The Second Epoch

The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

BLACKWATER PARK, HAMPSHIRE

June 11th, 1850.

Six months to look back on – six long, lonely months since Laura and I last saw each other!

How many days have I still to wait? Only one! Tomorrow, the twelfth, the travellers return to England. I can hardly realise my own happiness – I can hardly believe that the next four-and-twenty hours will complete the last day of separation between Laura and me.

She and her husband have been in Italy all the winter, and afterwards in the Tyrol. They come back, accompanied by Count Fosco and his wife, who have engaged to stay at Blackwater Park for the summer months.

Meanwhile, here I am, established at Blackwater Park, “the ancient and interesting seat” (as the county history informs me) “of Sir Percival Glyde, Bart.,” and the future abiding-place of plain Marian Halcombe, spinster, now’s sitting with a cup of tea by her side.

I left Limmeridge yesterday, having received Laura’s delightful letter from Paris the day before. I was impatient to see Laura’s dear face again – the past six months had passed so slowly I had received several letters from her, but it was quite impossible to tell whether she was any happier. She hardly mentioned Sir Percival or whether he treated her kindly. Instead she wrote about the wonderful cities she had visited – Florence, Rome and Venice. As for me, I am ready to be happy anywhere in her society.

No, I am not half sleepy enough. Sleepy, did I say? I feel as if I should never close my eyes again. I can’t read – I can’t fix my attention on books.

I had received one short letter from Walter Hartright, saying that the expedition had landed safely in Central America. There had been no more news or information about Catherick, and her companion, Mrs. Clements – it seemed they had completely disappeared. Whether they are in the country or out of it, whether they are living or dead, no one knows. Even Sir Percival’s solicitor has lost all hope, and has ordered stop the useless search.

As for Mr. Fairlie, he was relieved to have the house clear of us women.

Does Laura’s husband treat her kindly? Is she happier now than she was when I parted with her on the wedding-day? All my letters have contained these two inquiries, put more or less directly, now in one form, and now in another, and all have remained without reply. She informs me, over and over again, that she is perfectly well. She rarely mentions the name of her husband in her letters. She maintains the strange silence on the subject of her husband’s character and conduct.

Twelve o’clock has struck, and I have just come back to close these pages, after looking out at my open window.

It is a still, sultry, moonless night. The stars are dull and few. I hear the croaking of frogs. I wonder how Blackwater Park will look in the daytime? I don’t like it by night.

* * *

12th.

A day of investigations and discoveries. In the morning the housekeeper, a kind and friendly lady called Mrs Michelson, showed me over the house. The main part of the house was very old, and full of dark gloomy corridors with ugly family pictures of Sir Percival’s ancestors.

There are too many trees at Blackwater. The house is stifled by them.

After lunch I decided to explore the grounds outside. The house was surrounded by trees – in my opinion, far too many trees – all young and planted closely together so that they shut the house and garden in. It was so different from the wide open spaces of Limmeridge House which I was used to.

There was a path leading down through the trees and I followed it. After some time, the path opened out on to a small beach beside a lake. This was Blackwater Lake, which gave the house its name. The water by the beach was clear and still, but on the other side the trees came right down to the edge of the lake and their shadows made it look black and poisonous. It was a gloomy place.

An old wooden boathouse stood at the side of the beach. On approaching it, I found that there were a few chairs and a small table inside.

I had been in the boathouse for only a few minutes when I heard a sad kind of noise, as of an animal in great pain. It was coining from under the seat and when I looked down, I saw a poor little dog there – a black and white spaniel. On looking closer, I noticed that one of its sides was covered in blood. It had been shot.

I lifted the poor dog in my arms as gently as I could, and as fast as possible, went back to the house.

Finding no one in the hall I went up to my own sitting-room, made a bed for the dog with one of my old shawls, and rang the bell. The largest and fattest of all possible house-maids answered it. She smiled.

“What do you see there to laugh at?” I asked, as angrily as if she had been a servant of my own. “Do you know whose dog it is?”

“No, miss, that I certainly don’t.” She looked down at the spaniel’s injured side – and pointing to the wound with a chuckle of satisfaction, said, “That’s Baxter’s doings, that is.”

“Baxter?” I said. “Who is the brute you call Baxter?”

The girl grinned again more cheerfully than ever. “Bless you, miss! Baxter’s the keeper, and when he finds strange dogs hunting about, he takes and shoots them.”

Seeing that it was quite useless to expect any help, I told her to request the housekeeper’s attendance. As the door closed on her she said to herself softly, “It’s Baxter’s doings and Baxter’s duty – that’s what it is.”

The housekeeper, a person of some education and intelligence, brought upstairs with her some milk and some warm water. She saw the dog on the floor and changed colour.

“Why, Lord bless me,” cried the housekeeper, “that must be Mrs. Catherick’s dog!”

“Whose?” I asked, in the astonishment.

“Mrs. Catherick’s. You seem to know Mrs. Catherick, Miss Halcombe?”

“Not personally, but I have heard of her. Does she live here? Has she had any news of her daughter?”

“No, Miss Halcombe, she came here to ask for news of her daughter, Anne.”

“When?”

“Only yesterday. Someone had told her they had seen a young woman of Anne’s description in this neighbourhood, but she couldn’t find out any more. Mrs. Catherick certainly brought this poor little dog with her when she came. I suppose the dog must have wandered off and got lost. Where did you find it, Miss Halcombe?”

“In the old shed that looks out on the lake.”

“Ah, yes, poor little thing! If you can moisten its lips with the milk, Miss Halcombe, I will wash the hair from the wound. I am very much afraid it is too late to do any good. However, we can but try.”

Mrs. Catherick! The name still rang in my ears.

“Did you say that Mrs. Catherick lived anywhere in this neighbourhood?” I asked.

“Oh dear, no,” said the housekeeper. “She lives at Welmingham, quite at the other end of the county – five-and-twenty miles off, at least.”

“I suppose you have known Mrs. Catherick for some years?”

“On the contrary, Miss Halcombe, I never saw her before she came here yesterday. I had heard of her, of course, because I had heard of Sir Percival’s kindness in putting her daughter under medical care. Mrs. Catherick is rather a strange person in her manners.”

“I am rather interested about Mrs. Catherick,” I went on, continuing the conversation as long as possible. I was still feeling astonished about Mrs Catherick’s visit. I wanted to gain as much information as I could about her.

“Did she stay for any length of time?”

