anguish by creeping far underneath the clothes. But even this
refuge was denied to your wretched Catherine! I could not stretch
my limbs; for the sheet, my dear Eleanor, had been so arranged, in
some manner which I do not understand, as to render this
impossible. The laughter seemed to redouble. I heard a footstep
at my door. I hurried on my frock and shawl and crept into the
gallery. A strange dark figure was gliding in front of me,
stooping at each door; and every time it stooped, came A LOW
GURGLING NOISE! Inspired by I know not what desperation of
courage, I rushed on the figure and seized it by the neck. It was
Miss Eyre, the governess, filling the boots of all the guests with
water, which she carried in a can. When she saw me she gave a
scream and threw herself against a door hung with a curtain of
Tyrian dye. It yielded, and there poured into the passage a blue
cloud of smoke, with a strong and odious smell of cigars, into
which (and to what company?) she vanished. I groped my way as well
as I might to my own chamber: where each hour the clocks, as they
struck, found an echo in the apprehensive heart of

THE ILL-FATED
CATHERINE MORLAND.



LETTER: From Montague Tigg, Esq., to Mr. David Crimp.



The following letter needs no explanation for any who have studied
the fortunes and admired the style of that celebrated and sanguine