"Yes, sir, it is," Owen said, in answer to me. "After settling here we made acquaintance with the Valentines, and by-and-by learnt that they are cousins of Matilda's. Fanny--my wife that is to be--has often talked to me about Matilda; they were together a good bit in early life; and by dint of mentally sifting what she said, and putting that and that together, I fancy I see daylight." "Yes. Well?" "Matilda's father married a Spanish woman. She was of a wild, ungovernable temper, subject to fits of frenzy; in one of which fits she died. Matilda has inherited this temper; she is liable to go into frenzies that can only be compared to insanity. Fanny has seen her in two only; they occur at rare intervals; and she tells me that she truly believes the girl is mad--mad, Mr. Johnny--during the few minutes that they last." The history I had heard of her mad rage at Miss Deveen's flashed over me. Temporarily insane they had thought her there. "I said to Fanny one day when we were talking of her," resumed Owen, "that a person in that sort of uncontrollable passion, might commit any crime; a murder, or what not. 'Yes,' Fanny replied, 'and not unlikely to do it, either: Matilda has more than once said that she should never die in her bed.' Meaning----" "Meaning what?" I asked, for he came to a pause. "Well, sir, meaning, I suppose, that she might sometime lay violent hands upon herself, or upon another. I can't help thinking that something must have put her into one of these rages with Jane Cross, and that she pushed or flung the poor girl over the stairs." Looking back, rapidly recalling signs and tokens, I thought it might have been so. Owen interrupted me. "I shall come across her sometime, Mr. Johnny. These are things that don't hide themselves for ever: at least, not often. And I shall tax her with it to her face." "But--don't you know where she is?" "No, I don't sir. I wish I did. It was said that she came up to take a situation in London, and perhaps she is still in it. But London's a large place, I don't know what part of it she was in, and one might as well look for a needle in a bundle of hay. The Valentines have never heard of her at all since she was at Saltwater." How strange it seemed;--that she and they were living so near one another, and yet not to be aware of it. Should I tell Owen? Only for half a moment did the question cross me. _No_: most certainly not. It might be as he suspected; and, with it all, I could only pity Matilda. Of all unhappy women, she seemed the unhappiest. Miss Deveen's carriage bowled past the door to take her up at the linendraper's. Wishing Owen good-day, I was going out, but drew back to make room for two people who were entering: an elderly woman in a close bonnet, and a young one with a fair, pretty and laughing face. "My mother and Fanny, sir," he whispered. "She is very pretty, very nice, Owen," I said, impulsively. "You'll be sure to be happy with her."