“Yes,” said the housekeeper, “she stayed for some time. Mrs. Catherick said to me, at parting, that there was no need to tell Sir Percival of her coming here. Don’t you think that was rather strange?”

I did indeed. Sir Percival had certainly given me the impression, in our conversation at Limmeridge House, that he and Mrs Catherick knew each other well. Why would she not want him to know of her visit? It didn’t make sense.

“Did she talk much about her daughter?” I asked.

“Very little,” replied the housekeeper. “She talked of Sir Percival, and asked many questions about where he had been travelling, and what sort of lady his new wife was. Ah, dear! I thought how it would end. Look, Miss Halcombe, the dog is dead!”

Eight o’clock. I have just returned from dining downstairs. The poor little dog! I wish my first day at Blackwater Park had not been associated with death, though it is only the death of a stray animal.

Welmingham – I see, Welmingham is the name of the place where Mrs. Catherick lives. I don’t understand her wishing to conceal her visit to this place from Sir Percival’s knowledge. What would Walter Hartright have said in this emergency? Poor, dear Hartright! I had kept the short note from Mrs Catherick which she had written in answer to my letter enquiring about Anne. One of these days, I thought, I would go over to Welmingham with the note. I would introduce myself to Mrs. Catherick and have a chat with her. I have questions which need answers, and one of them was why she wanted her visit to Blackwater Park kept secret from Sir Percival Glyde.

Moreover, was it possible that Anne was still in the neighbourhood after all?

Surely I heard something. Yes! I hear the horses’ feet – I hear the rolling wheels —

* * *

June 15th.

Sir Percival and Laura, accompanied by Count Fosco, returned to Blackwater Park. I have found her changed. I cannot absolutely say that she is less beautiful than she used to be – I can only say that she is less beautiful to me.

To my sorrow, I find great changes in Laura, or Lady Glyde as she now is. She is still beautiful, and still as loving and kind as ever, but her face has lost its happy innocent look, and there is much sadness in her eyes. I miss something when I look at her.

“Whenever you and I are together, Marian,” she said, “we shall both be happier and easier with one another, if we accept my married life for what it is. I want to be happy, now I have got you back again, and I want you to be so happy too – ” She broke off abruptly, and looked round the room, my own sitting-room, in which we were talking.

“Ah!” she cried, clapping her hands with a bright smile of recognition, “another old friend found already! Your bookcase, Marian – your dear little old wood bookcase – how glad I am you brought it with you from Limmeridge! And the horrid heavy man’s umbrella, that you always would walk out with when it rained! Oh, Marian! Promise you will never marry, and leave me – unless you are very fond of your husband.”

She crossed my hands on my lap, and laid her face on them. “Have you been writing many letters, and receiving many letters lately?” she asked. I understood what the question meant.

“Have you heard from him?” she went on, and I could see from the expression on her face that she was still in love with Walter Hartright.

“Is he well and happy? Has he recovered himself – and forgotten me?”

I did not know what to answer. Whenever I tried to ask her questions about her married life, she would stop me, and changing the subject. “Dear Marian,” she said, “I don’t want to make you unhappy by idling you about things which will upset you. We’re together, and let’s just be grateful for that.”

Let me turn, now, from her to her travelling companions. Her husband must engage my attention first. What have I observed in Sir Percival, since his return, to improve my opinion of him?

I can hardly say.

As for Sir Percival Glyde, I found that he too had changed over the past few months. When he had visited us at Limmeridge House, before he married Laura, he had been very charming to all of us – to Laura, to myself, to Mr. Fairlie and to Mr. Gilmore. But he had got what he wanted and married Laura, and there was no need for him to be charming any more. His manner in me was no longer polite, but cool and rude. He was often in a bad temper, and little things would annoy him.

The two guests – the Count and Countess Fosco – come next in my catalogue. The Count looks like a man who could tame anything. If he had married a tigress, instead of a woman, he would have tamed the tigress. If he had married me, I should have made his cigarettes, as his wife does – I should have held my tongue when he looked at me, as she holds hers.

This man has interested me, in two short days has attracted me, has forced me to like him. It’s a mystery. For example, he is immensely fat. Before this time I have always especially disliked fat men. But the Count is a very interesting man who can talk in a fascinating way about a great variety of subjects. But not only can he talk, he also knows how to listen, especially to women. He has a gift of making a woman feel that she is the most special person in the world.

Count Fosco is Italian by birth, but he has lived in England for a long time and speaks English perfectly. I had never supposed it possible that any foreigner could have spoken English as he speaks it. There are times when it is almost impossible to detect, by his accent that he is not a countryman of our own. I have never yet heard him use a wrong expression, or hesitate for a moment in his choice of a word.

He has many colourful and expensive shirts and waistcoats. Moreover, Count Fosco loves small animals and birds and has a number of pet white mice which travel everywhere with him in a special cage. Some of his animals he has left on the Continent, but he has brought with him to this house a cockatoo, two canary-birds, and a whole family of white mice. Sometimes he would let them out of the cage and then they would run all over his huge fat body and sit in pairs on his shoulders.

I can see already that he means to live on excellent terms with all of us during the period of his sojourn in this place. He has evidently discovered that Laura secretly dislikes him – but he has also found out that she is extravagantly fond of flowers. Whenever she wants a flower he has got one to give her. His management of the Countess (in public) is a sight to see. He bows to her, he addresses her as “my angel,” he kisses her hand when she gives him his cigarettes.

His method of recommending himself to me is entirely different. He flatters my vanity by talking to me as seriously as if I was a man. Yes! He can manage me as he manages his wife and Laura, as he manages Sir Percival himself, every hour in the day. “My good Percival! how I like your rough English humour!” – “My good Percival! how I enjoy your solid English sense!” It was obvious too that the Count had a very strong influence over his friend, Sir Percival. Sir Percival wasn’t as clever as the Count and clearly he was afraid of him. I too was afraid of the Count. I knew that whatever happened, I mustn’t make an enemy of him. He would be a far more dangerous enemy than Sir Percival. I was afraid of his eyes – they were cold and clear and shone with an extraordinary power. When I looked into them, I felt that he could make me do anything he wanted.

How much I seem to have written about Count Fosco! Is this because I like him, or because I am afraid of him? Who knows?

* * *

June 16th.

A visitor has arrived – quite unknown to Laura and to me, and apparently quite unexpected by Sir Percival.

We were sitting having lunch when a servant entered the dining room.

“Mr. Merriman has just come, Sir Percival,” said the servant, “and wishes to see you immediately”.

Sir Percival started, and looked at the man with an expression of angry alarm.

