“I wish I could be of any help to you in this sad calamity,” I said.  “All I can do is to feel heartily for your distress.  If Anne had been your own child, Mrs. Clements, you could have shown her no truer kindness—­you could have made no readier sacrifices for her sake.”

“There’s no great merit in that, sir,” said Mrs. Clements simply.  “The poor thing was as good as my own child to me.  I nursed her from a baby, sir, bringing her up by hand—­and a hard job it was to rear her.  It wouldn’t go to my heart so to lose her if I hadn’t made her first short clothes and taught her to walk.  I always said she was sent to console me for never having chick or child of my own.  And now she’s lost the old times keep coming back to my mind, and even at my age I can’t help crying about her—­ I can’t indeed, sir!”

I waited a little to give Mrs. Clements time to compose herself.  Was the light that I had been looking for so long glimmering on me—­far off, as yet—­in the good woman’s recollections of Anne’s early life?

“Did you know Mrs. Catherick before Anne was born?” I asked.

“Not very long, sir—­not above four months.  We saw a great deal of each other in that time, but we were never very friendly together.”

Her voice was steadier as she made that reply.  Painful as many of her recollections might be, I observed that it was unconsciously a relief to her mind to revert to the dimly-seen troubles of the past, after dwelling so long on the vivid sorrows of the present.

“Were you and Mrs. Catherick neighbours?” I inquired, leading her memory on as encouragingly as I could.

“Yes, sir—­neighbours at Old Welmingham.”

“Old Welmingham?  There are two places of that name, then, in Hampshire?”

“Well, sir, there used to be in those days—­better than three-and-twenty years ago.  They built a new town about two miles off, convenient to the river—­and Old Welmingham, which was never much more than a village, got in time to be deserted.  The new town is the place they call Welmingham now—­but the old parish church is the parish church still.  It stands by itself, with the houses pulled down or gone to ruin all round it.  I’ve lived to see sad changes.  It was a pleasant, pretty place in my time.”

“Did you live there before your marriage, Mrs. Clements?”

“No, sir—­I’m a Norfolk woman.  It wasn’t the place my husband belonged to either.  He was from Grimsby, as I told you, and he served his apprenticeship there.  But having friends down south, and hearing of an opening, he got into business at Southampton.  It was in a small way, but he made enough for a plain man to retire on, and settled at Old Welmingham.  I went there with him when he married me.  We were neither of us young, but we lived very happy together—­happier than our neighbour, Mr. Catherick, lived along with his wife when they came to Old Welmingham a year or two afterwards.”