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 Chapter 09

Formats for Letters and Memos

True / False Questions

1. The two most common letter formats are block and modified block.

True False

2. The two most common letter formats are complimentary block and alternative block.

True False

3. "Sincerely" and "Cordially" are standard complimentary closes.

True False

4. In mixed punctuation, a colon follows the salutation and a comma follows the close.

True False

5. In a sales letter, it is unacceptable to use a comma after the salutation.

True False

6. Mixed punctuation is faster to type than open punctuation.

True False

9-1
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
7. In open punctuation, a colon follows the salutation and a comma follows the close.

True False

8. In open punctuation, one should never omit the punctuation following the salutation and the
close.

True False

9. Subject lines are mandatory in letters and optional in memos.

True False

10. When your information is neutral, you should summarize it concisely in the subject line.

True False

11. Letters in block formats cannot use headings and lists.

True False

12. A reference line tells what a letter is about.

True False

13. Block format is the format most frequently used for business letters.

True False

14. Block format creates a visually attractive page by moving the date and signature block over
into what would otherwise be empty white space.

True False

9-2
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
15. Letterhead is preprinted stationery with the organization’s name, logo, address, and phone
number.

True False

16. When a letter runs two or more pages, a letterhead must be used for all the pages.

True False

17. If a letter is accompanied by other documents, the writer should refer to them in the body of
the letter.

True False

18. Blind copies are copies of a document sent to other people without telling the reader.

True False

19. Blind copies are usually mentioned on the original document.

True False

20. According to standard practices, you must indicate that you have shown a letter to your
superior or that you are saving a copy of the letter for your own files.

True False

21. States with names of more than five letters are frequently abbreviated in letters and memos.

True False

9-3
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
22. When you know your reader’s name and gender, you should, without any exception, use
courtesy titles that do not indicate marital status.

True False

23. Rather than using Ms. as the courtesy title for every woman reader, a writer should use the
title she prefers.

True False

24. To find out if a woman prefers a traditional title, it is useful to check the signature block in
previous correspondence.

True False

25. One should avoid using parallel forms for names in formal letters.

True False

26. When you know your reader’s name but not the gender, you should use the reader’s full name
in the salutation.

True False

27. The standard memo format mimics block format but has no salutation, close, or signature.

True False

28. In a memo, writers must always use a separate heading for the first paragraph.

True False

9-4
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
29. In a standard memo, the first letters of the reader’s name, the writer’s name, and the subject
phrase are lined up horizontally.

True False

30. If a memo runs two pages or more, you should use a heading at the top of the second and
subsequent pages.

True False

Multiple Choice Questions

31. Kevin is the sales manager at Cosmos Inc. He has to write a letter to a new customer named
Ronald Schilling, whom he has never met before. In his letter to the customer, which of the
following salutations should Kevin ideally use?

A. Dear Ron

B. Dear Ronald

C. Dear Mr. Schilling

D. Dear Ron Schilling

E. None of the above

9-5
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
32. Which of the following exemplifies a standard complimentary close?

A. Sincerely

B. Warmly

C. That's all for now

D. With best wishes

E. Bye

33. In mixed punctuation:

A. a comma follows the salutation.

B. a comma does not follow the close.

C. all commas are omitted.

D. colons are not used.

E. a colon follows the salutation.

34. While using open punctuation, writers must:

A. use a colon after the salutation.

B. use a colon after the close.

C. use a comma after the close.

D. omit all punctuation after the salutation and the close.

E. use a comma after the salutation.

9-6
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
35. Which of the following is true of subject lines?

A. They are mandatory in letters.

B. They are optional in memos.

C. They tell readers what a letter is about.

D. They are always neutral, irrespective of the content of the letter.

E. They act as reference to the number used on previous correspondences.

36. Amy, a team leader at Monee Reserve Inc. wants to convey a good news to her team. In her
letter to the team, where should Amy ideally put the good news?

A. In the letter's subject line

B. In the first line of the last paragraph of the letter

C. In the last line of the letter

D. The good news should be included in a separate enclosure

E. None of the above

37. Which of the following is a characteristic of a reference line?

A. It tells the reader what the letter is about.

B. It makes the document visually attractive to the reader.

C. It gives the reader detailed information about the enclosures of a business letter.

D. It directs the reader to the order or invoice number which the letter is about.

E. It contains the organization's name, logo, address, and phone number.

9-7
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
38. A reference line in a letter refers the reader to:

A. the number used on the previous correspondence that the letter refers to.

B. the invoice number which the letter is about.

C. the number of pages in the letter.

D. Only A and B.

E. None of the above.

39. Which of the following is true of block format and modified block format?

A. Both formats can use headings, lists, and indented sections for emphasis.

B. Both formats can be typed quickly as everything is lined up at the left margin.

C. Both formats create visually attractive pages.

D. All of the above.

E. None of the above.

40. Which of the following is true with regard to block format?

A. It is most frequently used for informal letters.

B. It can be typed quickly because everything is lined up at the left margin.

C. It creates a visually attractive page by moving the date and signature block over into what
would otherwise be empty white space.

D. It lines up everything at the right margin.

E. It is a traditional format.

9-8
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
41. An advantage of modified block format is that:

A. it is faster to type than any other format.

B. it creates a visually attractive page.

C. it does not require a salutation or a greeting.

D. it does not require a complimentary close.

E. None of the above.

42. Which of the following is true of a letterhead?

A. It refers to the section of a letter which contains the subject line.

B. It is preprinted stationery with the organization’s name, logo, address, and phone number.

C. It refers the reader to the number used on the previous correspondence.

D. It tells what a letter is about.

E. It refers to the blind copy of a letter.

43. A separate document sent with a letter is referred to as a(n):

A. enclosure.

B. blind copy.

C. form letter.

D. secondary document.

E. none of the above.

9-9
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
44. The abbreviation "cc" now means _____.

A. carbon copy.

B. computer copy.

C. complete copy.

D. all of the above.

E. none of the above.

45. Which of the following is true of blind copies?

A. They are referred to in the body of the letter.

B. They are enclosed in the same envelope as the original letter.

C. They are not mentioned on the original and are listed on the copy saved for the file.

D. They refer to the secondary documents that accompany formal letters.

E. They allow the reader to know if other people are also getting copies of the same letter.

46. Mark Mason is a senior sales manager at Star Pharmaceuticals. Which of the following
salutations should he use in his letter addressed to a new client Elizabeth Kim, who is a
cardiac surgeon from Alabama?

A. Dear Elizabeth Kim

B. Dear Ms. Kim

C. Dear Dr. Kim

D. Dear Mrs. Kim

E. Dear Elizabeth

9-10
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
47. Andrew has to write a letter to Mary Fischer, the vice president of his company. Though he
knows that she is married, he is not sure what title she prefers. Which of the following
salutations should Andrew use in his letter to Mary in this instance?

A. Dear Mary

B. Dear Ms. Fischer

C. Dear Mary Fischer

D. Dear Mrs. Fischer

E. Dear Mrs. Mary

48. Elise has to write a common letter to the board of directors of her company. Their names are
Melissa Fischer, Robert Mayer, Samuel Anderson, and Susan Miller. Of these people, Elise is
comfortable talking to Melissa and Robert as they are her distant cousins. In her letter to the
directors, which of the following salutations should she use?

A. Mr. Samuel, Mrs. Susan, Melissa, and Robert

B. Ms. Fischer, Ms. Miller, Mr. Mayer, and Mr. Anderson

C. Melissa, Rob, Ms. Miller, and Mr. Anderson

D. Rob, Mel, Susie, and Sam

E. None of the above

9-11
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
49. Susan wants to purchase a health insurance policy. To initiate the process, she has to write a
letter to one A. E. Miller, an insurance agent. She does not know anything about the person.
What salutation should she ideally use in her letter to the insurance agent?

