disgrace of lending herself to a vile deception is
the only disgrace with which I can conscientiously
charge Mrs. Rubelle.

I need write no particulars (and I am
relieved to know it) of the effect produced on
Miss Halcombe by the news of Lady Glyde's
departure, or by the far more melancholy tidings
which reached us only too soon afterwards at
Blackwater Park. In both cases, I prepared
her mind beforehand as gently and as carefully
as possible; having the doctor's advice to guide
me, in the last case only, through Mr. Dawson's
being too unwell to come to the house for some
days after I had sent for him. It was a sad time,
a time which it afflicts me to think of, or to write
of, now. The precious blessings of religious
consolation which I endeavoured to convey, were
long in reaching Miss Halcombe's heart; but I
hope and believe they came home to her at last.
I never left her till her strength was restored.
The train which took me away from that
miserable house was the train which took her away
also. We parted very mournfully in London.
I remained with a relative at Islington; and
she went on to Mr. Fairlie's house in Cumberland.

I have only a few lines more to write, before
I close this painful statement. They are
dictated by a sense of duty.

In the first place, I wish to record my own
personal conviction that no blame whatever, in
connexion with the events which I have now
related, attaches to Count Fosco. I am informed
that a dreadful suspicion has been raised, and
that some very serious constructions are placed
upon his lordship's conduct. My persuasion
of the Count's innocence remains, however,
quite unshaken. If he assisted Sir Percival
in sending me to Torquay, he assisted under
a delusion, for which, as a foreigner and a
stranger, he was not to blame. If he was
concerned in bringing Mrs. Rubelle to Blackwater
Park, it was his misfortune and not his
fault, when that foreign person was base enough
to assist a deception planned and carried out
by the master of the house. I protest, in the
interests of morality, against blame being
gratuitously and wantonly attached to the proceedings
of the Count.

In the second place, I desire to express my
regret at my own inability to remember the
precise day on which Lady Glyde left Blackwater
Park for London. I am told that it is of the last
importance to ascertain the exact date of that
lamentable journey; and I have anxiously taxed
my memory to recall it. The effort has been in
vain. I can only remember now that it was
towards the latter part of July. We all know
the difficulty, after a lapse of time, of fixing
precisely on a past date, unless it has been
previously written down. That difficulty is greatly
increased, in my case, by the alarming and
confusing events which took place about the period of
Lady Glyde's departure. I heartily wish I had
made a memorandum at the time. I heartily
wish my memory of the date was as vivid as my
memory of that poor lady's face, when it looked
at me sorrowfully for the last time from the
carriage window.

THE NARRATIVE OF HESTER PINHORN, COOK IN
THE SERVICE OF COUNT FOSCO.

[TAKEN DOWN FROM HER OWN STATEMENT.]

I AM sorry to say that I have never learnt
to read or write. I have been a hard-working
woman all my life, and have kept a good
character. I know that it is a sin and wickedness
to say the thing which is not; and I will truly
beware of doing so on this occasion. All that
I know, I will tell; and I humbly beg the
gentleman who takes this down to put my language
right as he goes on, and to make allowances for
my being no scholar.

In this last summer, I happened to be out of
place (through no fault of my own); and I heard
of a situation, as plain cook, at Number Five,
Forest-road, St. John's Wood. I took the place,
on trial. My master's name was Fosco. My
mistress was an English lady. He was Count
and she was Countess. They had a girl to do
housemaid's work, when I got there. She was
not over clean or tidy—but there was no harm
in her. I and she were the only servants in the
house.

I had not been very long in my new place,
when the housemaid came down stairs, and said
company was expected from the country. The
company was my mistress's niece, and the back
bedroom on the first floor was got ready for
her. My mistress mentioned to me that Lady
Glyde (that was her name) was in poor health;
and that I must be particular in my cooking
accordingly. She was to come the next day;
or it might be the day after, or it might be even
longer than that. I am sorry to say it's no use
asking me about days of the month, and such-
like. Except Sundays, half my time I take no
heed of them; being a hard-working woman and
no scholar. All I know is, it certainly was not
long before Lady Glyde came; and, when she did
come, a fine fright she gave us all, surely. I don't
know how master brought her to the house,
being at work at the time. But he did bring
her, in the afternoon, I think; and the housemaid
opened the door to them, and showed them
into the parlour. Before she had been long
down in the kitchen again with me, we heard
a hurry-skurry, up-stairs, and the bell ringing
like mad, and my mistress's voice calling out
for help.

We both ran up; and there we saw the lady
laid on the sofa, with her face ghastly white, and
her hands fast clenched, and her head drawn
down to one side. She had been taken with a
sudden fright, my mistress said; and master he
told us she was in a fit of convulsions. I ran
out, knowing the neighbourhood a little better
than the rest of them, to fetch the nearest
doctor's help. The nearest help was at
Goodricke's and Garth's, who worked together as
partners, and had a good name and connexion,
as I have heard, all round St. John's Wood.