hat on—suppose we go and dream away the
afternoon in the grounds?"

On leaving the house, we directed our steps
to the nearest shade. As we passed an open
space among the trees in front of the house,
there was Count Fosco, slowly walking
backwards and forwards on the grass, sunning
himself in the full blaze of the hot July afternoon.
He had a broad straw hat on, with a violet-
coloured ribbon round it. A blue blouse, with
profuse white fancy-work over the bosom,
covered his prodigious body, and was girt about
the place where his waist might once have been,
with a broad scarlet leather belt. Nankeen
trousers, displaying more white fancy-work over
the ankles, and purple morocco slippers adorned
his lower extremities. He was singing Figaro's
famous song in the Barber of Seville, with that
crisply fluent vocalisation which is never heard
from any other than an Italian throat;
accompanying himself on the concertina, which he
played with ecstatic throwings-up of his arms,
and graceful twistings, and turnings of his head,
like a fat St. Cecilia masquerading in male
attire. "Figaro quà! Figaro là! Figaro sù! Figaro
giù!" sang the Count, jauntily tossing up the
concertina at arms' length, and bowing to us, on
one side of the instrument, with the airy grace and
elegance of Figaro himself at twenty years of age.

"Take my word for it, Laura, that man knows
something of Sir Percival's embarrassments," I
said, as we returned the Count's salutation from
a safe distance.

"What makes you think that?" she asked.

"How should he have known, otherwise, that
Mr. Merriman was Sir Percival's solicitor?" I
rejoined. "Besides, when I followed you out of
the luncheon-room, he told me, without a single
word of inquiry on my part, that something
had happened. Depend upon it, he knows more
than we do."

"Don't ask him any questions, if he does.
Don't take him into our confidence!"

"You seem to dislike him, Laura, in a very
determined manner. What has he said or done
to justify you?"

"Nothing, Marian. On the contrary, he was
all kindness and attention on our journey home,
and he several times checked Sir Percival's
outbreaks of temper, in the most considerate manner
towards me. Perhaps, I dislike him because
he has so much more power over my husband
than I have. Perhaps it hurts my pride to be
under any obligations to his interference. All
I know is, that I do dislike him."

The rest of the day and the evening passed
quietly enough. The Count and I played at
chess. For the first two games he politely
allowed me to conquer him; and then, when he
saw that I had found him out, begged my pardon,
and, at the third game, checkmated me in
ten minutes. Sir Percival never once referred,
all through the evening, to the lawyer's visit.
But either that event, or something else, had
produced a singular alteration for the better in
him. He was as polite and agreeable to all of
us, as he used to be in the days of his probation
at Limmeridge; and he was so amazingly attentive
and kind to his wife, that even icy Madame
Fosco was roused into looking at him with a
grave surprise. What does this mean? I think
I can guess; I am afraid Laura can guess; and
I am quite sure Count Fosco knows. I caught
Sir Percival looking at him for approval more
than once in the course of the evening.

3rd. A day of events. I most fervently hope
and pray I may not have to add, a day of
disasters as well.

Sir Percival was as silent at breakfast as he
had been the evening before, on the subject of
the mysterious "arrangement" (as the lawyer
called it), which is hanging over our heads. An
hour afterwards, however, he suddenly entered
the morning-room, where his wife and I were
waiting, with our hats on, for Madame Fosco to
join us; and inquired for the Count.

"We expect to see him here directly," I said.

"The fact is," Sir Percival went on, walking
nervously about the room, "I want Fosco
and his wife in the library, for a mere business
formality; and I want you there, Laura, for
a minute, too." He stopped, and appeared
to notice, for the first time, that we were in
our walking costume. "Have you just come
in?" he asked, "or were you just going out?"

"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. After lunch will do as
well for it, as after breakfast. All going to the
lake, eh? A good idea. Let's have an idle
morning; I'll be one of the party."

There was no mistaking his manner, even if it
had been possible to mistake the uncharacteristic
readiness which his words expressed, to submit
his own plans and projects to the convenience of
others. He was evidently relieved at finding
any excuse for delaying the business formality
in the library, to which his own words had
referred. My heart sank within me, as I drew
the inevitable inference.

The Count and his wife joined us, at that
moment. The lady had her husband's
embroidered tobacco-pouch, and her store of paper
in her hand, for the manufacture of the eternal
cigarettes. The gentleman, dressed, as usual,
in his blouse and straw hat, carried the gay
little pagoda-cage, with his darling white mice
in it, and smiled on them, and on us, with a
bland amiability which it was impossible to resist.

"With your kind permission," said the Count,
"I will take my small family, here—my poor-
little-harmless-pretty-Mouseys, out for an airing
along with us. There are dogs about the house,
and shall I leave my forlorn white children at
the mercies of the dogs? Ah, never!"

He chirruped paternally at his small white
children through the bars of the pagoda;
and we all left the house for the lake.

In the plantation, Sir Percival strayed away
from us. It seems to be part of his restless
disposition always to separate himself from his