A. Dear A. E. Miller

B. Dear Mr. Miller

C. Dear Mrs. Miller

D. Dear Insurance Agent

E. None of the above

50. Which of the following is true of memos?

A. Memos omit both the salutation and the close.

B. Memos usually indent paragraphs.

C. Memos do not require subject lines.

D. Memos require a separate heading for the first paragraph.

E. Memos have both close as well as signature.

Short Answer Questions

9-12
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
51. What is the difference between mixed punctuation and open punctuation?

52. What is a subject line? List some standard practices pertaining to the writing of good subject
lines.

9-13
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
53. What is a reference line?

54. What are the advantages of block format and modified block format?

55. What courtesy titles should you use when you are aware of your reader's name and gender?
List exceptions, if any.

9-14
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
56. Briefly describe a standard memo.

57. What is the importance of initialing a memo?

58. Why do some organizations have special letterhead for memos?

9-15
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
59. Why do some organizations ask employees to sign memos rather than simply initialing them?

60. What guidelines should you follow if a memo runs two pages or more?

Fill in the Blank Questions

61. "Cordially" is a standard _____.

________________________________________

9-16
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
62. A(n) _____ tells what the letter is about.

________________________________________

63. _____ format can be typed quickly because everything is lined up at the left margin.

________________________________________

64. To make your document look professional, _____ to eliminate errors and typos.

________________________________________

65. _____ never indent paragraphs.

________________________________________

9-17
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
 Chapter 09 Formats for Letters and Memos Answer Key

True / False Questions

1. The two most common letter formats are block and modified block.

TRUE

The two most common letter formats are block, sometimes called full block, and modified
block.

AACSB: Analytic
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

2. The two most common letter formats are complimentary block and alternative block.

FALSE

The two most common letter formats are block, sometimes called full block, and modified
block.

AACSB: Analytic
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

9-18
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
3. "Sincerely" and "Cordially" are standard complimentary closes.

TRUE

"Sincerely" and "Cordially" are standard complimentary closes.

AACSB: Communication
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

4. In mixed punctuation, a colon follows the salutation and a comma follows the close.

TRUE

In mixed punctuation, a colon follows the salutation and a comma follows the close.

AACSB: Communication
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

5. In a sales letter, it is unacceptable to use a comma after the salutation.

FALSE

In a sales or fund-raising letter, it is acceptable to use a comma after the salutation to

make the letter look like a personal letter rather than like a business letter.

AACSB: Communication
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

9-19
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
6. Mixed punctuation is faster to type than open punctuation.

FALSE

A few organizations use open punctuation, which is faster to type as compared to mixed
punctuation.

AACSB: Communication
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

7. In open punctuation, a colon follows the salutation and a comma follows the close.

FALSE

In open punctuation, omit all punctuation after the salutation and the close.

AACSB: Analytic
Blooms: Remember
Learning Objective: 09-01 Apply principles for correct letter formats.
Level of Difficulty: 1 Easy
Topic: How should I set up letters?

8. In open punctuation, one should never omit the punctuation following the salutation and
the close.

FALSE

In open punctuation, omit all punctuation after the salutation and the close.

AACSB: Analytic
Blooms: Remember

9-20
© 2014 by McGraw-Hill Education. This is proprietary material solely for authorized instructor use. Not authorized for sale or distribution
in any manner. This document may not be copied, scanned, duplicated, forwarded, distributed, or posted on a website, in whole or part.
Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
 CHAPTER XXI.
RICHARD MANX MAKES LOVE TO “SWEET BECKY.”

