in the yard. It is impossible to say what
violent measures he may take next, unless we
make the most of our opportunities while we
have them."

"What can we do, Marian? Oh, if we could
only leave this house, never to see it again!"

"Listen to me, my love— and try to think
that you are not quite helpless so long as I am
here witli you."

"I will think so— I do think so. Don't altogether
forget poor Fanny, in thinking of me.
She wants help and comfort, too."

"I will not forget her. I saw her before I
came up here; and I have arranged to
communicate with her to-night. Letters are not
safe in the post-bag at Blackwater Park— and I
shall have two to write to-day, in your interests,
which must pass through no hands but Fanny's."

"What letters?"

"I mean to write first, Laura, to Mr. Gilmore's
partner, who has offered to help us in
any fresh emergency. Little as I know of the
law, I am certain that it can protect a woman
from such treatment as that ruffian has inflicted
on you to-day. I will go into no details about
Anne Catherick, because I have no certain
information to give. But the lawyer shall know of
those bruises on your arm, and of the violence
offered to you in this room— he shall, before I
rest to-night!"

"But, think of the exposure, Marian!"

"I am calculating on the exposure. Sir Percival
has more to dread from it than you have.
The prospect of an exposure may bring him to
terms, when nothing else will."

I rose, as I spoke; but Laura entreated me
not to leave her.

"You will drive him to desperation," she
said, " and increase our dangers tenfold."

I felt the truth— the disheartening truth— of
those words. But I could not bring myself
plainly to acknowledge it to her. In our dreadful
position, there was no help and no hope for
us, but in risking the worst. I said so, in
guarded terms. She sighed bitterly— but did
not contest the matter. She only asked about
the second letter that I had proposed writing.
To whom was it to be addressed?

"To Mr. Fairlie," I said. " Your uncle is
your nearest male relative, and the head of the
family. He must and shall interfere,"

Laura shook her head sorrowfully.

"Yes, yes," I went on; " your uncle is a
weak, selfish, worldly man, I know. But he is
not Sir Percival Glyde; and he has no such
friend about him as Count Fosco. I expect
nothing from his kindness, or his tenderness of
feeling towards you, or towards me. But he
will do anything to pamper his own indolence,
and to secure his own quiet. Let me only
persuade him that his interference, at this moment,
will save him inevitable trouble, and wretchedness,
and responsibility hereafter, and he will
bestir himself for his own sake. I know how to
deal with him, Laura— I have had some
practice."

"If you could only prevail on him to let me
go back to Limmeridge for a little while, and
stay there quietly with you, Marian, I could
be almost as happy again as I was before I was
married!"

Those words set me thinking in a new
direction. Would it be possible to place Sir Percival
between the two alternatives of either
exposing himself to the scandal of legal
interference on his wife's behalf, or of allowing her
to be quietly separated from him for a time,
under pretext of a visit to her uncle's house?
And could he, in that case, be reckoned on as
likely to accept the last resource? It was
doubtful— more than doubtful. And yet, hopeless
as the experiment seemed, surely it was
worth trying? I resolved to try it, in sheer
despair of knowing what better to do.

"Your uncle shall know the wish you have
just expressed," I said; " and I will ask the
lawyer's advice on the subject, as well. Good
may come of it— and will come of it, I hope."

Saying that, I rose again; and again Laura
tried to make me resume my seat.

"Don't leave me," she said, uneasily. " My
desk is on that table. You can write here."

It tried me to the quick to refuse her, even in
her own interests. But we had been too long
shut up alone together already. Our chance of
seeing each other again might entirely depend
on our not exciting any fresh suspicions. It was
full time to show myself, quietly and unconcernedly,
among the wretches who were, at that
very moment, perhaps, thinking of us and talking
of us down stairs. I explained the miserable
necessity to Laura; and prevailed on her to
recognise it, as I did.

"I will come back again, love, in an hour or
less," I said. " The worst is over for to-day.
Keep yourself quiet, and fear nothing."

"Is the key in the door, Marian? Can I
lock it on the inside?"

"Yes; here is the key. Lock the door;
and open it to nobody, until I come up-stairs
again."

I kissed her, and left her. It was a relief to
me, as I walked away, to hear the key turned in
the lock, and to know that the door was at her
own command.

GOOD WATER.

FROM the seas, that are the great reservoirs
of pickled water warranted to keep unchanged
for many thousand years, pure water rises into
the warmer atmosphere as thin air. It varies
the tints of the sky, contributes to the glories
of the sunset and the sunrise, rolls into cloud at
the touch of a chill current, and, when more
thoroughly chilled, runs into raindrops and
descends in life-supporting showers over the dry
land. It falls as soft water, that is to say, pure
water, of which an imperial gallon weighs ten
pounds avoirdupois. This drink and wash for
herb and beast and man, is, however, itself
one of the most eager of drinkers. If there be
impure gases in the air through which it falls,
it will absorb them. If there be earthy or