he replied. "I have the highest esteem for
Miss Halcombe, and I have therefore every
reason to respect a gentleman, whose mediation
she trusts in a matter of this kind. I will even
go farther, if you like, and admit, for courtesy's
sake and for argument's sake, that the identity
of Lady Glyde, as a living person, is a proved
fact to Miss Halcombe and youself. But you
come to me for a legal opinion. As a lawyer,
and as a lawyer only, it is my duty to tell you,
Mr. Hartright, that you have not the shadow of
a case."

"You put it strongly, Mr. Kyrle."

"I will try to put it plainly as well. The
evidence of Lady Clyde's death is, on the face
of it, clear and satisfactory. There is her aunt's
testimony to prove that she came to Count Fosco's
house, that she fell ill, and that she died. There is
the testimony of the medical certificate to prove
the death, and to show that it took place under
natural circumstances. There is the fact of the
funeral at Limmeridge, and there is the assertion
of the inscription on the tomb. That is the case
you want to overthrow. What evidence have
you to support the declaration on your side that
the person who died and was buried was not
Lady Glyde? Let us run through the main
points of your statement and see what they are
worth. Miss Halcombe goes to a certain private
Asylum, and there sees a certain female patient.
It is known that a woman named Anne Catherick,
and bearing an extraordinary personal
resemblance to Lady Glyde, escaped from the
Asylum; it is known that the person received
there last July, was received as Anne Catherick
brought back; it is known that the gentleman
who brought her back warned Mr. Fairlie that
it was part of her insanity to be bent on
personating his dead niece; and it is known that she
did repeatedly declare herself, in the Asylum
(where no one believed her), to be Lady Glyde.
These are all facts. What have you to set
against them? Miss Halcombe's recognition of
the woman, which recognition after-events
invalidate or contradict. Does Miss Halcombe
assert her supposed sister's identity to the
owner of the Asylum, and take legal means for
rescuing her? No: she secretly bribes a nurse
to let her escape. When the patient has been
released in this doubtful manner, and is taken to
Mr. Fairlie, does he recognise her? is he
staggered for one instant in his belief of his niece's
death? No. Do the servants recognise her?
No. Is she kept in the neighbourhood to assert
her own identity, and to stand the test of further
proceedings? No: she is privately taken to
London. In the mean time, you have recognised
her also—but you are not a relative; you are
not even an old friend of the family. The
servants contradict you; and Mr. Fairlie contradicts
Miss Halcombe; and the supposed Lady
Glyde contradicts herself. She declares she
passed the night in London at a certain house.
Your own evidence shows that she has never
been near that house; and your own admission
is, that her condition of mind prevents you from
producing her anywhere to submit to investigation,
and to speak for herself. I pass over minor
points of evidence, on both sides, to save time;
and I ask you, if this case were to go now into
a court of law—to go before a jury, bound to
take facts as they reasonably appear—where are
your proofs?"

I was obliged to wait and collect myself before
I could answer him. It was the first time the
story of Laura and the story of Marian had been
presented to me from a stranger's point of view
—the first time the terrible obstacles that lay
across our path had been made to show
themselves in their true character.

"There can be no doubt," I said, "that the
facts, as you have stated them, appear to tell
against us; but——"

"But you think those facts can be explained
away," interposed Mr. Kyrle. "Let me tell
you the result of my experience on that point.
When an English jury has to choose between a
plain fact, on the surface, and a long explanation
under the surface, it always takes the fact,
in preference to the explanation. For example,
Lady Glyde (I call the lady you represent by
that name for argument's sake) declares she has
slept at a certain house, and it is proved that
she has not slept at that house. You explain
this circumstance by entering into the state of
her mind, and deducing from it a metaphysical
conclusion. I don't say the conclusion is wrong
—I only say that the jury will take the fact of
her contradicting herself, in preference to any
reason for the contradiction that you can offer."

"But is it not possible," I urged, "by dint
of patience and exertion, to discover additional
evidence? Miss Halcombe and I have a few
hundred pounds——"

He looked at me with a half-suppressed pity,
and shook his head.

"Consider the subject, Mr. Hartright, from
your own point of view," he said. "If you are
right about Sir Percival Glyde and Count Fosco
(which I don't admit, mind), every imaginable
difficulty would be thrown in the way of your
getting fresh evidence. Every obstacle of
litigation would be raised; every point in the
case would be systematically contested—and
by the time we had spent our thousands,
instead of our hundreds, the final result would,
in all probability, be against us. Questions of
identity, where instances of personal
resemblance are concerned, are, in themselves, the
hardest of all questions to settle—the hardest,
even when they are free from the complications
which beset the case we are now discussing. I
really see no prospect of throwing any light
whatever on this extraordinary affair. Even
if the person buried in Limmeridge churchyard
be not Lady Glyde, she was, in life, on your
own showing, so like her, that we should gain
nothing, if we applied for the necessary
authority to have the body exhumed. In short,
there is no case, Mr. Hartright—there is really
no case."

I was determined to believe that there was a
case; and, in that determination, shifted my
ground, and appealed to him once more.