O NthetheEvening
morning following the publication of the Supplement to
Moon, Becky had occasion to observe that her
mistress, Mrs. Preedy, was earnestly engaged in the perusal of a
newspaper. A great deal of house-work had to be done on this
morning; there was a general “cleaning-up;” floors and stairs to be
scrubbed, chairs and tables to be polished, and looking-glasses and
windows to be cleaned; and as the greater portion of this work fell
to Becky’s share, she was kept busily employed until the afternoon.
She was, therefore, in ignorance of the publication of the statement
in the Evening Moon, and her curiosity was but languidly aroused by
Mrs. Preedy’s pre-occupation, until, by mere chance, she caught
sight of the heading, “The Murder in Great Porter Square.” She
turned hot and cold, and her pulses quickened.
“Is that something fresh about the murder next door?” she
ventured to ask.
“Yes, Becky,” replied Mrs. Preedy, but did not offer any explanation
of the contents.
It was not Becky’s cue to exhibit more than ordinary interest in
the matter, and she merely remarked,
“I thought it might be something about the houses being
haunted.”
She noted that the paper was the Evening Moon, and she
determined to purchase a copy before she went to bed. She did not
until the afternoon get an opportunity to leave the house, and even
then, there was so much to do, she had to leave it secretly, and
without Mrs. Preedy’s knowledge. There was another reason for her
desire to go out. She expected a letter at the Charing Cross Post
Office, and it was necessary she should be there before five o’clock
to receive it. Mrs. Preedy generally took a half-hour’s nap in the
afternoon, and Becky’s plan was to slip out the moment her mistress
fell asleep, and leave the house to take care of itself. She felt the
want of an ally at this juncture; the impression that she was fated to
unravel the mystery of the murder, and thus clear the man she loved
from suspicion, was becoming stronger; and to accomplish this it
was necessary that she should keep her present situation. She
needed help, and she could not take any person into her confidence.
During the day Becky noticed that a great many persons passed
through the Square, and stopped before the house. “Now that the
houses are haunted,” she thought, “we shall be regularly besieged.
But if they look for a year they’ll not see a ghost.”
At four o’clock in the afternoon Mrs. Preedy arranged herself
comfortably in an arm chair in her kitchen, and in a few moments
was asleep. Now was Becky’s opportunity. She quietly slipped out of
the house by way of the basement, tying her hat strings as she
mounted the steps, and walked quickly in the direction of Charing
Cross. She was so intent upon her mission that she scarcely noticed
the unusual number of persons in the Square. At Charing Cross Post
Office she received the letter she expected. She did not stop to read
it; she simply opened it as she retraced her steps, and, glancing
hurriedly through it, put it into her pocket. She heard the boys
calling out “Hevenin’ Moon! More about the murder in Great Porter
Square! Wonderful discovery! Romance in real life! A ’Underd
Thousand Pounds!” and she stopped and purchased two copies.
Although she was animated by the liveliest curiosity, she did not
pause even to open the paper, she was so anxious to get back to the
house before Mrs. Preedy awoke. Shortly before turning into the
Square, she was overtaken, fast as she herself was walking, by their
young man lodger, Richard Manx. He touched her arm, and smiling
pleasantly at her, walked by her side.
“My pretty one,” he said, “your little feet walk fast.”
“I am in a hurry,” she replied, her nostrils dilating at his touch; but
instantly remembering the part she was playing, she returned his
pleasant smile.
“You have been—a—out while the amiable Mrs. Preedy sleeps.”
 This observation warned her that Richard Manx knew more about
the household movements than she expected. “I have no fool to
deal with,” she thought. “He shall have as much of my confidence as
I choose to give him; he will find me his match.”
“Yes,” she said aloud, with a bright look; “but don’t tell Mrs.
Preedy; she might be angry with me.”
“You speak,” he said in a tone of lofty satisfaction, “to a
gentleman.”
“I wanted to buy a ribbon,” said Becky, artlessly, “and it isn’t easy
to choose the exact colour one would like at night, so I thought I
would steal out, just as I am, while Mrs. Preedy took her nap.”
“Steal out—ah, yes, I understand—just as you are, charming!”
“And now, although I couldn’t match my ribbon—it was a very
light pink I wanted—I must get back quickly.”
All the while they were talking he was sucking and chewing a
sweetmeat; having disposed of it, he popped another into his
mouth.
“Quickly,” he repeated, bending down, so that his face was on a
level with hers. “That is—a—soon. Will you?”
This question was accompanied by the offer of a little packet of
acid drops, half of which he had already devoured. She took a
couple with the remark that she liked chocolate creams best.
“You shall have some,” he said, “to-morrow. I shall walk with you;
I myself am on my way to my small apartment. It is the—a—fashion
for a gentleman to offer a lady one of his arms. Honour me.”
He held out his arm, which she declined.
“I am not a lady,” she said demurely; “I am only a poor servant
girl.”
“And I,” he responded insinuatingly, “am a poor gentleman. Ah! If
I were—a—rich, I should say to you, accept this ring.” He made a
motion as if offering her a ring. “Accept this—a—bracelet,” with
corresponding action. “Or this dress. But I have not—a—money.” He
took another acid drop. “It is a misfortune. But what can a poor devil
do? You do not—a—despise me because I am thus?”
 “Oh, no. I hope you will be rich one day.”
“It will happen,” he said, in a quick, eager tone. “From my
country”—he waved his hands vaguely—“shall come what I wait for
here. Then shall I say to you, ‘Becky’—pardon; I have heard the
amiable Mrs. Preedy thus call you—‘Becky,’ shall I say, ‘be no longer
a servant. Be a lady.’ How then, will you speak?”
“I must not listen to you,” replied Becky, coquettishly; “you foreign
gentlemen have such smooth tongues that they are enough to turn
a poor girl’s head.” They were now in Great Porter Square. “What a
number of people there are in the square,” she said.
“It is—a—remarkable, this murder. The man is—a—found.”
“What man?” cried Becky, excitedly. “The murderer!”
“Ah, no. That is not yet. It is the dead man who is—what do you
call it?—discovered. That is it. He was not known—he is known. His
name has come to the light. Yesterday he was a beggar—to-day he
is rich. What, then? He is dead. His millions—in my country’s money,
sweet Becky, veritably millions—shall not bring life into his bones.
His money is—a—here. He is”—Richard Manx looked up at the sky
—“Ah, he is there! or”—he cast his eyes to the pavement—“there!
We shall not know till there comes a time. It is sad.”
“He was a rich gentleman, you say. What could have induced a
rich man to live in such a neighbourhood?”
“In such a neighbourhood!” Richard Manx smiled, and shrugged
his shoulders. “Ah! he came here not to die, surely—no, to live. It
would have been well—for him—that he came not; but so it was.
What should induce him here? you ask of me. Becky, I shall ask of
the air.” He put himself into the attitude of listening. “Ha! ha! I hear
perhaps the reason. There was a lady. Enough. We shall not betray
more. I propose to you a thought. I live in the amiable house of Mrs.
Preedy. It is high, my apartment. Wherefore? I am a poor gentleman
—as yet. I am one morning discovered—dead. Startle not yourself. It
will not be—no, it will not be; but I propose to you my thought. You
would not be glad—you would not laugh, if so it should be?”
“It would be a shocking thing,” said Becky, gravely.
 “It is well. I thank you—your face is sad, your eyes are not so
bright. Then when I am thus, as I have said—dead!—from my
country comes what I wait for here—money, also in millions. ‘Ah,’
says the amiable Mrs. Preedy, ‘what could induce’—your word is
good—‘what could induce one who was rich to live in such a
neighbourhood?’ Observe me, Becky. I place my hand, on my heart
and say, ‘There is a lady.’ Ah, yes, though you call yourself not so, I
say, ‘There is a lady.’ I say no more. We are at home. You are
beautiful, and I—till for ever—am your devoted. If it were not for so
many people—I am discreet, Becky—I should kiss your hand.”
And, indeed, the remark that he was discreet was proved by the
change in his manner, now that he and Becky were in closer contact
with strangers; the tenderness left his face, and observers at a
distance would never have guessed that he was making something
very much like a declaration of love to the girl. He opened the street
door with his latch-key, and went up to his garret, sucking his acid
drops. Becky opened the little gate and went down to her kitchen,
where her mind was set at ease by seeing Mrs. Preedy still asleep in
her arm chair.
Becky looked at her hand. It was a pretty hand and small, but the
work she had done lately rather detracted from its prettiness. There
was dirt on it, too, from the scrubbing and cleaning of the day. “He
would kiss my hand,” she murmured. “I am afraid our innocent
young man lodger is a bit of a flirt. Be careful, young man. You are
not in this house without a motive; you are in danger if that motive
touches the welfare of the man I love!”
This soliloquy, in which she indulged in the kitchen, might have
been of greater length had not Mrs. Preedy stirred in her sleep. The
slight movement was sufficient to wake her.
“I do believe, Becky,” she said, opening her eyes, “that I have
overslept myself.”
 CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH BECKY GIVES WAY TO HER FEELINGS, AND RENEWS AN OLD
ACQUAINTANCE.

G REAT PORTER SQUARE had really been in a state of excitement

the whole of the day, almost equalling that which raged on the
day of the discovery of the murder. The strange revelation made in
the columns of the Evening Moon—whose account of the
identification of the body of the murdered man was presented in a
form so attractive that edition after edition was sold with amazing
rapidity—invested the murder with features romantic enough to
engross general attention. There was love in it, there was a beautiful
and fascinating woman in it, there was a baby in it, there were a
hundred thousand pounds in it. The newsboys drove a rare trade; it
brought so much grist to their mill that, as they jingled the copper
and silver in their pockets, they sighed for another murder as good
to-morrow.
The public-houses, also, throve wonderfully; their bars were
crowded, and the publicans rubbed their hands in glee. People from
all parts of London came to Great Porter Square to look at the
deserted house. They stared at the bricks, they stared at the street
door, they stared at the window. With a feeling of enjoyable awe,
they peeped over and through the iron railings which surrounded the
basement. The downlook was not inviting. The ironwork was
covered with rust; the paint was peeling off the doors and shutters;
watchful spiders, ever ready for fresh murder, lurked in the corners
of their webs. There was nothing to be frightened at in these natural
signs of neglect and decay; but when a man cried out, “There!
there!” and pointed downwards, the people rushed from the
pavement into the road. They soon returned, and craned their heads
and necks to gaze upon the melancholy walls. Occasionally a man or
a woman ascended the three stone steps which led to the street
door, and touched the woodwork with open hand, as if the contact
brought them closer to the tragedy which had been enacted within.
As night approached, the number of persons who made a point of
passing through the Square decreased; but up till ten o’clock there
were always about a dozen sightmongers lingering in the roadway
before No. 119, and, among these dozen, generally one who
appeared to be acquainted with the construction and disposition of
the rooms, and who described the particulars of the murder with
gloating satisfaction. The police did not interfere with them, the
entertainment being one which a free people was privileged to
enjoy.
During the whole of the evening Becky had not found time to read
her letter or the newspaper. “They’ll burn a hole in my pocket, I am
sure,” she thought, “if I keep them there much longer.” But when the
clock struck ten a period was put to her state of suspense.
“I’ve been in the ’ouse all day, Becky,” said Mrs. Preedy; “and what
with the state of my feelings and the excitement in the Square, I’m
quite worn out. I shall run round to Mrs. Beale’s for arf-an-hour; take
care of the place while I’m gone.”
Becky nodded, and the moment she heard the street-door close,
she sat down at the table, and pulled from her pocket the letter and
the copies of the Evening Moon. She read the letter first, kissing it as
she drew it from the envelope. It ran as follows:—

