who it was in an instant, and rushed into the
room like a mad woman.

"Oh, Robert! Robert!"

All my heart went out to him in those two
little words.

"Good God, Anne! has anything
happened? Are you ill?"

"Mary! my poor, lost, murdered, dear,
dear Mary!"

That was all I could say before I fell on
his breast.

May 2nd. Misfortunes and disappointments
have saddened him a little; but
towards me he is unaltered. He is as good, as
kind, as gently and truly affectionate as ever.
I believe no other man in the world could
have listened to the story of Mary's death
with such tenderness and pity as he. Instead
of cutting me short anywhere, he drew me
on to tell more than I had intended; and his
first generous words, when I had done, were
to assure me that he would see himself to the
grass being laid and the flowers planted on
Mary's grave. I could have almost gone on
my knees and worshipped him when he made
me that promise.

Surely, this best, and kindest, and noblest
of men cannot always be unfortunate! My
cheeks burn when I think that he has come
back with only a few pounds in his pocket,
after all his hard and honest struggles to do
well in America. They must be bad people
there when such a man as Robert cannot get
on among them. He now talks calmly and
resignedly of trying for any one of the lowest
employments by which a man can earn his
bread honestly in this great city—he, who
knows French, who can write so beautifully!
Oh, if the people who have places to give
away only knew Robert as well as I do, what
a salary he would have, what a post he would
be chosen to occupy!

I am writing these lines alone, while he
has gone to the Mews to treat with the
dastardly, heartless wretch with whom I spoke
yesterday. He says the creature—I won't
call him a man—must be humoured and kept
deceived about poor Mary's end, in order
that we may discover and bring to justice the
monster whose drunken blow was the death
of her. I shall know no ease of mind till her
murderer is secured, and till I am certain
that he will be made to suffer for his crimes.
I wanted to go with Robert to the Mews;
but he said it was best that he should carry
out the rest of the investigation alone; for
my strength and resolution had been too
hardly taxed already. He said more words
in praise of me for what I have been able to
do up to this time, which I am almost ashamed
to write down with my own pen. Besides,
there is no need—praise from his lips is one
of the things that I can trust my memory to
preserve to the latest day of my life.

May 3rd. Robert very long last night
before he came back to tell me what he had
done. He easily recognised the hunchback
at the corner of the mews by my description
of him; but he found it a hard matter, even
with the help of money, to overcome the
cowardly wretch's distrust of him as a
stranger and a man. However, when this
had been accomplished, the main difficulty
was conquered. The hunchback, excited by
the promise of more money, went at once to
the Red Lion to enquire about the person
whom he had driven there in his cab. Robert
followed him, and waited at the corner of the
street. The tidings brought by the cabman
were of the most unexpected kind. The
murderer—I can write of him by no other
name—had fallen ill on the very night when
he was driven to the Red Lion, had taken to
his bed there and then, and was still confined
to it at that very moment. His disease was
of a kind that is brought on by excessive
drinking, and that affects the mind as well
as the body. The people at the public-house
called it the Horrors. Hearing these things,
Robert determined to see if he could not find
out something more for himself, by going and
enquiring at the public-house, in the character
of one of the friends of the sick man in bed
up-stairs. He made two important discoveries.
First, he found out the name and
address of the doctor in attendance. Secondly,
he entrapped the barman into mentioning the
murderous wretch by his name. This last
discovery adds an unspeakably fearful interest
to the dreadful catastrophe of Mary's death.
Noah Truscott, as she told me herself in the
last conversation I ever had with her, was
the name of the man whose drunken example
ruined her father, and Noah Truscott is also
the name of the man whose drunken fury
killed her. There is something that makes
one shudder, something fatal and supernatural
in this awful fact. Robert agrees with me
that the hand of Providence must have
guided my steps to that shop from which all
the discoveries since made took their rise.
He says he believes we are the instruments
of effecting a righteous retribution; and, if
he spends his last farthing, he will have the
investigation brought to its full end in a court
of justice.

May 4th. Robert went to-day to consult
a lawyer whom he knew in former times.
The lawyer much interested, though not so
seriously impressed as he ought to have been,
by the story of Mary's death and of the
events that have followed it. He gave
Robert a confidential letter to take to the
doctor in attendance on the double-dyed
villain at the Red Lion. Robert left the
letter, and called again and saw the doctor,
who said his patient was getting better, and
would most likely be up again in ten days or
a fortnight. This statement Robert
communicated to the lawyer, and the lawyer has
undertaken to have the public-house properly
watched, and the hunchback (who is the most
important witness) sharply looked after for
the next fortnight, or longer if necessary.