"You must. You can't take the whole journey
to Cumberland in one day.  You must rest
a night in London— and I don't choose you to
go by yourself to an hotel. Fosco made the
offer to your uncle to give you house-room on
the way down; and your uncle has accepted it.
Here! here is a letter from him, addressed to
yourself. I ought to have sent it up this morning;
but I forgot. Read it, and see what Mr.
Fairlie himself says to you."

Lady Glyde looked at the letter for a moment;
and then placed it in my hands.

"Read it," she said, faintly. " I don't know
what is the matter with me. I can't read it,
myself."

It was a note of only three lines— so short
and so careless, that it quite struck me. If I
remember correctly, it contained no more than
these words:

"Dearest Laura, Please come, whenever you
like.   Break the journey by sleeping at your
aunt's house.  Grieved to hear of dear Marian's
illness. Affectionately yours, Frederick Fairlie."

"I would rather not go there— I would rather
not stay a night in London," said her ladyship,
breaking out eagerly with those words, before I
had quite done reading the note, short as it was.
" Don't write to Count Fosco! Pray, pray don't
write to him!"

Sir Percival filled another glass from the
decanter, so awkwardly that he upset it, and spilt
all the wine over the table.  " My sight seems
to be failing me," he muttered to himself, in an
odd, muffled voice. He slowly set the glass up
again, refilled it, and drained it once more at a
draught. I began to fear, from his look and
manner, that the wine was getting into his
head.

"Pray don't write to Count Fosco!" persisted
Lady Glyde, more earnestly than ever.

"Why not, I should like to know!" cried Sir
Percival, with a sudden burst of anger that
startled us both. " Where can you stay more
properly in London, than at the place your
uncle himself chooses for you— at your aunt's
house?    Ask Mrs. Michelson."

The arrangement proposed was so unquestionably
the right and the proper one, that I
could make no possible objection to it.   Much
as I sympathised with Lady Glyde in other
respects, I could not sympathise with her in her
unjust prejudices against Count Fosco.   I never
before met with any lady, of her rank and
station, who was so lamentably narrow-minded
on the subject of foreigners.   Neither her
uncle's note, nor Sir Percival's increasing
impatience, seemed to have the least effect on her.
She still objected to staying a night in London;
she still implored her husband not to write to
the Count.

"Drop it!" said Sir Percival, rudely turning
his back on us.  " If you haven't sense enough
to know what is best for yourself, other people
must know for you.  The arrangement is made;
and there is an end of it.  You are only wanted
to do what Miss Halcombe has done before
you— "

"Marian?" repeated her ladyship, in a
bewildered manner; " Marian sleeping in Count
Fosco's house!"

"Yes, in Count Fosco's house. She slept
there, last night, to break the journey.  And
you are to follow her example, and do what
your uncle tells you. You are to sleep at
Fosco's, to-morrow night, as your sister did, to
break the journey.   Don't throw too many
obstacles in my way! don't make me repent of
letting you go at all!"

He started to his feet; and suddenly walked
out into the verandah, through the open glass
doors.

"Will your ladyship excuse me," I whispered,
"if I suggest that we had better not wait here
till Sir Percival comes back?   I am very much
afraid he is over-excited with wine."

She consented to leave the room, in a weary,
absent manner.

As soon as we were safe up-stairs again, I
did all I could to compose her ladyship's
spirits. I reminded her that Mr. Fairlie's
letters to Miss Halcombe and to herself did
certainly sanction, and even render necessary,
sooner or later, the course that had been
taken. She agreed to this, and even admitted,
of her own accord, that both letters were strictly
in character with her uncle's peculiar
disposition— but her fears about Miss Halcombe,
and her unaccountable dread of sleeping at the
Count's house in London, still remained
unshaken in spite of every consideration that I
could urge. I thought it my duty to protest
against Lady Glyde's unfavourable opinion of
his lordship; and I did so, with becoming
forbearance and respect.

"Your ladyship will pardon my freedom," I
remarked, in conclusion; " but it is said, ' by
their fruits ye shall know them.' I am sure the
Count's constant kindness and constant attention
from the very beginning of Miss Halcombe's
illness, merit our best confidence and esteem.
Even his lordship's serious misunderstanding
with Mr. Dawson was entirely attributable to
his anxiety on Miss Halcombe's account."

"What misunderstanding?"  inquired her
ladyship, with a look of sudden interest.

I related the unhappy circumstances under
which Mr. Dawson had withdrawn his attendance
— mentioning them all the more readily,
because I disapproved of Sir Percival's continuing
to conceal what had happened (as he had done
in my presence) from the knowledge of Lady
Glyde.

Her ladyship started up, with every appearance
of being additionally agitated and alarmed
by what I had told her.

"Worse! worse than I thought!" she said,
walking about the room, in a bewildered manner.
"The Count knew Mr. Dawson would never
consent to Marian's taking a journey— he
purposely insulted the doctor to get him out of
the house."

"Oh, my lady! my lady!" I remonstrated.

"Mrs. Michelson!" she went on, vehemently;
"no words that ever were spoken will persuade