“My Darling Girl,—Your letter has surprised and startled me, and I
do not know whether to be alarmed or pleased at the strange news
it contains. That you have placed yourself in a perilous position for
my sake would make it all the harder for me to bear should anything
happen to you. You would do anything, I know, rather than cause
me sorrow or add to my anxieties, and I am satisfied that the
strange fancy you have carried into execution sprang from a heart
full of love. I have reason to know how firm you can be in any task
you undertake, and I am not hopeful that I shall succeed in turning
you from your purpose. If, until I return to London, you still continue
in service, I implore you to be careful, to run no risk, and never to
forget that the whole happiness of my life is in your hands. For if the
mission upon which I am at present engaged should fail (although
filial love and duty will not allow me to relinquish it until I see no
possibility of bringing it to a successful issue), the opportunity of our
living happily together in another part of the world will always be
open to us. But first to perform a son’s duty, then to offer you a
husband’s love and care. All that a man can do shall be done to
hasten the day on which I shall be privileged to call you wife.
“You have placed such trust and confidence in me, you have so
firmly relied upon my truth and honour, that I often reproach myself
for having kept from you some of the most important incidents in my
life. But I was pledged to secresy. I had given my solemn word
never to speak of certain matters without the sanction of my father.
Thus much you know, and you know, also, that I am now in search
of that father for whose mysterious disappearance I am unable to
account. When I find him he will release me from a vow I made to
him under the most painful and distressing circumstances; then I
can offer you the name which is my own, and which I renounced;
then I can unfold to you the sad and painful story of my life; then I
can hold up my head with honour once more, and take my place
among men—the place I lost.
“You say that you have something to communicate to me which
bears upon the murder in Great Porter Square. It is, of course, of
the greatest importance to me that I should be cleared of the
suspicion which must still attach to me; the police have sharp eyes,
and although I gave a false name—as true however, as the charge
brought against me—it is quite possible that some person who was
in the Police Court might recognise me, and cause me fresh trouble.
Therefore I shall scarcely ever feel myself safe in the London streets
until the murderer is discovered and punished. But above even this
in importance I place the strange disappearance of my father. To find
him is my first and paramount desire.
“The picture you have drawn of Mrs. Bailey, the bedridden old
lodger, and her deaf and nearly blind old sister, with the languid
linnet, and the moping bullfinch, is most amusing. I shall not be at
all surprised if, in your next letter, you inform me that the old lady’s
mattress is stuffed with bank notes.
“How highly I value your true womanly attempts to cheer and
comfort me! To read your letters is almost to hear you speak, you
write so feelingly and earnestly. My fullest love is yours, and yours
only. What a loving grateful heart, what willing hands can do, to
make you happy when the clouds have cleared, shall be done by me.
Rely upon me; have faith in me; and believe me to be,
“Your faithful lover,
“Fred.”

Becky read the letter slowly, with smiles and tears; then kissed it
repeatedly, and placed it in the bosom of her dress.
Before turning her attention to the newspaper she had bought in
the afternoon, she ran upstairs to Mrs. Bailey. The old woman was
awake, staring at her birds. She asked Becky to rub her side with the
liniment, and the girl—to whose heart Fred’s affectionate letter had
imparted fresh happiness—did so in a blithe and cheerful manner.
“You’re better than a doctor, Becky,” said the old woman, “a
thousand times better. I was as young and merry as you once—I
was indeed. Pretty—too—eh, Becky?”
“That’s to be seen,” said Becky, rubbing away. “You have the
remains now.”
“Have I, Becky, have I—eh?”
“Indeed you have—you’re a good-looking old lady.”
A gleam of vanity and delight lit up the old creature’s eyes for a
moment.
“Am I, Becky—eh? You’re a good girl—listen; I shall leave you
something in my will. I’m going to make one—by and bye, but I
don’t want any lawyers. You shall do it for me. I can trust you, eh,
Becky?”
“Indeed you can,” replied Becky, tucking the old woman in; “you
feel more comfortable now, don’t you?”
“Yes, your soft hands rub the pain away. But it comes again,
Becky, it comes again.”
 “So will I, to rub it away again. I must go down now, I have so
much to do.” She patted the old woman’s shoulder, and reached the
door, when she stopped and asked, in a careless tone,
“Have you heard any more mice to-night scratching at the wall in
the next house, Mrs. Bailey.”
“Not a sound, Becky. It’s been as quiet as a churchyard.”
As she left the room, Becky heard the old woman mumbling to
herself, with the vanity of a child,
“I was pretty once, and I’ve got the remains now. I’m a good-
looking old lady—a good-looking old lady—a good-looking old lady!
Becky’s a clever girl—I won’t forget her.”
As Becky descended to the kitchen, she heard a newsboy calling
out a new edition of the Evening Moon. Becky went to the street
door and asked the boy if there was anything fresh in the paper
about the murder.
“A lot,” replied the boy; “I’ve only two copies left, and I thought I
could sell ’em in the Square.”
Becky bought the two copies, and the boy, whose only motive for
coming into the Square was to look at No. 119, refreshed himself by
running up and down the steps, and then, retreating to the garden
railings, almost stared his eyes out in the endeavour to see the
ghost that haunted the deserted house.
Once more in the kitchen, Becky sat down, and with a methodical
air, opened last evening’s paper, and read the “Romance in Real Life”
which had caused so much excitement. The writer of the narrative
would have been gratified had he witnessed the interest Becky took
in his clever manipulation of his facts. The most thrilling romance
could not have fascinated her as much as this story of to-day,
formed as it was out of what may be designated ordinary newspaper
material. Not once did she pause, but proceeded steadily on, column
after column, every detail being indelibly fixed upon her mind. Only
when she came to the concluding words did she raise her head, and
become once more conscious of her surroundings.
She drew a long breath, and looked before her into the air, as
though endeavouring to obtain from invisible space some connecting
links between the new ideas formed by this romance in real life. The
dominant thought in her mind as she read the narrative was whether
she would be able to obtain from it any clue to connect Richard
Manx with the murder. Her desire lay in this direction, without
reference to its justice or injustice, and she would have felt better
satisfied had such a clue been supplied. But she was compelled to
confess that, as far as her knowledge of him went in their brief
personal intercourse, he was not in the remotest way connected with
the crime. Say that this was so—say that he was as little implicated
in it as she herself, what, then, was his motive in making his way
secretly into the room in which the murder had been committed? Of
the fact that he had done so, without having been an eye-witness of
it, Becky was morally convinced. What was his motive for this
proceeding?
But Richard Manx did not entirely monopolise her thoughts. With
the threads of the story, as presented in the Supplement of the
Evening Moon, she wove possibilities which occasioned her great
distress, for in these possibilities she saw terrible trouble in the
future. If there was a grain of truth in them, she could not see how
this trouble was to be avoided.
Of the name of the murdered man, Mr. Holdfast, she was utterly
ignorant. She had never heard of him, nor of Lydia Holdfast, his
second wife, who, living now, and mourning for the dead, had
supplied the facts of the case to the Special Reporter of the Evening
Moon.
“Had I been in her place,” thought Becky, “I should, for very
shame’s sake, if not out of consideration for the dead, have been
less free with my tongue. I would have run every risk rather than
have allowed myself to be the talking-stock of the whole country.
Lydia Holdfast must be a poor, weak creature. Can I do nothing,
nothing?”
Becky’s lips quivered, and had she not been sustained by a high
purpose, she might have sought relief in tears.
“Let me set down my thoughts in plain words,” she said aloud. “I
shall then be able to judge more clearly.”
 She produced pen, ink, and paper, and wrote the names:
“Mr. Holdfast.
“Lydia Holdfast.
“Frederick Holdfast.”
She gazed at the names and said,
“My lover’s name is Frederick.”
It was as though the paper upon which she was writing
represented a human being, and spoke the words she wrote.
She underlined the name “Frederick,” saying, as she did so, “For
reasons which I shall one day learn, he has concealed his surname.”
The next words she wrote were: “Frederick Holdfast was educated
in Oxford.”
To which she replied, “My Frederick was educated in Oxford.”
Then she wrote: “Between Frederick Holdfast and his father there
was a difference so serious that they quarrelled, and Frederick
Holdfast left his father’s house.”
“My Frederick told me,” said Becky aloud, “that he and his father
were separated because of a family difference. He could tell me no
more, he said, because of a vow he had made to his father. He has
repeated this in the letter I received from him this evening.”
Becky took the letter from her dress, kissed it, and replaced it in
her bosom. “I do not need this,” she said, “to assure me of his worth
and truth.”
She proceeded with her task and wrote: “Frederick Holdfast went
to America. His father also went to America.”
And answered it with, “My Frederick went to America, and his
father followed him.”
Upon the paper then she wrote: “Mr. Holdfast and his son
Frederick both returned to England.”
“As my Frederick and his father did,” she said.
And now Becky’s fingers trembled. She was approaching the
tragedy. She traced the words, however, “From the day of his return
to England until yesterday nothing was heard of Mr. Holdfast; and
there is no accounting for his disappearance.”
 “Frederick’s father also has disappeared,” she said, “and there is
no accounting for his disappearance.”
These coincidences were so remarkable that they increased in
strength tenfold as Becky gazed upon the words she had written.
And now she calmly said,
“If they are true, my Frederick is Frederick Holdfast. If they are
true, Frederick Holdfast is a villain.” Her face flushed, her bosom
rose and fell. “A lie!” she cried. “My lover is the soul of honour and
manliness! He is either not Frederick Holdfast, or the story told in
the newspaper is a wicked, shameful fabrication. What kind of
woman, then, is this Lydia Holdfast, who sheds tears one moment
and laughs the next?—who one moment wrings her hands at the
murder of her husband, and the next declares that if she had been
born a man she might have been a dreadful rake? But Frederick
Holdfast is dead; the American newspapers published the
circumstances of his death and the identification of his body.
Thousands of persons read that account, and believed in its truth, as
thousands of persons read and are reading this romance of real life,
and believe in its truth.” Contempt and defiance were expressed in
Becky’s voice as she touched the copy of the newspaper which had
so profoundly agitated her. “Yet both may be false, and if they are
false——” She paused for a few moments, and then continued:
“Lydia Holdfast is Frederick Holdfast’s enemy. She believes him to be
dead; there is no doubt of that. But if he is alive, and in England, he
is in peril—in deadlier peril than my Frederick was, when, as Antony
Cowlrick, he was charged with the murder of an unknown man, and
that man—as now is proved—his own father. What did I call Lydia
Holdfast just now? a poor weak creature! Not she! An artful,
designing, cruel woman, whose safety, perhaps, lies in my
Frederick’s death. If, without the suspicions which torture me, so
near to the truth do they seem, it was necessary to discover the
murderer of the poor gentleman who met his death in the next
house, how much more imperative is it now that the mystery should
be unravelled! Assist me, Eternal God, to bring the truth to light, and
to punish the guilty!”
 She fell upon her knees, and with tears streaming down her face,
prayed for help from above to clear the man she loved from the
shameful charges brought against him by his father’s wife. Her
prayers comforted her, and she rose in a calmer state of mind. “I
must look upon this creature,” she thought, “upon this woman in
name, who has invented the disgraceful story. To match her cunning
a woman’s cunning is needed. Lydia Holdfast, I declare myself your
enemy!”
A noise in the street attracted Becky’s attention, and diverted her
thoughts. She hurried from her kitchen, and opened the street door.
Twenty or thirty persons were crowding round one, who was lying
insensible upon the pavement. They cried, “Give her air!” and
pressed more closely upon the helpless form.
“A glass of water!” “Poor child!” “Go and fetch a little brandy!”
“Fetch a policeman!” “She’s shamming!” “Starving, more likely!”
“Starving? she’s got three boxes of matches in her hands!” “Well,
you brute, she can’t eat matches!”
These and other cries greeted Becky as she opened the door, and
looked out into the Square.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, striving to push her way into the
crowd, which did not willingly yield to her.
It was a poor child, her clothes in rags, who had fainted on the
flagstones before the house.
“She’s coming to!” exclaimed a woman.
The child opened her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” asked a man, roughly.
“I came to see the ghost!” replied the child, in a weak, pleading
little voice.
The people laughed; they did not see the pathetic side of the
picture.
But the child’s voice, faint as it was, reached Becky’s heart. It was
a voice familiar to her. She pushed through the crowd vigorously,
and bent over the child.
“Blanche!” screamed the child, bursting into hysterical sobs. “O,
Blanche! Blanche!”
 It was Fanny, the little match girl.
“Hush, Fanny!” whispered Becky. “Hush my dear!”
She raised the poor child in her arms, and a shudder of pain and
compassion escaped her as she felt how light the little body was.
Fanny’s face was covered with tears, and through her tears she
laughed, and clung to Becky.
“I know her,” said Becky to the people, “I will take care of her.”
And kissing the thin, dirty face of the laughing, sobbing, clinging
child, Becky carried her into the house, and closed the street-door
upon the crowd.
“Well, I’m blowed!” exclaimed the man who had distinguished
himself by his rough words. “If this ’ere ain’t the rummiest Square in
London!”
 CHAPTER XXIII.
“JUSTICE” SENDS A LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF THE “EVENING MOON.”

