was it because he had now become associated in my mind with Miss Fairlie, Miss Fairlie being, in her turn, associated with Anne Catherick, since the night when I had discovered the ominous likeness between them? Had the events of the morning so unnerved