The Woman in White Read Online Free PDF Page A

something like self-reproach—to speak to my strange companion
for some minutes. It was her voice again that first broke the
silence between us.
    "I want to ask you something," she said suddenly. "Do you know
many people in London?"
    "Yes, a great many."
    "Many men of rank and title?" There was an unmistakable tone of
suspicion in the strange question. I hesitated about answering
it.
    "Some," I said, after a moment's silence.
    "Many"—she came to a full stop, and looked me searchingly in the
face—"many men of the rank of Baronet?"
    Too much astonished to reply, I questioned her in my turn.
    "Why do you ask?"
    "Because I hope, for my own sake, there is one Baronet that you
don't know."
    "Will you tell me his name?"
    "I can't—I daren't—I forget myself when I mention it." She spoke
loudly and almost fiercely, raised her clenched hand in the air,
and shook it passionately; then, on a sudden, controlled herself
again, and added, in tones lowered to a whisper "Tell me which of
them YOU know."
    I could hardly refuse to humour her in such a trifle, and I
mentioned three names. Two, the names of fathers of families
whose daughters I taught; one, the name of a bachelor who had once
taken me a cruise in his yacht, to make sketches for him.
    "Ah! you DON'T know him," she said, with a sigh of relief. "Are
you a man of rank and title yourself?"
    "Far from it. I am only a drawing-master."
    As the reply passed my lips—a little bitterly, perhaps—she took
my arm with the abruptness which characterised all her actions.
    "Not a man of rank and title," she repeated to herself. "Thank
God! I may trust HIM."
    I had hitherto contrived to master my curiosity out of
consideration for my companion; but it got the better of me now.
    "I am afraid you have serious reason to complain of some man of
rank and title?" I said. "I am afraid the baronet, whose name you
are unwilling to mention to me, has done you some grievous wrong?
Is he the cause of your being out here at this strange time of
night?"
    "Don't ask me: don't make me talk of it," she answered. "I'm not
fit now. I have been cruelly used and cruelly wronged. You will
be kinder than ever, if you will walk on fast, and not speak to
me. I sadly want to quiet myself, if I can."
    We moved forward again at a quick pace; and for half an hour, at
least, not a word passed on either side. From time to time, being
forbidden to make any more inquiries, I stole a look at her face.
It was always the same; the lips close shut, the brow frowning,
the eyes looking straight forward, eagerly and yet absently. We
had reached the first houses, and were close on the new Wesleyan
college, before her set features relaxed and she spoke once more.
    "Do you live in London?" she said.
    "Yes." As I answered, it struck me that she might have formed some
intention of appealing to me for assistance or advice, and that I
ought to spare her a possible disappointment by warning her of my
approaching absence from home. So I added, "But to-morrow I shall
be away from London for some time. I am going into the country."
    "Where?" she asked. "North or south?"
    "North—to Cumberland."
    "Cumberland!" she repeated the word tenderly. "Ah! wish I was
going there too. I was once happy in Cumberland."
    I tried again to lift the veil that hung between this woman and
me.
    "Perhaps you were born," I said, "in the beautiful Lake country."
    "No," she answered. "I was born in Hampshire; but I once went to
school for a little while in Cumberland. Lakes? I don't remember
any lakes. It's Limmeridge village, and Limmeridge House, I
should like to see again."
    It was my turn now to stop suddenly. In the excited state of my
curiosity, at that moment, the chance reference to Mr. Fairlie's
place of residence, on the lips of my strange companion, staggered
me with astonishment.
    "Did you hear anybody calling after us?" she asked, looking up and
down the road affrightedly, the instant I stopped.
    "No, no. I was only struck by the name of Limmeridge