I gave her the book, which she placed aside. "It is not, however, solely in that capacity," I said, "that I am here. That certain indefinite impressions, springing from my professional experiences, have prompted me, I do not deny; but my strongest reasons are private ones. Is it your belief that insanity is hereditary and ineradicable?" "That is my firm belief," she said. "It is also mine. Mrs. Fortress, are you a married woman?" "I married a few months after I left Mr. Carew's service. Within two years of my marriage I lost my husband." "Have you any children?" "One--a son." "Who must be now approaching manhood?" "Yes." "That is my case. My wife is dead, and I have an only child--a son--who is deeply in love with Gabriel Carew's daughter." This introduction of Miss Carew threw Mrs. Fortress off her guard; there was a startled flash in her eyes. "I am sorry to hear," she said, "that Mr. Carew has a daughter. Has he other children?" "No. Mildred Carew is, like your son and mine, an only child. I purposely brought three things with me, in the hope that they would help me in my purpose. Two you have--my book and the portrait of Gabriel Carew's wife. Here is the portrait of his daughter." She examined it with the greatest interest, and remarked that she saw no resemblance in it to the father. "That has struck me," I observed; "neither does she resemble her mother in any marked manner. But that sometimes happens, though it is not the rule." "Is there an engagement between your son and Miss Carew?" "They are courting each other, with a view to marriage." "With your consent?" "Yes, but it was given before I became intimate with Mr. Carew." "And since then you have repented?" "I have been greatly disturbed." "Rather," she said slowly, "than my son should marry a daughter of Mr. Carew's, I would see him in his grave." This declaration profoundly agitated me, so far did it go to confirm me in my suspicions. "I asked you a question a few moments since," I said, "and you said you would wait a little before you answered it. Will you answer it now?" "Your question was, 'Had a painful truth been revealed to Mr. Carew when he was a single gentleman, whether it might have averted evil consequences to others.'" "You have stated it correctly." "It might have done," she said. "But it appeared to me that Mr. Carew was the last man in the world to attract a woman's heart. I often said to myself, 'He will never marry.'" "You were mistaken." "I was; and I say again I am sorry." She took from her pocket the letter I had given her from Mr. Carew, and read it carefully and slowly, in a new light it seemed to me. Even when she had finished the perusal she did not immediately speak, but sat in silent thought a while.