‘Dear Madam,
‘I am in receipt of your letter, the contents of which I read with interest. It may be known to you that Mrs. John Campbell with her family, composed of her husband, sister, and two children, took a house about three years ago at the seaside. Mrs. Campbell, during her husband’s absence on business at this city, went on a boating excursion, her sole companion being the boatman. She did not return. The weather grew boisterous, and although one or two boats were sent out in search they returned after a few hours, the men professing themselves unable to keep the sea. Ten days after Mrs. Campbell had been missing, the body of a man was brought ashore and recognised as that of the sailor who had accompanied Mrs. Campbell. A little later the boat was fallen in with; she was drifting about upside down. She was towed to the harbour to which she belonged.
‘These particulars I give you from memory. Mr. John Campbell caused many inquiries to be made, but no news of his wife was ever received. She was undoubtedly drowned. I have been absent from Bath for some time, and since my return have been confined to my house with the gout. I am able to state, however, that Mr. John Campbell, his wife, and two children are in good health. About four months ago he shut up his house and the family went to London. I believe Mr. Campbell left Bath for no other purpose than to marry his sister-in-law. The marriage was advertised in a Bath paper, but I am unable to refer you to it. He returned with her as his wife, and I hear from my daughter that they are living at their old address. This, madam, is all that it is in my power to communicate.
‘Faithfully yours,
‘W. Stirling Ramsay,
‘Major-General.’
I read this letter through, and as I approached the end of it I felt my heart turning into stone. There was something petrific in the horror, the consternation, the despair which rushed into me out of that letter. The hand with which I grasped it sank to my side even as Mrs. Lee’s had, and I looked at my friend though I knew not that I saw her. I felt as though some one had circled my breast with a rope which was being tightened and yet tightened into one of agony of constriction. My throat swelled, my breath came and went through it in a dull moaning, my head seemed formed of fire, my hands and feet of ice. I may guess now by the expression Mrs. Lee’s countenance reflected as she suddenly hurried to me, believing that I was about to fall, perhaps expire, that there was something shocking in my looks.
I raised the letter again, dashed it from me, flung myself upon Mrs. Lee’s bed with a long cry, and lay moaning and moaning in the hands with which I had covered my face. Then I started up.
‘I must have my children!’ I shrieked. ‘They are mine! They cannot keep them from me! They are my own flesh and blood! They are mine!’ I shrieked again.
‘You shall have them, my love!’ exclaimed Mrs. Lee in a broken, tremulous voice. ‘They are yours—they cannot keep them from you. They shall come here and live with us, and they shall have my love as well as yours.’
‘Married!’ I muttered. ‘Married! Married!’ I muttered, mumbling my words huskily—so dry were my lips, so tight was my throat—and looking at the letter which lay upon the floor. ‘My husband married to Mary! Oh, my God,’ I cried, flinging back my head and beating my brow with my fist, ‘what is this new thing that has come to me?’
Mrs. Lee stood silent. What could she say? There were no words of comfort to utter at such a moment. Misery must be suffered to have its way with me, and she could do nothing but stand and gaze and wait.