"You see, dear Edie, that my narrative has taken so long to write that I have no time to speak of other things, even if I could bring my mind to think of anything else, which, I confess, I should have great difficulty in doing.--Ever your very affectionate, "M. PORTER." Copied _verbatim_ from Miss Porter's letter, written on the morning of 14th April 1875. * * * * * So ends the story, with apologies to the S.P.R.! I claim nothing for it beyond the following _facts_: The Priory still exists at Grantwich, and is known to have been the family mansion of the Carbury family. Miss Porter was undoubtedly matron of the school where my friend's brothers were educated. She was a woman of unblemished character and truthfulness, and would certainly not have _invented_ this long and detailed account of her personal experiences within a few hours of their occurrence. My friend most certainly copied this letter, which her brothers had obtained leave to read, from their school matron--Miss Porter herself. Lastly, my friend, Mrs Barker's mother (who is still alive), verified the existence of the Priory (as I have called it) in the town of Grantwich, and it _had_ been turned into a boarding-house at the time of her visit, having been previously let in lodgings. Also she found that Captain Richard Carbury was _supposed to have died in Georgia in the year 1741_, as is inferred in the story. As the murderess and her accomplice alone seem to have been aware of his return on that fateful night, this would be the natural opinion of the world. As an old associate of the S.P.R., and quite conversant with their methods, two criticisms of the story at once suggest themselves, in addition to the confusion of dates, which might perhaps be excused, owing to the abnormal nature of the interview described. But the obvious Podmorian remark would be that the whole adventure was a dream on the part of Miss Porter, induced by her interest in the two family portraits she had seen, and the curious sensations she had experienced in looking at a specially gloomy tree in the park. This would certainly cover the ground, but it proves, perhaps, rather too much. It requires very robust "Faith in Unfaith" to suppose that a sensible, practical woman, suffering from rheumatism, should carry her dream to the verge of following her dream man into the garden and grounds of the house. It may be urged that _she dreamt all this also_, but "that way madness lies." We must be able to formulate that certain acts of ours took place during full consciousness, or daily life would become impossible and moral responsibility would cease. Miss Porter might have been in a dream all through the night--granted.