"It is no matter. Is that your mother's letter; is that her
handwriting?"

"Yes;" and Evelyn gave the letter to Maltravers. He glanced over the
characters; he had once or twice seen Lady Vargrave's handwriting before,
and had recognized no likeness between that handwriting and such early
specimens of Alice's art as he had witnessed so many years ago; but now,
"trifles light as air" had grown "confirmation strong as proof of Holy
Writ,"--he thought he detected Alice in every line of the hurried and
blotted scroll; and when his eye rested on the words, "Your affectionate
MOTHER, _Alice_!" his blood curdled in his veins.

"It is strange!" said he, still struggling for self-composure; "strange
that I never thought of asking her name before! Alice! her name is
Alice?"

"A sweet name, is it not? It accords so well with her simple
character--how you would love her!"

As she said this, Evelyn turned to Maltravers with enthusiasm, and again
she was startled by his aspect; for again it was haggard, distorted, and
convulsed.

"Oh, if you love me," she cried, "do send immediately for advice! And
yet; is it illness, Ernest, or is it some grief that you hide from me?"

"It is illness, Evelyn," said Maltravers, rising: and his knees knocked
together. "I am not fit even for your companionship,--I will go home."