He mentioned the name of the dangerous creature who had first
presented herself to me, in charge of the Prisoner's
child--otherwise Miss Elizabeth Chance. The 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