aunt— when she is restored, I escort her to the
station again— she travels to this place, and her
own maid (who is now under your roof) receives
her at the carriage-door. Here is comfort consulted;
here are the interests of propriety consulted;
here is your own duty— duty of hospitality,
sympathy, protection, to an unhappy lady in need
of all three— smoothed and made easy, from the
beginning to the end. I cordially invite you, sir, to
second my efforts in the sacred interests
of the Family. I seriously advise you to write,
by my hands, offering the hospitality of your house
(and heart), and the hospitality of my house (and heart),
to that injured and unfortunate lady whose cause I plead
to-day."

He waved his horrid hand at me; he struck
his infectious breast; he addressed me oratorically
— as if I was laid up in the House of Commons.
It was high time to take a desperate
course of some sort. It was also high time to
send for Louis, and adopt the precaution of
fumigating the room.

In this trying emergency, an idea occurred to
me— an inestimable idea which, so to speak,
killed two intrusive birds with one stone. I
determined to get rid of the Count's tiresome
eloquence, and of Lady Glyde's tiresome troubles,
by complying with this odious foreigner's request,
and writing the letter at once. There
was not the least danger of the invitation being
accepted, for there was not the least chance that
Laura would consent to leave Blackwater Park,
while Marian was lying there ill. How this
charmingly convenient obstacle could have
escaped the officious penetration of the Count, it
was impossible to conceive— but it had escaped
him. My dread that he might yet discover it,
if I allowed him any more time to think, stimulated
me to such an amazing degree, that I
struggled into a sitting position; seized, really
seized, the writing materials by my side; and
produced the letter as rapidly as if I had been
a common clerk in an office. "Dearest Laura,
Please come, whenever you like. Break the
journey by sleeping in London at your aunt's
house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian's illness.
Ever affectionately yours." I handed these
lines, at arm's length, to the Count— I sank back
in my chair — I said, " Excuse me; I am entirely
prostrated; I can do no more. Will you rest
and lunch down stairs? Love to all, and
sympathy, and so on. Good morning."

He made another speech— the man was
absolutely inexhaustible. I closed my eyes; I
endeavoured to hear as little as possible. In spite
of my endeavours, I was obliged to hear a great
deal. My sister's endless husband congratulated
himself and congratulated me, on the result of
our interview; he mentioned a great deal more
about his sympathies and mine; he deplored my
miserable health; he offered to write me a
prescription; he impressed on me the necessity of
not forgetting what he had said about the
importance of light; he accepted my obliging
invitation to rest and lunch; he recommended me
to expect Lady Glyde in two or three days' time,
he begged my permission to look forward to our
next meeting, instead of paining himself and
paining me, by saying farewell; he added a
great deal more, which, I rejoice to think, I did
not attend to at the time, and do not remember
now. I heard his sympathetic voice travelling
away from me by degrees— but, large as he was,
I never heard him. He had the negative merit
of being absolutely noiseless. I don't know when
he opened the door, or when he shut it.
I ventured to make use of my eyes again, after
an interval of silence— and he was gone.

I rang for Louis, and retired to my bathroom.
Tepid water, strengthened with aromatic
vinegar, for myself, and copious fumigation, for
my study, were the obvious precautions to take;
and of course I adopted them. I rejoice to say,
they proved successful. I enjoyed my customary
siesta. I awoke moist and cool. My first inquiries
were for the Count. Had we really got
rid of him? Yes— he had gone away by the
afternoon train. Had he lunched; and, if so, upon
what? Entirely upon fruit-tart and cream.
What a man! What a digestion!

Am I expected to say anything more? I
believe not. I believe I have reached the limits
assigned to me. The shocking circumstances
which happened at a later period, did not, I am
thankful to say, happen in my presence. I do
beg and entreat that nobody will be so very
unfeeling as to lay any part of the blame of those
circumstances on me. I did everything for the
best. I am not answerable for a deplorable
calamity, which it was quite impossible to
foresee. I am shattered by it; I have suffered
under it, as nobody else has suffered. My servant,
Louis (who is really attached to me, in his
unintelligent way), thinks I shall never get over
it. He sees me dictating at this moment, with
my handkerchief to my eyes. I wish to mention,
in justice to myself, that it was not my fault,
and that I am quite exhausted and heartbroken.
I can say no more.

                             ———

THE NARRATIVE OF ELIZA MICHELSON,
HOUSEKEEPER AT BLACKWATER PARK.

I AM asked to state plainly what I know of
the progress of Miss Halcombe's illness, and of
the circumstances under which Lady Glyde left
Blackwater Park for London.

The reason given for making this demand on
me is, that my testimony is wanted in the
interests of truth. As the widow of a clergyman
of the Church of England (reduced by misfortune
to the necessity of accepting a situation),
I have been taught to place the claims of truth
above all other considerations. I therefore
comply with a request which I might otherwise,
through reluctance to connect myself with
distressing family affairs, have hesitated to grant.

I made no memorandum at the time, and I
cannot therefore be sure to a day, of the date;
but I believe I am correct in stating that Miss
Halcombe's serious illness began during the