“Mr. Merriman!” he cried.

“Yes, Sir Percival – Mr. Merriman, from London.”

“Where is he?”

“In the library, Sir Percival.”

He left the table, and hurried out of the room without saying a word to any of us.

“Who is Mr. Merriman?” asked Laura, appealing to me. “What does his visit here mean?”

“I have not the least idea,” was all I could say in reply.

The Count turned round to us.

“Mr. Merriman is Sir Percival’s solicitor,” he said quietly.

Sir Percival’s solicitor. And his visit here means that something has happened. He brings unexpected news for Sir Percival – news that is either very good or very bad, but certainly not ordinary.

Laura and I sat silent at the table for a quarter of an hour or more, wondering uneasily what had happened, and waiting for Sir Percival’s return. There were no signs of his return, and we rose to leave the room.

* * *

June 16th.

I have a few lines more to add to this day’s entry before I go to bed tonight. About two hours after Sir Percival rose from the luncheon-table to receive his solicitor, Mr. Merriman, in the library, I left my room alone to take a walk. Just as I was at the end of the landing the library door opened and the two gentlemen came out. Although they spoke to each other in guarded tones, their words reached my ears.

“Everything depends on your wife, Sir Percival,” Mr. Merriman was saying seriously. “If she signs the document, you can get hold of her money now. If not, then there will be serious problems because the debt you owe is almost due.”

“You quite understand, Sir Percival,” the lawyer went on. “Lady Glyde is to sign her name in the presence of a witness – or of two witnesses, if you wish to be particularly careful – and is then to put her finger on the seal. If not – “

“What do you mean by ‘if not’?” asked Sir Percival angrily. “If the thing must be done it SHALL be done. I promise you that, Merriman.”

“Just so, Sir Percival – just so. Sir Percival, you will let me know as soon as the arrangement is complete? and you will not forget the caution I recommended – “

I understood everything very clearly. Sir Percival was going to try and obtain Laura’s twenty thousand pounds to clear his debts. In order to do so he needed Laura’s signature to show that she gave her permission for him to use her money. I crept back upstairs to Laura’s room at once to tell her what I’d heard. To my surprise, she didn’t seem upset.

“That’s just what I thought,” she said. “Sir Percival hasn’t got enough money of his own and he can’t wait until I’m dead. He wants me to sign my money over to him now.”

“You will sign nothing, Laura, without first looking at it?”

“Certainly not, Marian. I promise. I’ll do nothing which I might regret one day. Don’t worry.”

On leaving the house we directed our steps to the nearest shade. The rest of the day and evening passed quietly enough. The Count and I played at chess. For the first two games he politely even allowed me to conquer him.

* * *

June 17th.

A day of events. Sir Percival was as silent at breakfast as he had been the evening before.

After breakfast Laura and I got ready to go out for a walk.

“Where are you going?” asked Sir Percival at once.

“We were all thinking of going to the lake this morning,” said Laura. “But if you have any other arrangement to propose – ”

“No, no,” he answered hastily. “My arrangement can wait. All going to the lake, eh? A good idea. Let’s have an idle morning – I’ll be one of the party. It’s such a beautiful morning for a walk.”

The Count and his wife joined us at that moment.

“With your kind permission,” said the Count, “I will take my small family here – my poor little pretty mice! My dear mice don’t want to be left alone in the house. There are dogs here and I don’t want them to be frightened.”

The morning was windy and cloudy.

“Some people call that picturesque,” said Sir Percival. “I call it a blot on a gentleman’s property. Look at the lake! It is not four feet deep anywhere. My bailiff (a superstitious idiot) says he is quite sure the lake has a curse on it, like the Dead Sea. What do you think, Fosco? It looks just the place for a murder, doesn’t it?”

“My good Percival,” said the Count. “The water is too shallow to hide the body, and there is sand everywhere to print off the murderer’s footsteps. It is the worst place for a murder. If a fool was going to commit a murder, your lake is the first place he would choose for it. If a wise man was going to commit a murder, your lake is the last place he would choose for it.”

Laura looked at the Count with her dislike for him. He was so busy with his mice that he did not notice her.

“I am sorry to hear the lake-view connected with anything so horrible as the idea of murder,” she said. “And if Count Fosco must divide murderers into classes, I think he has been very unfortunate in his choice of expressions. One cannot describe them as wise men. I have always heard that truly wise men are truly good men, and have a horror of crime.”

“My dear lady,” said the Count, “That’s true! The fool’s crime is the crime that is found out, and the wise man’s crime is the crime that is not found out.”

“Ha! Crimes cause their own detection!,” sneered Sir Percival. “What infernal humbug!”

“I believe it to be true,” said Laura quietly.

Sir Percival burst out laughing.

We all walked down to the lake and sat down to rest in the boathouse. The Count, who had been carrying his mice in their cage, opened the door so that they could come out and run over him as usual. Sir Percival didn’t sit down, but stood nervously at the door, looking out across the lake.

Suddenly Count Fosco gave a cry.

“One of my dear little mice has got lost!” he said. “There should be five of them, and I can see only four.”

“There it is, under the seat,” I said.

“Thank you, my dear Miss Halcombe.”

The Count got down on his knees and took the little animal up in his hand. Then he suddenly stopped and looked at the ground in front of him. When he rose to his feet again, his hand was shaking and he said in a whisper,

“Percival! Come here and look at this!”

“What’s the matter now?” Sir Percival asked, lounging carelessly into the boathouse.

“Do you see nothing there?” said the Count, catching him nervously by the collar with one hand, and pointing with the other to the place near which he had found the mouse.

“I see plenty of dry sand,” answered Sir Percival, “and a spot of dirt in the middle of it.”

“Not dirt,” whispered the Count. “Blood.”

Laura was near enough to hear the last word, softly as he whispered it. She turned to me with a look of terror.

“Nonsense, my dear,” I said. “There is no need to be alarmed. It is only the blood of a poor little stray dog.”

Everybody was astonished.

“How do you know that?” asked Sir Percival, speaking first.

“I found the dog here, dying, on the day when you all returned from abroad,” I replied. “The poor creature had been shot by your keeper.”

“Whose dog was it?” inquired Sir Percival. “Not one of mine?”

“Did you try to save the poor thing?” asked Laura earnestly. “Surely you tried to save it, Marian?”

“Yes,” I said, “the housekeeper and I both did our best – but the dog was mortally wounded, and he died under our hands.”

“Whose dog was it?” persisted Sir Percival, repeating his question a little irritably. “One of mine?”

