But Richard Manx did not entirely monopolise her thoughts. With the threads of the story, as presented in the Supplement of the _Evening Moon_, she wove possibilities which occasioned her great distress, for in these possibilities she saw terrible trouble in the future. If there was a grain of truth in them, she could not see how this trouble was to be avoided. Of the name of the murdered man, Mr. Holdfast, she was utterly ignorant. She had never heard of him, nor of Lydia Holdfast, his second wife, who, living now, and mourning for the dead, had supplied the facts of the case to the Special Reporter of the _Evening Moon_. "Had I been in her place," thought Becky, "I should, for very shame's sake, if not out of consideration for the dead, have been less free with my tongue. I would have run every risk rather than have allowed myself to be the talking-stock of the whole country. Lydia Holdfast must be a poor, weak creature. Can I do nothing, nothing?" Becky's lips quivered, and had she not been sustained by a high purpose, she might have sought relief in tears. "Let me set down my thoughts in plain words," she said aloud. "I shall then be able to judge more clearly." She produced pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the names: "Mr. Holdfast. "Lydia Holdfast. "Frederick Holdfast." She gazed at the names and said, "My lover's name is Frederick." It was as though the paper upon which she was writing represented a human being, and spoke the words she wrote. She underlined the name "_Frederick_," saying, as she did so, "For reasons which I shall one day learn, he has concealed his surname." The next words she wrote were: "Frederick Holdfast was educated in Oxford." To which she replied, "_My_ Frederick was educated in Oxford." Then she wrote: "Between Frederick Holdfast and his father there was a difference so serious that they quarrelled, and Frederick Holdfast left his father's house." "My Frederick told me," said Becky aloud, "that he and his father were separated because of a family difference. He could tell me no more, he said, because of a vow he had made to his father. He has repeated this in the letter I received from him this evening." Becky took the letter from her dress, kissed it, and replaced it in her bosom. "I do not need this," she said, "to assure me of his worth and truth." She proceeded with her task and wrote: "Frederick Holdfast went to America. His father also went to America." And answered it with, "_My_ Frederick went to America, and his father followed him." Upon the paper then she wrote: "Mr. Holdfast and his son Frederick both returned to England." "As my Frederick and his father did," she said. And now Becky's fingers trembled. She was approaching the tragedy. She traced the words, however, "From the day of his return to England until yesterday nothing was heard of Mr. Holdfast; and there is no accounting for his disappearance."