I was miserably exhausted by the swooning affright which had taken
possession of me. When I reached the inn, I staggered in like one
overcome by wine. I went to my own private room. It was some time
before I saw that the weekly post had come in, and brought me my
letters. There was one from my uncle, one from my home in
Devonshire, and one, re-directed over the first address, sealed with
a great coat of arms, It was from Sir Philip Tempest: my letter of
inquiry respecting Mary Fitzgerald had reached him at Liege, where it
so happened that the Count de la Tour d'Auvergne was quartered at the
very time. He remembered his wife's beautiful attendant; she had had
high words with the deceased countess, respecting her intercourse
with an English gentleman of good standing, who was also in the
foreign service. The countess augured evil of his intentions; while
Mary, proud and vehement, asserted that he would soon marry her, and
resented her mistress's warnings as an insult. The consequence was,
that she had left Madame de la Tour d'Auvergne's service, and, as the
Count believed, had gone to live with the Englishman; whether he had
married her, or not, he could not say. "But," added Sir Philip
Tempest, you may easily hear what particulars you wish to know
respecting Mary Fitzgerald from the Englishman himself, if, as I
suspect, he is no other than my neighbour and former acquaintance,
Mr. Gisborne, of Skipford Hall, in the West Riding. I am led to the
belief that he is no other, by several small particulars, none of
which are in themselves conclusive, but which, taken together,
furnish a mass of presumptive evidence. As far as I could make out
from the Count's foreign pronunciation, Gisborne was the name of the
Englishman: I know that Gisborne of Skipford was abroad and in the
foreign service at that time--he was a likely fellow enough for such
an exploit, and, above all, certain expressions recur to my mind
which he used in reference to old Bridget Fitzgerald, of Coldholme,