“No, not one of yours.”

“Whose then? Did the housekeeper know?”

I hesitated. I remembered that Mrs. Gatherick hadn’t wanted Sir Percival to find out about her visit to Blackwater Park, but I had to give him an answer.

“Yes,” I said. “The housekeeper knew. She told me it was Mrs. Catherick’s dog.”

“How came the housekeeper to know it was Mrs. Catherick’s dog?” he asked, fixing his eyes on mine with a frowning interest and attention, which half angered, half startled me.

“She knew it,” I said quietly, “because Mrs. Catherick brought the dog with her.”

“Brought it with her? Where did she bring it with her?”

“To this house.”

“What the devil did Mrs. Catherick want at this house?”

The manner in which he put the question was even more offensive than the language in which he expressed it. I turned away silently. At that moment Count Fosco stepped forward and put his hand on Sir Percival’s shoulder.

Just as I moved the Count’s hand was laid on his shoulder, and the Count’s voice interposed to quiet him.

“My dear Percival! – gently – gently!”

Sir Percival looked round in his angriest manner. The Count only smiled.

“Gently, my good friend – gently!”

Sir Percival hesitated, and, to my great surprise, taking a deep breath, offered me an apology.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “I am afraid I am a little irritable. But I should like to know what Mrs. Catherick could possibly want here. When did she come? Was the housekeeper the only person who saw her?”

“The only person,” I answered, “so far as I know.”

The Count interposed again.

“In that case why not question the housekeeper?” he said. “ Why don’t you go and ask the housekeeper these questions, not Miss Halcombe?”

“Quite right!” said Sir Percival. “Of course the house-keeper is the first person to question.” With those words he instantly left us to return to the house.

We all entered the house. As we crossed the hall Sir Percival came out from the library to meet us. He looked hurried and pale and anxious – but he was in his most polite mood when he spoke to us.

“I am sorry to say I am obliged to leave you,” he began, “I shall be back tomorrow – but before I go I should like that little business formality to be settled. Laura, will you come into the library? It won’t take a minute – a mere formality. Miss Halcombe, may I trouble you also? Please, Miss Halcombe, and Fosco, I need you to act as witnesses to Laura’s signature – nothing more. Come in at once and get it over.”

We all followed Sir Percival into the library and sat down round the table. He then opened a cupboard and took out a document which he put in front of Laura. He placed it on the table, opened the last fold only, and kept his hand on the rest. Laura couldn’t read it all. Then he handed her a pen and pointed to the place where he wanted her to sign. Laura and I looked at each other. Her face was pale, but she showed no fear.

Sir Percival dipped a pen in ink, and handed it to his wife. “Sign your name there,” he said, pointing to the place. “You and Fosco are to sign afterwards, Miss Halcombe, opposite those two lines. Come here, Fosco!”

The Count threw away his cigarette, and joined us at the table. Laura, who was on the other side of her husband, with the pen in her hand, looked at him.

“Sign there,” he repeated, turning suddenly on Laura.

“What is it I am to sign? Please explain to me, Sir Percival, what this document is which you wish me to sign,” she asked quietly.

“I have no time to explain,” he answered. “My horse is waiting outside, and I must go directly. Besides, if I had time, you wouldn’t understand. It is a formal document. Come! Come! Sign your name, and let us have done as soon as possible.”

“I must know what I am signing, Sir Percival, before I write my name.”

“Nonsense! What have women to do with business? I tell you again, you can’t understand it.”

“At any rate, let me try to understand it. Whenever Mr. Gilmore had any business for me to do, he always explained it first, and I always understood him.”

“He was your servant, and was obliged to explain. I am your husband, and am not obliged. How much longer do you mean to keep me here? I tell you again, there is no time for reading anything. Once for all, will you sign or will you not?”

She still had the pen in her hand, but she made no approach to signing her name with it. She did not move.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I want to help, but I can’t sign anything unless I know what it is.”

“Speak out!” he cried. “You distrust me!”

Sir Percival stepped forward, looking so angry that I thought for a moment he was going to hit Laura. But Count Fosco saved the situation.

“My dear Percival,” he said, “Control your temper. Lady Glyde is right.”

“Right! A wife right in distrusting her husband! Come back and sign!” cried Sir Percival from the other side of the table.

“Shall I?” Laura asked in my ear; “I will, if you tell me.”

“No,” I answered. “The right and the truth are with you – sign nothing, unless you have read it first.”

“Come back and sign!” he reiterated, in his loudest and angriest tones.

“Percival!” said the Count. “I remember that I am in the presence of ladies. Be good enough, if you please, to remember it too. She needs to know why she is signing the document.”

They both looked at each other.

“I don’t want to offend anybody,” said Sir Percival, “but I have told her this is merely a formal document – and what more can she want? Once more, Lady Glyde, and for the last time, will you sign or will you not?”

I heard the Count whisper under his breath to Sir Percival, “You idiot!”

Laura walked before me to the door.

“One moment!” interposed the Count before Sir Percival could speak again – “one moment, Lady Glyde, I implore you!”

“Don’t make an enemy of the Count!” I whispered. “Whatever you do, don’t make an enemy of the Count!”

“May I make a suggestion?” said Fosco. “Percival, you’re in a hurry now – you have to go. Let this matter wait until your return tomorrow.”

“You are taking a tone with me that I don’t like,” said Sir Percival. “A tone I won’t bear from any man.”

“I am advising you for your good,” returned the Count, with a smile of quiet contempt. “Give yourself time – give Lady Glyde time. Have you forgotten that your horses are waiting at the door? My tone surprises you – ha? How many doses of good advice have I given you in my time? More than you can count. Have I ever been wrong? Never. The matter of the signature can wait till tomorrow.”

Sir Percival hesitated and looked at his watch. He needed Laura’s signature, but he was also anxious to start his journey.

“It is easy to argue me down,” he said, “when I have no time to answer you. I will take your advice, Fosco – not because I want it, or believe in it, but because I can’t stop here any longer.”

He paused, and looked round darkly at his wife. “If you don’t give me your signature when I come back tomorrow!”

He took his hat and gloves off the table. “Remember tomorrow!” he said to his wife, and went out.

We heard the wheels of the carriage as Sir Percival drove off. He was going at full speed. Why was he in such a hurry?

“Where has he gone to, Marian?” whispered Laura. “Everything he does these days seems to frighten me.”

“I’m sure he’s gone to visit Mrs. Catherick,” I said. “He was very angry that she came here. But I don’t know why.”

