"William Foster," she answered.
Catherine felt cold and numb.
"William Foster—I don't understand," she said slowly.
Mrs. Ardagh rolled and unrolled her handkerchief with trembling fingers.
"She got hold of that book—that black, wicked book," she said, and there was a sort of fury in her voice. "It upset her faith. It tarnished her moral sense. It reminded her of the—the man from whose influence I had drawn her. All her imagination was set in a flame by that hateful chapter."
"Which one?" Catherine asked.
Mrs. Ardagh mentioned the chapter which Catherine had most hated, most admired, and most feared.
"I fought with William Foster for Jenny's soul," she said, passionately. "But I am not clever. I have no power. I am getting old and tired. She cried. She said she loved me, but that goodness was not for her, that she must go, that life was calling her, that she must live—live! William Foster had shown her death and she thought it life. I always knew that in Jenny good and evil were fighting, that her fate was trembling in the balance. That book turned the scale."
She sobbed heavily, then with a catch of her breath, she added,
"William Foster is a very wicked man."