"Towards your room."

I considered again. The sound had not caught
my ears. But, then, I was deeply absorbed in
my letters; and I write with a heavy hand, and
a quill pen, scraping and scratching noisily over
the paper. It was more likely that Madame
Fosco would hear the scraping of my pen than
that I should hear the rustling of her dress.
Another reason (if I had wanted one) for
not trusting my letters to the post-bag in the
hall.

Laura saw me thinking. "More difficulties!"
she said, wearily; "more difficulties and
more dangers!"

"No dangers," I replied. "Some little
difficulty, perhaps. I am thinking of the safest
way of putting my two letters into Fanny's
hands."

"You have really written them, then? Oh,
Marian, run no risks—pray, pray run no risks!"

"No, no—no fear. Let me see—what o'clock
is it now?"

It was a quarter to six. There would be time
for me to get to the village inn, and to come
back again, before dinner. If I waited till the
evening, I might find no second opportunity of
safely leaving the house.

"Keep the key turned in the lock. Laura,"
I said, "and don't be afraid about me. If you
hear any inquiries made, call through the door,
and say that I am gone out for a walk."

"When shall you be back?"

"Before dinner, without fail. Courage, my
love. By this time to-morrow, you will have a
clear-headed, trustworthy man acting for your
good. Mr. Gilmore's partner is our next best
friend to Mr. Gilmore himself."

A moment's reflection, as soon as I was alone,
convinced me that I had better not appear in
my walking-dress, until I had first discovered
what was going on in the lower part of the
house. I had not ascertained yet whether Sir
Percival was in-doors or out.

The singing of the canaries in the library, and
the smell of tobacco-smoke that came through
the door, which was not closed, told me at once
where the Count was. I looked over my shoulder,
as I passed the doorway; and saw, to my
surprise, that he was exhibiting the docility of
the birds, in his most engagingly polite manner,
to the housekeeper. He must have specially
invited her to see them—for she would never
have thought of going into the library of her own
accord. The man's slightest actions had a
purpose of some kind at the bottom of every
one of them. What could be his purpose
here?

It was no time then to inquire into his motives.
I looked about for Madame Fosco, next;
and found her following her favourite circle,
round and round the fish-pond. I was a little
doubtful how she would meet me, after the
outbreak of jealousy, of which I had been the
cause so short a time since. But her husband
had tamed her in the interval; and she now
spoke to me with the same civility as usual
My only object in addressing myself to her was
to ascertain if she knew what had become of
Sir Percival. I contrived to refer to him
indirectly; and, after a little fencing on either
side, she at last mentioned that he had gone
out.

"Which of the horses has he taken?" I asked,
carelessly.

"None of them," she replied. "He went
away, two hours since, on foot. As I understood
it, his object was to make fresh inquiries
about the woman named Anne Catherick. He
appears to be unreasonably anxious about
tracing her. Do you happen to know if she is
dangerously mad, Miss Halcombe?"

"I do not, Countess."

"Are you going in?"

"Yes, I think so. I suppose it will soon be
time to dress for dinner."

We entered the house together. Madame
Fosco strolled into the library, and closed the
door. I went at once to fetch my hat and
shawl. Every moment was of importance, if I
was to get to Fanny at the inn and be back
before dinner.

When I crossed the hall again, no one was
there; and the singing of the birds in the library
had ceased. I could not stop to make any fresh
investigations. I could only assure myself
that the way was clear, and then leave
the house, with the two letters safe in my
pocket.

On my way to the village, I prepared myself
for the possibility of meeting Sir Percival. As
long as I had him to deal with alone, I felt
certain of not losing my presence of mind.
Any woman who is sure of her own wits, is a
match, at any time, for a man who is not sure of
his own temper. I had no such fear of Sir
Percival as I had of the Count. Instead of
fluttering, it had composed me, to hear of the
errand on which he had gone out. While the
tracing of Anne Catherick was the great
anxiety that occupied him, Laura and I might
hope for some cessation of any active persecution
at his hands. For our sakes now, as well
as for hers, I hoped and prayed fervently that
she might still escape him.

I walked on as briskly as the heat would let
me, till I reached the cross-road which led to
the village; looking back, from time to time, to
make sure that I was not followed by any one.
Nothing was behind me, all the way, but an
empty country waggon. The noise made by the
lumbering wheels annoyed me; and when I
found that the waggon took the road to the
village, as well as myself, I stopped to let it go by,
and pass out of hearing. As I looked towards
it, more attentively than before, I thought I
detected, at intervals, the feet of a man walking
close behind it; the carter being in front, by
the side of his horses. The part of the crossroad
which I had just passed over was so narrow,
that the waggon coming after me brushed
the trees and thickets on either side; and I had
to wait until it went by, before I could test the
correctness of my impression. Apparently, that
impression was wrong, for when the waggon