Laura sighed bitterly.

“We must do what we can to help ourselves,” I said. “Let us do all in our power for the best.”

* * *

June 17th.

When the dinner hour brought us together again, Count Fosco was in his usual excellent spirits. Laura and I listened to him with much attention. Women can resist a man’s love, a man’s fame, a man’s personal appearance, and a man’s money, but they cannot resist a man’s tongue when he knows how to talk to them.

After dinner, Laura suggested going out for a walk. Laura and I went out together alone.

“Which way shall we go?” I asked

“Towards the lake, Marian, if you like,” she answered.

The air was still and heavy. We walked through the shadowy park in silence. When we got to the boathouse we were very glad to sit down and rest inside. A white fog hung low over the lake. The silence was horrible. No rustling of the leaves – no bird’s note in the wood. Even the croaking of the frogs had ceased tonight. The silence all around was horrible – there was no movement of the trees.

“It is very desolate and gloomy. But we can be more alone here than anywhere else. I promised, Marian, to tell you the truth about my married life,” she began. “I was silent, as you know, for your sake – and perhaps a little for my own sake as well. Oh, Marian, I’m so unhappy!”

* * *

Laura then began to tell me about her marriage, and her relationship with Sir Percival Glyde. She told me many things that made my heart very sad and heavy within me, as I realised how cruelly he treated her. One thing was very clear to me – Sir Percival had never loved Laura, but had married her for her money, and her money alone.

I also felt the most terrible sense of guilt. I was the person responsible for separating Laura from Walter Hartright, the man who loved her. I had encouraged him to leave England, to go far away to a dangerous place from which he might never return. I was responsible for wasting two young lives – Laura’s and Walter’s – and I had done all this so that she should keep her promise to Sir Percival Glyde, a man who didn’t love her and who was cruel to her.

“It is late,” I heard her whisper. She shook my arm and repeated, “Marian! it will be dark. We are far from the house,” she whispered. “Let us go back.”

She stopped suddenly, and turned her face from me towards the entrance of the boathouse.

“Marian!” she said, trembling violently. “Do you see nothing? Look!”

“Where?”

“Down there, below us.”

She pointed. My eyes followed her hand, and I saw it too.

A figure was walking along by the side of the lake, but whether of man or woman, it was impossible to tell. It moved silently and disappeared into the fog.

“Was it a man or a woman?” asked Laura in a whisper.

“I am not certain.”

“Which do you think?”

“It looked like a woman.”

“I was afraid it was a man in a long cloak.”

“It may be a man. In this dim light it is not possible to be certain.”

“Wait, Marian! I’m frightened – I don’t see the path.”

“There’s no need to be frightened,” I replied. “It’s probably only someone from the village out walking late. Come on, let’s go.”

It was difficult to find the path back to the house in the darkness. All the way back, we had a very strange feeling that someone or something was following us. At one time we thought we heard footsteps, but on turning round we couldn’t see anything because of the fog. I gave Laura my arm, and we walked as fast as we could on our way back.

“I am half dead with fear,” said Laura. “Who was it?”

“We will try to guess tomorrow,” I replied.

At home, I sent Laura upstairs immediately, I went immediately to the library. Count Fosco was sitting by the fire smoking and reading calmly, his cravat across his knees, and his shirt collar wide open. And there sat Madame Fosco, like a quiet child, on a stool by his side, making cigarettes. Neither husband nor wife could, by any possibility, have been out late that evening. The servants and the housekeeper too were all in their rooms.

* * *

June 18th.

Laura told me that she had lost a brooch which I had given her for a wedding present. She said she was sure she had dropped it in the boathouse, and was going to look for it there.

I knew that Sir Percival was expected back that afternoon, and that he would immediately try to force Laura to sign the document again. I was extremely worried about this, and went to my room to try to work out what we should do.

The day was hot and I wasn’t feeling very well, so I lay down on my bed and soon fell asleep. I had very strange and disturbing dreams, all about Walter Hartright. Suddenly I was woken by a hand on my shoulder. It was Laura, on her knees by my bed. Her face was full of a wild excitement and her eyes were shining. I looked at her, astonished.

“What has happened?” I asked. “What has frightened you?”

She looked round at the half-open door, put her lips close to my ear, and answered in a whisper —

“Marian! – the figure at the lake – the footsteps last night – I’ve just seen her! I’ve just spoken to her!”

“Who, for Heaven’s sake?”

“Anne Catherick.”

I was so astonished that I couldn’t speak. I could only stand rooted to the floor, looking at her in breathless silence.

“I have seen Anne Catherick! I have spoken to Anne Catherick!” she repeated as if I had not heard her. “Oh, Marian, I have such things to tell you! Come away – we may be interrupted here – come at once into my room.”

She caught me by the hand, and led me through the library, to the end room on the ground floor. She pushed me in before her, locked the door, and drew the curtains that hung over the inside.

Laura drew me to the nearest seat, a sofa in the middle of the room. “Look!” she said, “look here!” – and pointed to the bosom of her dress.

I saw, for the first time, that the lost brooch was pinned in its place again.

“Where did you find your brooch?” The first words I could say to her were the words which put that question at that important moment.

“She found it, Marian.”

“Where?”

“On the floor of the boathouse. Oh, how shall I begin – how shall I tell you about it! She talked to me so strangely – she looked so fearfully ill – she left me so suddenly!”

“Speak low,” I said. “Begin at the beginning, Laura. Tell me, word for word, what passed between that woman and you. Where did you first see her?”

“At the boathouse, Marian. I went out, as you know, to find my brooch, and I walked along the path through the plantation, looking down on the ground carefully at every step. In that way I got on, after a long time, to the boat-house, and as soon as I was inside it, I went on my knees. I was still searching with my back to the doorway, when I heard a soft, strange voice behind me say, ‘Miss Fairlie.’”

“Miss Fairlie!”

“Yes, my old name – the dear, familiar name. The voice was too kind and gentle to frighten anybody. There, looking at me from the doorway, stood a woman, whose face I never remembered to have seen before – ”

“How was she dressed?”

“She had a pretty white dress on. Very strange, was it not? Before I could say anything to soothe her, she held out one of her hands, and I saw my brooch in it. I was so pleased and so grateful, that I went quite close to her to say what I really felt. ‘Let me pin your brooch on for you, now I have found it.’ Her request was so unexpected, Marian!”

“Your dear mother would have let me,” she said. “I knew her well, when you and I were children.”

“You knew my mother?” I said. “Was it very long ago? Have I ever seen you before?”