C LOSER and closer did the little match girl cling to Becky, as she
was carried through the dark passage and down the narrow
stairs to the kitchen. Then, and then only, did Becky clearly perceive
how thin and wan her humble little friend had grown. Fanny’s dark
eyes loomed out of their sunken sockets like dusky moons, her
cheeks had fallen in, her lips were colourless; her clothes consisted
of but two garments, a frock and a petticoat, in rags. Becky’s eyes
overflowed as she contemplated the piteous picture, and Fanny’s
eyes also became filled with tears—not in pity for herself, but in
sympathy with Becky.
“O, Blanche, Blanche,” she murmured, “I begun to be afeard I
should never see you agin.”
Becky touched Fanny’s clothes and cheek pityingly, and said,
“Has it been like this long, Fanny?”
Fanny replied in a grave tone, “Since ever you went away,
Blanche. My luck turned then.”
“It has turned again, my dear,” said Becky, with great compassion,
“and turned the right way. Make a wish.”
“A thick slice of bread and butter!” said Fanny, eagerly.
“O, Fanny, are you hungry?”
“I ain’t ’ad nothink to eat to-day excep’ a damaged apple I picked
up in Coving Garden.”
Before she finished the sentence Becky placed before her a thick
slice of bread and butter, and was busy cutting another. Fanny soon
dispatched them, and did not say “No” to a third slice.
“Do you feel better, Fanny?” asked Becky.
“Ever so much,” replied Fanny, looking wistfully around. The
kitchen was warm, and the little beggar girl was thinking of the cold
night outside.
 Becky noticed the look and knew what it meant.
“No, Fanny,” she thought, “you shall not go out in the cold to-
night. It is my belief you were sent to help me; it may be a lucky
meeting for both of us.”
“Fanny,” she said aloud, “where’s your mother?”
“She’s got three months,” said Fanny, “and the magistrate sed he’d
’ave give ’er six if he could.”
“Where are you going to sleep to-night?”
“Blanche,” said Fanny, with a quiver in her voice, “is there such a
thing as a coal-cellar ’ere?”
“Why, Fanny?”
“I’d like to sleep in it, if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind, Fanny. Yon can’t sleep in the coal-cellar.”
Fanny sighed mournfully, and partly rose. “I can’t stop ’ere, then,
Blanche?”
“You shall if you like, Fanny, and you shall sleep with me.”
“O, Blanche!” cried Fanny, clasping her face with her dirty little
hands. The tears forced themselves between the thin, bony fingers.
“Why, that looks as if you were sorry, Fanny!”
“I’m cryin’ for joy, Blanche. I should ’ave taken my ’ook to-night if
it ’adn’t been for you. When I fell down in a faint outside your door, I
thought I was goin’ to die.”
“You shall not die, Fanny,” said Becky; “you shall live, and grow
into a fine young woman. Listen to me, and don’t forget a word I
say to you. You are sharp and clever, and I want you now to be
sharper and cleverer than ever you have been in your life before.”
Fanny nodded, and fixed her eyes upon Becky’s face. “I am a
servant in this house; my mistress’s name is Mrs. Preedy; she is out
gossiping, and I expect her back every minute. If she comes in while
I am talking, I shall bundle you into bed, and you’ll fall fast asleep.
You understand?”
“Yes.”
“I am not a real servant, but nobody is to know that but you and
me. Put your hand in mine, Fanny, and promise to be my friend, as I
promise to be yours. That’s an honest squeeze, Fanny, and I know
what it means. It means that I can trust you thoroughly, and that
you will do and say everything exactly as I wish.”
“That’s just what it does mean, Blanche.”
“My name is not Blanche.”
“No?”
“No. It’s Becky.”
“I’m fly.”
“And never was anything else. The reason why I am a servant
here is because I have something very particular to do—and that
also is a secret between me and you. When it is done, I shall be a
lady, and perhaps I will take you as my little maid.”
“O, Becky! Becky!” exclaimed Fanny, overjoyed at the prospect.
“I knew you were sharp and quick,” said Becky. “You are a little
cousin of mine, if Mrs. Preedy asks you, and you have no mother or
father. Give me those matches. I throw them into the fire, one after
another. What a blaze they make! Your mother died last week, and
you, knowing I was in service here, came to ask me to help you. You
never sold matches, Fanny.”
“Never! I’ll take my oath of it!”
“That is all I shall say to-night, Fanny. I am tired, and I want to
think. Go into that room—it is my bedroom; here is a light. You will
see a nest of drawers in the room; open the top one, and take out a
clean nightdress; it will be too long and too large for you, but that
doesn’t matter, does it? Give yourself a good wash, then pop into
bed, and go to sleep. To-morrow morning, before you are up, I shall
buy you some clothes. Poor little Fanny! Poor little Fanny!” The child
had fallen on her knees, and had bowed her face on Becky’s lap. Her
body was shaken with sobs. “Now then, go, or Mrs. Preedy may
come back before you are a-bed.”
Fanny jumped to her feet, and kissing Becky’s hands, took the
candle, and went into Becky’s bedroom.
Becky’s attention, diverted for a while by this adventure, returned
to the subject which now almost solely occupied her mind. She had
not yet looked at the copies of the last Evening Moon she had
bought of the newsboy in the Square an hour ago. She opened one
of the papers, and saw, in large type, the heading, “Frederick
Holdfast,” and beneath it the following letter, addressed to the editor
of the Evening Moon:—

