The Story Continued by Mrs. Catherick

member of the rector’s congregation, and a subscriber to the “Wednesday lectures on Justification by Faith”⁠—how can you expect me to employ it in writing bad language? Suppose, for yourself, the raging, swearing frenzy of the lowest ruffian in England, and let us get on together, as fast as may be, to the way in which it all ended. It ended, as you probably guess by this time, in his insisting on securing his own safety by shutting her up. I tried to set things right. I told him that she had merely repeated, like a parrot, the words she had heard me say and that she knew no particulars whatever, because I had mentioned none. I explained that she had affected, out of crazy spite against him, to know what she really did not know⁠—that she only wanted to threaten him and aggravate him for speaking to her as he had just spoken⁠—and that my unlucky words gave her just the chance of doing mischief of which she was in search. I referred him to other queer ways of hers, and to his own experience of the vagaries of half-witted people⁠—it was all to no purpose⁠—he would not believe me on my oath⁠—he was absolutely certain I had betrayed the whole Secret. In short, he would hear of nothing but shutting her up. Under these circumstances, I did my duty as a mother. “No pauper asylum,” I said, “I won’t have her put in a pauper asylum. A private establishment, if you please. I have my feelings as a mother, and my character to preserve in the town, and I will submit to nothing but a private establishment, of the sort which my genteel neighbours would choose for afflicted relatives of their own.” Those were my words. It is gratifying to me to reflect that I did