Her hands were busy fastening the brooch.

“I knew you,” she said, “but you don’t remember me. Pretty, clever Miss Fairlie, and poor Anne Catherick were nearer to each other then than they are now!’”

“Did you remember her, Laura, when she told you her name?”

“Yes, I remembered your asking me about Anne Catherick at Limmeridge.”

“As I looked at her, I had the strangest feeling. It came to me suddenly that she and I were very like each other. Her face was much thinner and paler than mine, but she looked just as I would look after a long illness.

“Why did you call me Miss Fairlie?” I asked her. “I’m Lady Glyde now.”

“Because I love the name of Fairlie and hate the name of Glyde,” she said. “I tried to save you from marrying that devil. I did my best to prevent you from making a terrible mistake. I wrote you that letter but I didn’t do enough. I should have talked to you in person, but I was too afraid.” “She then hid her face in her hands and started to cry. It was terrible to see her and hear her.

“I wanted to speak to you last night,” she said. “I followed you back to the house.”

“What do you want to tell me?” I asked her gently.

“Listen,” she said. “I know a secret about your cruel husband, which if ever it is found out will destroy him. It’s a terrible secret – dark and deep. My mother knows it too. That’s why he shut me up in the Asylum for mad people, where nobody would believe me. But I’ve escaped, and he’s afraid of me. I’ll tell you his secret, so then he’ll be afraid of you too, and he’ll have no more power over you.”

“The secret, Anne,” I whispered to her – “Tell me the secret!”

She hid her face again in the end of her poor worn shawl. It was dreadful to see her, and dreadful to hear her. She caught hold of my arm, and looked at me with wild frightened eyes. ‘Not now,’ she said, ‘we are not alone – we are watched. I must go. Come here tomorrow at this time – by yourself. Be sure to come here by yourself!’ She pushed me roughly into the boathouse again, and I saw her no more.”

“Oh, Laura, Laura, another chance lost! If I had only been near you she should not have escaped us.”

“Did you call after her?”

“How could I? I was too terrified to move or speak.”

“But when you did move – when you came out?”

“I ran back here, to tell you what had happened.”

“Did you see any one, or hear any one there?”

“No.”

I waited for a moment to consider.

“Are you quite sure you have told me everything? Every word that was said?” I inquired.

“I think so,” she answered. “Marian, tell me, pray tell me, what you think about it! I don’t know what to think, or what to do next.”

“You must do this, my love: you must carefully keep the appointment at the boathouse tomorrow. You will not be alone. I will follow you at a safe distance. Nobody will see me. Anne Catherick has escaped Walter Hartright, and has escaped you. Whatever happens, she shall not escape me.”

“You believe,” said Laura, “in this secret that my husband is afraid of?”

“Yes, Laura, I believe there is a secret. And I think Sir Percival is frightened. He knows that if anyone finds out, it will destroy him.”

I said no more, and got up to leave the room.

* * *

June 19th.

I was extremely anxious to know where Count Fosco had been that afternoon – could he have been anywhere near the boathouse? Could he have been the person listening to Laura and Anne’s conversation? Or had Anne just imagined she heard someone?

Count Fosco wasn’t in the house, so I went out into the grounds. I was walking down the path which led to the lake when suddenly the Count appeared in front of me, coming from the opposite direction. I was so shocked by his unexpected appearance that at first I couldn’t speak.

“You look surprised to see me, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “It was such a lovely morning that I decided to go for a walk.”

Immediately I became very suspicious. Count Fosco never took any exercise and certainly never went for walks.

“Are you going back to the house?” he went on, taking hold of my arm. “Do let me come with you. It’s such a very great pleasure to have your company.”

As we came within sight of the house, we saw Sir Percival’s horse and carriage standing outside. He had just returned and came forward to meet us, still in a bad temper.

“There you are!” he said angrily. “Where the devil is everyone? Where is my wife? Tell her to come down at once.”

“Now just a moment, me dear Percival,” said Count Fosco quietly. He dropped my arm, took Sir Percival’s and led him inside. “I want to have five minutes’ conversation with you, about a serious matter of business that very much concerns you.”

I went upstairs to tell Laura that her husband had returned, and would soon be insisting once again that she sign the document. We were sitting together when someone knocked softly at the door. It was Count Fosco, smiling.

“Dear ladies, I bring you good news,” he said. “News that I’m sure will be a great relief to you. I’ve persuaded Percival to change his mind. There’s no need for you to sign the document now.” He then went out, closing the door.

Laura and I looked at each other in astonishment.

“What can this mean?” Laura asked. “I thought Sir Percival wanted my money.”

“Maybe Count Fosco has another plan,” was all I could say.

It was raining heavily. Laura and I had agreed that she should go to the boathouse after lunch to meet Anne Catherick, and I should follow her a few minutes later. We didn’t want to frighten Anne by arriving together.

Sir Percival went out shortly after breakfast. He had his coat and high boots on, but he didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He had still not returned by lunchtime.

Laura left the lunch table as we had planned, and I waited for a short while then followed her. I walked quickly through the trees. When I reached the boathouse, I stopped and listened, but to my surprise I couldn’t hear anything. I went to the door and looked inside. There was nobody there!

My heart began to beat violently. What could have happened?

“Laura!” I called. “Laura!” But only silence answered me.

I went back to the house. The first person I met was the housekeeper.

“Do you know,” I asked, “whether Lady Glyde has come in from her walk or not?”

“My lady came in a little while ago with Sir Percival,” answered the housekeeper. “I am afraid, Miss Halcombe, something very distressing has happened.”

My heart sank within me. “You don’t mean an accident?” I said faintly.

“No, no – thank God, no accident. But my lady ran upstairs to her own room in tears. And Sir Percival seemed very angry.”

I hurried upstairs at once to Laura’s room. Laura was sitting alone at the far end of the room, her arms resting on a table, and her face hidden in her hands. She started up with a cry of delight when she saw me.

“What happened, Laura? Did you see Anne?’

“No,” she answered. “Anne didn’t come to the boathouse. Someone was watching us.”

“So Anne was right,” I said. “Someone did see you with her yesterday. I think that Count Fosco-”

“Don’t speak of him,” cried Laura. “The Count is the vilest creature! The Count is a miserable spy! Anne Catherick was right. There was a third person watching us in the plantation yesterday, and that third person – ”

“Are you sure it was the Count?”

“I am absolutely certain. He was Sir Percival’s spy – he was Sir Percival’s informer – he set Sir Percival watching and waiting, all the morning through, for Anne Catherick and for me.”

