These words of the woman’s showed that matters had taken exactly the course I should have liked them to take.  She would tell other inquirers as she had told me, that her daughter had been buried by the parish.  No one would take the trouble, I thought, to inquire into it, and the matter would end at once.

So I said to her, ’Oh, if the parish buried her, that’s all right; no one ever makes inquiries about people who are buried by the parish.’

This seemed to relieve the woman’s mind vastly, and she said, ’In course they don’t.  What’s the use of askin’ questions about people as are buried by the parish?’

Not thinking that the time was quite ripe for cross-examining Mrs. Gudgeon as to her real relations to the model, I left her, and that same afternoon I took the model down to Hurstcote Manor, determining to keep the matter a secret from everybody, as I intended to discover, if possible, her identity.

I need scarcely remind you that although you told me some little of the story of yourself and a young lady to whom you were deeply attached, you were very reticent as to the cause of her dementia; and your story ended with her disappearance in Wales.  I, for my part, had not the smallest doubt that she had fallen down a precipice and was dead.  Everything—­especially the fact that you last saw her on the brink of a precipice, running into a volume of mist—­pointed to but one conclusion.  To have imagined for a moment that she and Wilderspin’s model, who had been discovered in the streets of London, were the same, would have been, of course, impossible.  Besides, you had given me no description of her personal appearance, nor had you said a word to me as to her style of beauty, which is undoubtedly unique.

When I got the model fairly settled at Hurstcote her presence became a delight to me such as it could hardly have been to any other man.  It is difficult for me to describe that delight, but I will try.

Do you by chance remember our talk about animals and the charm they had for me, especially young animals?  And do you remember my saying that the most fascinating creature in the world would be a beautiful young girl as unconscious as a child or a young animal; if such a combination of charms were possible?  Such a young girl as this it was whom I was now seeing every day and all day.  The charm she exercised over me was no doubt partly owing to my own peculiar temperament—­to my own hatred of self-consciousness and to an innate shyness which is apt to make me feel at times that people are watching me, when they most likely are doing nothing of the kind.

And charming as she is now, restored to health and consciousness—­charming above most young ladies with her sweet intelligence and most lovable nature—­the inexpressible witchery I have tried to describe has vanished, otherwise I don’t know how I should have borne what I now have brought myself to bear, parting from her.