of the legal contract by which the money was
to be obtained, and the degree of personal
responsibility to which Laura might subject
herself if she signed it in the dark, involved
considerations which lay far beyond any knowledge
and experience that either of us possessed. My
own convictions led me to believe that the
hidden contents of the parchment concealed a
transaction of the meanest and the most fraudulent
kind.

I had not formed this conclusion in
consequence of Sir Percival's refusal to show the
writing, or to explain it; for that refusal might
well have proceeded from his obstinate disposition
and his domineering temper alone. My
sole motive for distrusting his honesty, sprang
from the change which I had observed in his
language and his manners at Blackwater Park,
a change which convinced me that he had been
acting a part throughout the whole period of
his probation at Limmeridge House. His
elaborate delicacy; his ceremonious politeness,
which harmonised so agreeably with Mr. Gilmore's
old-fashioned notions; his modesty with
Laura, his candour with me, his moderation with
Mr. Fairlie—all these were the artifices of a
mean, cunning, and brutal man, who had dropped
his disguise when his practised duplicity had
gained its end, and had openly shown himself
in the library, on that very day. I say nothing
of the grief which this discovery caused me
on Laura's account, for it is not to be expressed
by any words of mine. I only refer to it at all,
because it decided me to oppose her signing the
parchment, whatever the consequences might
be, unless she was first made acquainted with
the contents.

Under these circumstances, the one chance
for us, when to-morrow came, was to be provided
with an objection to giving the signature, which
might rest on sufficiently firm commercial or
legal grounds to shake Sir Percival's resolution,
and to make him suspect that we two women
understood the laws and obligations of business
as well as himself.

After some pondering, I determined to write
to the only honest man within reach whom we
could trust to help us discreetly, in our forlorn
situation. That man was Mr. Gilmore's partner
—who conducted the business, now that our old
friend had been obliged to withdraw from it,
and to leave London on account of his health.
I explained to Laura that I had Mr. Gilmore's
own authority for placing implicit confidence
in his partner's integrity, discretion, and accurate
knowledge of all her affairs; and, with her full
approval, I sat down at once to write the letter.

I began by stating our position to him exactly
as it was; and then asked for his advice in
return, expressed in plain, downright terms which
we could comprehend without any danger of
misinterpretations and mistakes. My letter was
as short as I could possibly make it, and was, I
hope, unencumbered by needless apologies and
needless details.

Just as I was about to put the address on the
envelope, an obstacle was discovered by Laura,
which, in the effort and preoccupation of writing,
had escaped my mind altogether.

"How are we to get the answer in time?" she
asked. "Your letter will not be delivered in
London before to-morrow morning; and the
post will not bring the reply here till the morning
after."

The only way of overcoming this difficulty
was to have the answer brought to us from the
lawyer's office by a special messenger. I wrote
a postscript to that effect, begging that the
messenger might be despatched with the reply
by the eleven o'clock morning train, which
would bring him to our station at twenty
minutes past one, and so enable him to reach
Blackwater Park by two o'clock at the latest.
He was to be directed to ask for me, to answer
no questions addressed to him by any one else,
and to deliver his letter into no hands but mine.

"In case Sir Percival should come back to-
morrow before two o'clock," I said to Laura,
"the wisest plan for you to adopt is to be out
in the grounds, all the morning, with your book
or your work, and not to appear at the house
till the messenger has had time to arrive with
the letter. I will wait here for him, all the
morning, to guard against any misadventures or
mistakes. By following this arrangement I
hope and believe we shall avoid being taken by
surprise. Let us go down to the drawing-room
now. We may excite suspicion if we remain
shut up together too long."

"Suspicion?" she repeated. "Whose
suspicion can we excite, now that Sir Percival has
left the house? Do you mean Count Fosco?"

"Perhaps I do, Laura."

"You are beginning to dislike him as much
as I do, Marian."

"No; not to dislike him. Dislike is always,
more or less, associated with contempt—I can
see nothing in the Count to despise."

"You are not afraid of him, are you?"

"Perhaps I am—a little."

"Afraid of him, after his interference in our
favour to-day!"

"Yes. I am more afraid of his interference,
than I am of Sir Percival's violence. Remember
what I said to you in the library. Whatever
you do, Laura, don't make an enemy of the
Count!"

We went down stairs. Laura entered the
drawing-room; while I proceeded across the
hall, with my letter in my hand, to put it into
the post-bag, which hung against the wall
opposite to me.

The house door was open; and, as I crossed
past it, I saw Count Fosco and his wife standing
talking together on the steps outside, with their
faces turned towards me.

The Countess came into the hall, rather
hastily, and asked if I had leisure enough for
five minutes' private conversation. Feeling a
little surprised by such an appeal from such a
person, I put my letter into the bag, and replied
that I was quite at her disposal. She took my
arm with unaccustomed friendliness and
familiarity; and instead of leading me into an empty