“Is Anne found? Did you see her at the lake?”

“No. When I got to the boathouse no one was there.”

“Yes? Yes?”

“I went in and sat waiting for a few minutes. But I got up again, to walk about a little. As I passed out I saw some marks on the sand, close under the front of the boathouse. I discovered a word written in large letters on the sand. The word was – LOOK.

I scraped away the sand on the surface, and I found a piece of paper hidden beneath, which had writing on it. The writing was signed with Anne Catherick’s initials.

“Where is it?”

“Sir Percival has taken it from me.”

“Can you remember what the writing was? Do you think you can repeat it to me?”

“Yes, I can, Marian. It was very short: “A tall, stout old man saw us. I had to run to save myself. He was not quick enough on his feet to follow me, and he lost me among the trees. I dare not risk coming back here today at the same time. I write this, and hide it in the sand, at six in the morning, to tell you so. When we speak next of your wicked husband’s secret we must speak safely, or not at all. Try to have patience. I promise you shall see me again and that soon. – A. C.”

“Did you try to hide the letter?”

“I tried, but Sir Percival stopped me. He said, ‘You saw Anne Catherick in secret yesterday, and you have got her letter in your hand at this moment. I have not caught her yet, but I have caught you. Give me the letter.’ He took me by the arm, and led me out of the boathouse. Then he clasped his hand fast round my arm, and whispered to me, ‘What did Anne Catherick say to you yesterday?’”

“Did you tell him?”

“I was alone with him, Marian – his cruel hand was bruising my arm – what could I do?”

“Is the mark on your arm still? Let me see it.”

“Why do you want to see it?”

“I want to see it, Laura, because our endurance must end, and our resistance must begin today. That mark is a weapon to strike him with. Let me see it now!”

“Oh, Marian, don’t look so – don’t talk so! It doesn’t hurt me now!”

“Let me see it!”

She showed me the marks. I saw the most terrible bruises on Laura’s soft pale arm. Inside I felt a white-cold anger. How I hated her husband!

“He kept asking what Anne had said to me, and where she was,” said Laura. “He didn’t believe me when I told him I didn’t know, and dragged me back to the house. Oh, Marian, what will happen to us? If only we could leave this house for ever!”

* * *

June 19th.

That night I was sitting alone in my room. For ten minutes or more I sat idle, with the pen in my hand, thinking over the events of the last twelve hours.

I opened the door which led from my bedroom into my sitting-room, and pulled it to again. My sitting-room window was wide open, and I leaned out to look at the night.

It was dark and quiet. Neither moon nor stars were visible. There was a smell like rain in the still, heavy air, and I put my hand out of window. No. The rain was only threatening, it had not come yet.

Just as I was turning away from the window to go back to the bedroom, I smelt the odour of tobacco-smoke. The next moment I saw a tiny red spark advancing from the farther end of the house in the darkness. I heard no footsteps, and I could see nothing but the spark. It travelled along in the night, passed the window at which I was standing, and stopped opposite my bedroom window.

Two men met together in the darkness. I knew the red lights were the cigarettes of Sir Percival and Count Fosco. They often went outside in the evening for a short walk, and on their return would sit smoking together outside the library.The Count had come out first, and Sir Percival had afterwards joined him. I waited quietly at the window, certain that they could neither of them see me in the darkness of the room.

“What’s the matter?” I heard Sir Percival say in a low voice. “Why don’t you come in and sit down?”

“I want to see the light out of that window,” replied the Count softly.

“What harm does the light do?”

“It shows she is not in bed yet. She is clever enough to suspect something, and to come downstairs and listen, if she can get the chance. Patience, Percival – patience.”

They slowly moved away. Suddenly I had an idea. I knew that Sir Percival and the Count were having an important conversation – a conversation that probably concerned both Laura’s future and mine. I had to find out what they were saying.

There was a narrow verandah running all the way around the roof of the house, with flower pots arranged on it. If I climbed out of my bedroom window, I could creep along the verandah until I reached the part of it directly above the library. There I could kneel down among the flower pots and listen to the conversation below.

It was a dangerous, desperate plan and I would have to be extremely careful. If I knocked a flower pot off the roof, or made any noise by which I could be discovered, I was afraid to think what Sir Percival would do to me.

I went softly back to my bedroom, put on a long black coat and tied a scarf round my hair. This would make it easier for me to slip along the verandah in the darkness without anyone noticing me.

I locked the door, and then quietly got out of the window, and cautiously set my feet on the roof of the verandah. I had five windows to pass before I could reach the position it was necessary to take up immediately over the library. The first window belonged to a spare room which was empty. The second and third windows belonged to Laura’s room. The fourth window belonged to Sir Percival’s room. The fifth belonged to the Countess’s room. The others, by which it was not necessary for me to pass, were the windows of the Count’s dressing-room, of the bath-room, and of the second empty spare room.

No sound reached my ears. “For Laura’s sake!” I thought to myself, as I took the first step forward on the roof. I passed the dark window of the spare room, I passed the dark windows of Laura’s room (“God bless her and keep her tonight!”). I passed the dark window of Sir Percival’s room. Then I waited a moment, knelt down with my hands to support me, and so crept to my position, under the protection of the low wall.

At last I found myself directly above the library.

“Ouf! how hot it is!” said the Count, sighing.

The sound told me they were going to sit close at the window as usual. The chance was mine! The clock struck the quarter to twelve as they settled themselves in their chairs.

Meanwhile, Sir Percival and the Count began talking together. The Count said,

“We are at a serious crisis in our affairs, Percival, and if we want to decide on the future at all, we must decide secretly tonight.”

“Crisis?” repeated Sir Percival. “It’s a worse crisis than you think for, I can tell you.”

“Wait a little,” returned the other coolly. “Let us first see if I am right about the time that is past, before I make any proposal to you for the time that is to come. Now listen, Percival. Let me describe our position, as I understand it, and you shall say if I am right or wrong. You and I both came back to this house from the Continent with our affairs very seriously embarrassed.”

“Cut it short! I wanted some thousands and you some hundreds, and without the money we are both ruined. There’s the situation. Go on.”

“Well, Percival, in your own solid English words, you wanted some thousands and I wanted some hundreds, and the only way of getting them was for you to raise the money by the help of your wife. What did I tell you about your wife on our way to England? – and what did I tell you again when we had come here, and when I had seen for myself the sort of woman Miss Halcombe was?”

“How should I know?”

“ You should. I said this. Percival! Percival! You deserve to fail, and you have failed.”