“Sir,—I have read the thrilling Romance in Real Life which your
Special Reporter, in a style which does not speak highly for his
culture or good taste, has so temptingly dished up for your
numerous readers. It not only reads like a romance, but, with
reference to one of the characters it introduces to a too curious
public, it is a romance. The character I refer to is Frederick Holdfast,
the son of the ill-fated gentleman who was murdered in Great Porter
Square. That he is dead there appears to be no reason to doubt;
and, therefore, all the more reason why I, who knew him well and
was his friend, should step forward without hesitation to protest
against the charges brought against him in your columns. I declare
most earnestly that they are false.
“Here, at once, I find myself in a difficulty. When I say that the
colours in which Frederick Holdfast is painted are false colours, that
the character given to him is a false character, and that the charges
brought against him are false charges, it appears as if I myself were
bringing an accusation against Mrs. Lydia Holdfast, a lady with whom
I have not the pleasure of being acquainted. I prefer not to do this. I
prefer to bring the accusation against your Reporter, who must have
allowed his zeal and enthusiasm to play tricks with his judgment
when he sat down to describe, in his captivating manner, certain
statements made to him by a lady in distress. He was writing a
romance—there was a villain in it (a necessity); necessary, therefore,
that this villain should be painted in the blackest colours, to rival
other villains in the Penny Awfuls which obtain so strong a hold over
young people among our poorer classes. The parallel is not a fair
one. The villains in the Penny Awfuls are imaginary creatures; they
live only in the brains of the cheap novelist; to vilify them, to defame
them, can hurt the feelings, can do injury, to no living being. But the
villain your Reporter has depicted in his Romance of Real Life is a
man who lived, who was honoured, and who had at least one firm
and true friend in the person of him who is now tracing these lines.
To defame and vilify the dead is an act of the grossest injustice, and
of this injustice your Reporter is guilty.
“I was at Oxford with Frederick Holdfast, and shared in his
pleasures and his studies. We were cronies. We had few secrets
from each other, and our close intimacy enabled me not only to gain
an insight into Frederick’s character, but to form a just estimate of it.
And I solemnly declare that my dead friend was as guiltless of the
charges brought against him by Mrs. Holdfast and your Reporter in
his Oxford career as I believe him to be incapable of the baseness
imputed to him in his father’s house in London. Of the latter I can
speak only from presumption. Of the former I can speak with
certainty, but my conviction in the one case is as strong as it is in
the other.
“It is a monstrous falsehood to describe Frederick Holdfast’s
‘career of dissipation’ as being ‘capped by degraded association with
degraded women.’ His estimate of woman was high and lofty; he
was almost quixotic in the opinion he entertained of her purity, and
even when he felt himself compelled to condemn, there was
invariably apparent in his condemnation a touch of beautiful pity it
was an experience to meet with in this shrug-shoulder age, in which
cynicism and light words upon noble themes have become the
fashion. That he was free from faults I do not assert, but his errors
had in them nothing of that low kind of vice which your Reporter has
so glibly attached to his name.
“I have already said I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance
with Mrs. Lydia Holdfast; neither was I acquainted with her
murdered husband, my dead friend’s father. But I have heard
Frederick speak of his father, and always with respect and love. I can
go further than this. I have read letters which Mr. Holdfast in London
wrote to his son in Oxford, and I cannot recall a sentence or a word
which would imply that any difference existed between father and
son. These facts go far to prove the accusation I bring against your
Reporter of libelling the dead. He, in his turn, may find justification
for the picture he has drawn in the statements made to him by Mrs.
Lydia Holdfast. With this I have nothing to do; I leave them to settle
the matter between them. My duty is to vindicate the honour of my
friend, who cannot speak for himself. I ask you to insert this letter,
without abbreviation, in your columns, and I ask those papers at a
distance which have quoted from your Romance in Real Life, to copy
the letter, to prevent injustice to a dead man’s memory. I enclose my
card, as a guarantee of good faith; but I do not wish my name to be
published. At the same time, should public occasion demand it, I
shall be ready to come forward and personally substantiate the
substance of this communication.
“I am, Sir, yours obediently,
“Justice.”

To this letter was appended an Editorial Note:

“We insert our correspondent’s letter, as he desires, without

abbreviation. His name, which at his request we withhold, is one
which is already becoming honourably known, and we see no reason
to doubt his honesty of intention, and his thorough belief in what he
writes. In the performance of our duties as Editor of this newspaper,
we are always ready to present our readers with both sides of a
question which has excited public interest. With these differing views
fairly and impartially placed before them, they can form their own
judgment. Upon the matter between ‘Justice,’ Mrs. Holdfast, and our
Special Reporter, we offer no opinion, but we cannot refrain from
drawing attention to one feature in the case which has apparently
escaped the notice of ‘Justice.’ By Mr. Holdfast’s will his only son,
Frederick, is disinherited, and the whole of the murdered man’s
property is left to his unhappy widow. This is a sufficient answer to
‘Justice’s’ disbelief in the existence of any difference between
Frederick Holdfast and his father. ‘Respect and love’ would never
impel a father to leave his son a beggar.—Editor, ‘Evening Moon.’”

Becky’s eyes were bright with pleasure as she read the letter.
“Bravo, Justice,” she thought; “you are worthy to be the friend of my
Frederick. I will thank you one day for your noble defence.”
 Here Fanny, arrayed in Becky’s nightdress, made her appearance
from the little bedroom.
“Good night, Becky,” she said.
“Good night, my dear,” said Becky, kissing the child.
Fanny’s face was clean, and her hair was nicely brushed; she did
not look now like a child of the gutter.
“I feel all new, Becky—and so ’appy!” she said, with quivering lips.
“That’s right, dear,” said Becky; “now tumble into bed. I hear Mrs.
Preedy opening the street door.”
Fanny flew back to the bedroom, and scrambling into bed, fell
asleep with a prayer in her mind that God would bless Becky for
ever, and ever, and ever, and send her everything in the world she
wanted.
Becky was prepared for her interview with Mrs. Preedy; her plan
was already formed. She put the newspapers out of sight, and when
Mrs. Preedy entered the kitchen she found Becky busy with her
needle.
“Still up, Becky!” exclaimed Mrs. Preedy. “You ought to ’ave been
a-bed.”
“I didn’t like to go,” said Becky, “till you came home; I wanted to
speak to you about something.”
“What is it?” cried Mrs. Preedy, for ever ready to take alarm.
“Nothink’s ’appened in the ’ouse, I ’ope. Mrs. Bailey!”——
“Nothing has happened; it’s about myself I want to speak.”
“I suppose you’re going to give notice,” said Mrs. Preedy, glaring
at Becky.
“O, no; I’m satisfied with the place, and I’m sure no servant ever
had a kinder missis.” Mrs. Preedy was mollified. “It’s about my
legacy and a little cousin of mine.”
“O,” said Mrs. Preedy, feeling no interest in the little cousin, but a
great deal in the legacy. “You may sit down, Becky.”
“Thank you, mum. I am to receive fifty pounds of my legacy to-
morrow, and I want you to take care of some of it.”
 “I’ll do it with pleasure, Becky.” Mrs. Preedy was slightly
bewildered by the circumstance of having a servant with so much
money at command; it was an unprecedented experience. Of course
she would take care of the girl’s money.
“While you were out,” said Becky, “there was a knock at the door,
and when I opened it I saw a little cousin of mine who has lost her
mother, and has no one in the world but me to look after her. She
knew I was in service here and she came to ask me to help her. I
hope you will not consider it a liberty, but I took her in, poor little
thing, and perhaps you’ll let her sleep with me to-night.”
Mrs. Preedy stared at Becky. “Is she there?” she asked, pointing to
the servant’s bedroom.
“Yes, mum.”
Mrs. Preedy took a candle, and went into the room. Fanny was
asleep, and when Mrs. Preedy laid her hand on her, she moved, and
murmured—
“Is that you, Becky?”
Becky called out, “Yes, Fanny. Go to sleep again.”
“I thought,” said Becky, upon Mrs. Preedy’s return, “as my little
cousin has no home now, and as there is plenty of room in the
house, that you might let her remain here as a lodger.”
“As a lodger!” said Mrs. Preedy, in a tone of surprise and
satisfaction.
“Of course,” continued Becky, “I couldn’t ask you to let her stay
here for nothing, and as I have plenty of money I can afford to pay
for her. Then she can help me a bit now and then. She can live in
the kitchen, and sleep with me. I’ll look after her, and nobody need
know anything about it but ourselves. I wouldn’t mind eight or ten
shillings a week.”
Mrs. Preedy, with more eagerness than she was in the habit of
exhibiting, agreed to Becky’s proposition, and said they would split
the difference, and make it nine shillings a week for Fanny’s board
and lodging.
“And if you won’t mind my mentioning it,” said Becky, “if you are
pressed for a few pounds I should be glad to let you have it till the
lodgers come back to the house.”
This offer completed the conquest. Mrs. Preedy shook Becky by
the hand, and vowed that, from the moment she had entered her
service, she had looked upon her more as a daughter than as a
domestic, and that she was sure she and Becky and Fanny would get
along famously together. So gushing did she become that she
offered Becky a glass of gin and water, which Becky declined. A
double knock at the street door startled them both, and they went in
company to answer it. A telegraph boy stood on the step.
“Does Becky live here?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered the two women.
“A telegram,” he said, holding out the buff-coloured envelope.
Becky took it, and opened it in the kitchen. It was from “Fred” to
“Becky,” and ran:—“I return to London by to-night’s mail. Do not
write again until you see or hear from me.”
“Who is it from?” asked Mrs. Preedy unable to restrain her
curiosity. “What does it say?”
“It’s from my lawyer,” replied Becky, without a blush, “and says I
am to receive a hundred pounds to-morrow instead of fifty.”
“You’re in luck’s way, Becky,” said Mrs. Preedy.
“That I am,” said Becky. “Can I do anything more for you to-
night?”
“Nothing more, thank you,” said Mrs. Preedy, very politely. “Good
night, Becky.”
“Good night, mum.”
Never in that house had such cordial relations as these existed
between mistress and “slavey.”
Becky slept but little. The strange revelations made in the columns
of the Evening Moon, the vindication of Frederick Holdfast’s
character by an unknown friend, the appearance of Fanny, the
expected return of her lover, were events too stirring to admit of
calm slumber. Her dreams were as disturbed as her rest. She dreamt
of her Frederick lying dead on the banks of a distant river, and the
man who had killed him was bending over the body, rifling the
pockets. The man raised his head; it was Richard Manx, sucking his
acid drops. “Ah, charming Becky,” said the man; “accept this ring—
this bracelet—this dress. Your lover is dead. I take his place. I am,
for ever, your devoted.” She fled from him, and he followed her
through her dreams, presenting himself in a hundred fantastic ways.
“Come,” he said, “I will show you something pretty.” He seized her
hand, and dragged her to a Court-house, in the witness-box of
which stood Lydia Holdfast, giving deadly evidence against Frederick,
who was also there, being tried for the murder of his father. “Let me
go!” cried Becky. “I can save him from that woman!” But Richard
Manx held her fast. “I am your lover, not he,” he whispered; “you
shall not save him. He must die.” She could not move, nor could she
raise her voice so that the people round about could hear her. The
scene changed. She and Frederick were together, in prison. “There is
but one hope for me,” said Frederick; “even yet I may be saved.
Track that woman,” (and here Lydia Holdfast appeared, smiling in
triumph), “follow her, do not allow her out of your sight. But be
careful; she is as cunning as a fox, and will slip through your fingers
when you least expect it.” Then she and Lydia Holdfast alone played
parts in the running commentary of her dreams. “What do you want
to find out,” said Lydia Holdfast; “about me? I am a simple creature
—but you are much more simple. It is a battle between us, for the
life of a man, for the honour of a man. I accept. If you were a
thousand times cleverer than you are, you shall not save him.” Becky
found herself with this woman in the most extraordinary connections
—on the stage of a theatre, where both were enacting characters in
the drama of the murder—by a dark river, lighted up by lightning
flashes—struggling in the midst of a closely-packed crowd—following
each other over the roofs of houses—and Lydia Holdfast, in every
fresh presentment, crying, “Well! Have you saved him yet?”
Becky awoke from these dreams in tears, and was glad she had
Fanny in bed with her. She rose early, and at eight o’clock went out
to buy some clothes for the child. When Fanny appeared before Mrs.
Preedy in the kitchen, she was a decent-looking, tidy little girl, with a
world of happiness in her face. She had found her friend, her angel
friend, who would never again desert her. She understood in some
dim way that Becky would call upon her for help in the secret which
had caused her to assume the disguise of a servant. “I ’ope it’s
somethink ’ard she wants me to do,” thought Fanny. She would like
to show Becky what love and gratitude could accomplish.
“You’re a nice looking little thing,” said Mrs. Preedy, pinching
Fanny’s cheek.
At about eleven o’clock, Becky asked and received permission to
“go to the lawyer’s” to receive her money. Before she left the house
she said to Fanny,
“You don’t forget what I said to you last night.”
“I couldn’t if I tried,” replied Fanny.
“Mrs. Preedy is to know nothing. You understand, Fanny?”
“Yes.”
“I shall be out for nearly an hour. If you hear a knock at the street
door run up and open it, and if a gentleman comes and asks for me,
tell him I shall be back before twelve.”
“I’ll tell him, Becky.”
No person called, however; and Becky, returning, gave Mrs.
Preedy forty pounds to take care of. “That,” she thought, “will enable
me to keep in this house as long as I choose to remain.”
All the day she waited for news of her lover. As the hours dragged
on, her state of suspense became most painful. In the early part of
the evening she received a note by the hands of a messenger.
“My darling,” it said, “I am in the deepest grief. A dreadful calamity
has overtaken me, and I must consider well and reflect before I
move a step. I think it best for me not to present myself in Great
Porter Square. You want to see me, I know, as I want to see you,
but before we meet it is necessary that you should read a Statement
I am preparing for you, and which will be in your hands late tonight.
There must be no more secrets between us. Believe me ever your
devoted and unhappy lover.”
At eleven o’clock Becky received the “Statement.” It was a thick
packet, on the outside of which was written: “For no other eyes but
yours.” When the messenger arrived—he was a middle-aged man,
with a shrewd face and eye—Mrs. Preedy was out of the house,
gossiping as usual with Mrs. Beale, and confiding to her the
wonderful news that she had a servant who was very rich. Mrs.
Beale gave Mrs. Preedy a bit of shrewd advice. “Orfer to go into
partnership with ’er, my dear,” said Mrs. Beale, “and take a ’ouse on
the other side of the Square.” Mrs. Preedy confessed it was not half
a bad idea.
“I am to give this packet,” said the messenger, “into the hands of
a young woman named Becky.”
“I am Becky,” said the anxious girl.
“The gentleman was very particular,” continued the messenger,
“and I am to ask you if you expected it.”
“Yes, I expected it.”
“Then I was to ask you for the first letter of the gentleman’s
Christian name.”
“F.”
“That is correct.” And the man handed Becky the packet.
“Where is the gentleman staying?” asked Becky, offering the man
a shilling.
“No, thank you. I am well paid for what I am doing, and I was told
not to accept anything. ‘Where is the gentleman staying?’ I have no
instructions to answer the question. There is nothing else, I think.
Yes, there is something else. Are you well?”
“Quite well.”
“I am to say that? ‘Quite well.’”
“Yes, say ‘Quite well, but very anxious.’”
“Ah! ‘Quite well, but very anxious.’ Good night, miss.”
Then Becky went to her little bedroom, and lighting a candle,
opened the packet. Fanny was asleep, and Becky read until late in
the night.
 CHAPTER XXIV.
FREDERICK HOLDFAST’S STATEMENT.