There was a pause. Sir Percival was the first to break the silence again.

“Yes, yes; it’s easy enough to grumble at me. Say what is to be done – that’s a little harder. What do you propose if I leave it all to you?”

“So, the simplest and best way for us to get the money was to obtain your wife’s signature on a document which would sign over some of her fortune for your immediate use. But because of your bad temper, you failed to do so. A few questions, Percival, to begin with. You have no money?”

“A few hundreds, when I want as many thousands.”

“What have you actually got with your wife at the present moment?”

“Nothing but the interest of her twenty thousand pounds – barely enough to pay our daily expenses.”

“What do you expect from your wife?”

“Three thousand a year when her uncle dies.”

“And what sort of a man is this uncle? Old?”

“No – neither old nor young. He’s a maudlin, selfish fool, and bores everybody about the state of his health.”

“Men of that sort, Percival, live long. Is there nothing more that comes to you from your wife?”

“Nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing?”

“Absolutely nothing – except in case of her death.”

“Aha! in the case of her death.”

There was another pause. The Count moved from the verandah outside.

“Well, Percival,” he said, “and in the case of Lady Glyde’s death, what do you get then?”

“If she leaves no children – ”

“Yes?”

“Why, then I get her twenty thousand pounds.”

“Paid down?“

“Paid down.”

They were silent once more.

“Percival! Do you love your wife?”

“Fosco! Why do you ask such a question?’

“You won’t answer me? Well, then, let us say your wife dies before the summer is out… In that case, you would gain twenty thousand pounds. And you want money, at once. In your position the gain is certain.”

“Are you serious, Fosco?”

“Quite serious. You would gain twenty thousand pounds and both your money difficulties and mine would be at an end. It’s worth thinking about seriously, my dear Percival. Think about it.”

“I have thought about it,” said Sir Percival slowly. “Believe me. But there is another difficulty.” He stopped and was silent as if he didn’t want to go on.

“Shall I help you?” suggested the Count. “Shall I give this private difficulty of yours a name? What if I call it – Anne Catherick?”

“Maybe, Fosco…”

“You have had a secret from me, Percival. There is a skeleton in your cupboard here at Blackwater Park. I don’t understand who this woman is and why you’re so afraid of her.”

“If it doesn’t concern you, you needn’t be curious about it, need you?”

“So! so! This secret of yours… Do you ask me, as your old friend, to respect your secret?”

“Yes – that’s just what I do ask,” replied Sir Percival.

The Count was too nervous to listen to him.

“Well, then,” said the Count, “I’m afraid I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is.”

“You must help me, Fosco!” There was a desperate note in Sir Percival’s voice and he rose to his feet, knocking over his chair. “The truth is that Anne Catherick knows a terrible secret about me – a secret which, if anybody else found it out, would be the end of me. That’s why I shut her up in the Asylum, so that nobody would listen to her. Her mother knows the secret too, but she won’t say anything to anyone – she’s too deeply involved in the matter herself.

And now Anne Catherick has escaped from the Asylum and is somewhere near here. I had done my best to find Anne Catherick, and failed. Fosco! I’m a lost man if I don’t find her.”

“Ha! Is it so serious as that?”

The Count had taken the lamp from the inner part of the room to see his friend clearly by the light of it.

“Yes!” he said. “Your face speaks the truth this time. Serious, indeed – as serious as the money matters themselves.”

“More serious. As true as I sit here, more serious!”

The light disappeared again and the talk went on.

“I showed you the letter to my wife that Anne Catherick hid in the sand,” Sir Percival continued. “Fosco – she does know the secret.”

“Say as little as possible, Percival, in my presence, of the secret. Does she know it from you?”

“No, from her mother.”

“Two women knows your secret – bad, bad, bad, my friend! Now, Percival, where is the danger of your position at the present moment?”

“Anne Catherick is in this neighbourhood, and in communication with Lady Glyde – there’s the danger. Moreover: my wife was in love with a drawing master before she married me – she’s in love with him now – a vagabond, named Hartright. Who do you think helped Anne Catherick in the beginning? Hartright. Who do you think saw her again in Cumberland? Hartright. Both times he spoke to her alone. Stop! don’t interrupt me. He knows the secret, and she knows the secret. They have information against me.”

“Gently, Percival – gently! Do you believe in the virtue of Lady Glyde?”

“Ha! I believe in her money!”

“Yes, yes, I see. Where is Mr. Hartright?”

“Out of the country. I recommend him not to come back in a hurry.”

“All right, I’ll help you, Percival. But tell me something. When I went to the boathouse, there was a strange woman with your wife, but I couldn’t see her face. I must know how to recognise our invisible Anne. What is she like?”

“Like? Come! I’ll tell you in two words. She looks exactly as my wife would look after a long illness,” replied Sir Percival.

The Count was on his feet in astonishment.

“What!!!” he exclaimed eagerly.

“Fancy my wife, after a bad illness, with a touch of something wrong in her head – and there is Anne Catherick for you,” answered Sir Percival.

“Are they related to each other?”

“Not a bit of it.”

“And yet so like?”

“Yes, so like. What are you laughing about?”

“It’s very strange. All right, now I know what to do.”

There was no answer, and no sound of any kind.

“What are you laughing about?” asked Sir Percival again.

Not another word was spoken. I heard the Count close the library door. It had been raining, raining all the time.

The two men finished their cigarettes, went back into the library and closed the door.

All I wanted to do was to think about the terrible things I had heard. But suddenly I realised that I was wet through and freezing cold. It had been raining hard for some time and I hadn’t even noticed. I made my way slowly and with great difficulty back along the roof to my room, just as a distant clock was striking one o’clock.

* * *

June 20th.

I couldn’t sleep all night. I had caught a terrible cold in the cruel rain and when eight o’clock came the next morning, I couldn’t get up. My head was aching badly; sometimes I felt an awful coldness and at other times a burning fever. Oh, the rain, the rain – the cruel rain that chilled me last night!

Nine o’clock. Was it nine struck, or eight? Nine, surely? I am shivering again – shivering, from head to foot, in the summer air. Have I been sitting here asleep? I don’t know what I have been doing.

Oh, my God! Am I going to be ill? Ill, at such a time as this!

My head – I am sadly afraid of my head. I can write, but the lines all run together. I see the words. Laura – I can write Laura, and see I write it. Eight or nine – which was it?

So cold, so cold – oh, that rain last night! – and the strokes of the clock, the strokes I can’t count, keep striking in my head —…