T HE extraordinary story which has appeared in the columns of the

Evening Moon, and the dreadful intelligence it conveys to me of
the murder of my dear father, render it imperatively necessary that I
should place upon permanent record certain particulars and
incidents relating to my career which will incontestibly prove that the
Romance in Real Life which is now being inserted in every
newspaper in the kingdom is an infamous fabrication. I am impelled
to this course by two strong reasons. First,—Because I wish to clear
myself in the eyes of the woman I love, from whom I have
concealed my real name and position. Second,—Because life is so
uncertain that I might not be able to do to-morrow what it is in my
power to do to-day. I pledge myself, in the name of my dear mother,
whose memory I revere, that I will set down here nothing but the
truth—that I will not strive to win pity or grace by the faintest
glossing of any particulars in which I may not appear to advantage—
that I will not swerve by a hair’s breadth from my honest intention to
speak of the matters treated herein in a plain, unvarnished style.
The dear one who will be the first to peruse these lines is as
precious to me as ever woman was to man, but I will not retain her
love by subterfuge or pretence, although it would break my heart to
lose it. To her I am known as Frederick Maitland. To a number of
persons I am—in connection with the murder of my father—known
as Antony Cowlrick. My true name is Frederick Holdfast.
Between myself and my father existed—until shortly after he
married a second wife—feelings of respect and affection. During my
boyhood his love for me was exhibited in every tender form which
occurs to the mind of an affectionate father, and I entertained for
him a love as sincere as his own. The death of my mother affected
him powerfully. Their married life had been a happy one, and they
lived in harmony. My mother was a woman with no ambition but that
of making those around her happy. She compassed her ambition,
the entire depth and scope of which was bounded by the word
Home. After her death my father, never a man of much animation
and conversation, became even quieter and more reserved in
manner, but I am convinced his love for me was not lessened. He
was a man of strong determination, and he had schooled himself to
keep his passions and emotions in complete control. He was intense
in his likes and dislikes—unobtrusively chivalrous and charitable—
disposed to go to extremes in matters of feeling—thorough in
friendship as in enmity—just in his dealings—and seldom, if ever,
forgiving where his confidence was betrayed, or where he believed
himself to be deceived. Such a man is apt to form wrong judgments
—as my father did; to receive false impressions—as my father did; to
be much deceived by cunning—as my father was. But if he was
hasty to condemn, he was eager to make atonement when he
discovered himself to be in the wrong. Then it was that the chivalry
of his nature asserted itself.
He was a successful merchant, and was proud of his successes,
and proud also that his money was made by fair and honourable
means. He said to me once, “I would rather see you compelled to
gain a living by sweeping a road than that it should come to my
knowledge that you have been guilty of a dishonourable action.” I
was his only child, and he had his views with respect to my future.
He wished me to enter public life, and he gave me an education to
fit me for it. While I was at Oxford he made me a handsome
allowance, and once, when I found myself in debt there, he did not
demur to settling them for me. Only once did this occur, and when
my debts were discharged, he said, “I have increased your
allowance, Frederick; it could not have been liberal enough, as you
contracted debts you were unable to pay.” He named the amount of
my increased allowance, and asked me if it was sufficient. I replied
that it was, and then he told me that he considered it a
dishonourable act for a man to consciously contract an obligation he
did not see his way to meet out of his own resources. “The scrape
you got into with your creditors was an error,” he said; “you did not
sufficiently consider. You are wiser now, and what was an error in
the past would be dishonourable in the future.” I never had occasion
to ask him to pay my debts again. I lived not only within my
allowance, but I saved out of it—a fortunate circumstance, as I
afterwards found. The result was obtained without my being
penurious, or depriving myself of any of the pleasures of living
indulged in by my friends and companions. I was not a purist; I was
fond of pleasure, and I have no doubt I did many foolish things; but
no sin lies at my door. I was never false to a friend, and I never
betrayed a woman.
Among my friends was a young man named Sydney Campbell. He
is not living now, and nothing restrains me from speaking of him
candidly and honestly. He was a man of brilliant parts, brilliant in
scholarship, in debate, in social accomplishments. He affected to be
a fop, and would assume an effeminacy which became him well—as
everything became him which he assumed. He was as brave as a
lion, and a master of fence; lavishly prodigal with his money, and
ready, at any moment, for any extravagance, and especially for any
extravagance which would serve to hide the real nobility of his
nature. He would hob-a-nob with the lowest and vilest, saying,
“Human nature is much of a muchness; why give ourselves airs? I
am convinced I should have made an admirable pickpocket.” But
Sydney Campbell was never guilty of a meanness.
He was the admiration of our set, and we made him the fashion.
Though he affected to disdain popularity he was proud of the
position we assigned to him, and he played us many extravagant
tricks. He led us into no danger of which he did not court the lion’s
share, and he held out now and then an example of kindness to
those in need of kindness which was productive of nothing but good.
It would be to some men most difficult to reconcile with each other
the amazing inconsistencies of his actions; now profound, now
frivolous, now scholar-like and dignified, now boisterous and
unrestrained; but I knew more of his inner nature than most of his
acquaintances, and I learnt to love as well as admire him. He had
large ideality, and a fund of animal spirits which he sometimes found
it impossible to control; he had large veneration, and a sense of the
ridiculous so strong that he would laugh with tears in his eyes and
tenderness in his heart. I am particular in my description of him,
because I want you to thoroughly understand him, and because it
was he who brought me into acquaintanceship with the woman who
has made me taste something worse than the bitterness of death.
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