her as to the place in which she is living at the
present time?"

"None that I can remember."

"Did she not mention a companion and
friend—a woman named Mrs. Clements?"

"Oh, yes! yes! I forgot that. She told me
Mrs. Clements wanted sadly to go with her to
the lake, and take care of her, and begged and
prayed that she would not venture into this
neighbourhood alone."

"Was that all she said about Mrs. Clements?"

"Yes, that was all."

"She told you nothing about the place in
which she took refuge after leaving Todd's
Corner?"

"Nothing—I am quite sure."

"Nor where she has lived since? Nor what
her illness had been?"

"No, Marian; not a word. Tell me, pray
tell me, what you think about it. I don't know
what to think, or what to do next."

"You must do this, my love: You must
carefully keep the appointment at the boat-
house, to-morrow. It is impossible to say what
interests may not depend on your seeing that
woman again. You shall not be left to yourself
a second time. I will follow you, at a safe
distance. Nobody shall see me; but I will
keep within hearing of your voice, if anything
happens. Anne Catherick has escaped Walter
Hartright, and has escaped you. Whatever
happens, she shall not escape me"

Laura's eyes read mine attentively while I
was speaking.

"You believe," she said, " in this secret that
my husband is afraid of?"

"I do believe in it."

"Anne Catherick's manner, Marian, was wild,
her eyes were wandering and vacant, when she
said those words. Would you trust her in other
things?"

"I trust nothing, Laura, but my own
observation of your husband's conduct. I judge
Anne Catherick's words by his actions—and I
believe there is a secret."

I said no more, and got up to leave the room.
Thoughts were troubling me, which I might have
told her if we had spoken together longer, and
which it might have been dangerous for her to
know. The influence of the terrible dream from
which she had awakened me, hung darkly and
heavily over every fresh impression which the
progress of her narrative produced on my mind. I
felt the ominous Future, coming close; chilling
me, with an unutterable awe; forcing on me the
conviction of an unseen Design in the long
series of complications which had now fastened
round us. I thought of Hartright — as I saw
him, in the body, when he said farewell; as I
saw him, in the spirit, in my dream—and I, too,
began to doubt now whether we were not
advancing, blindfold, to an appointed and an
inevitable End.

Leaving Laura to go up-stairs alone, I went
out to look about me in the walks near the
house. The circumstances under which Anne
Catherick had parted from her, had made me
secretly anxious to know how Count Fosco was
passing the afternoon; and had rendered me
secretly distrustful of the results of that solitary
journey from which Sir Percival had returned
but a few hours since.

After looking for them in every direction,
and discovering nothing, I returned to the
house, and entered the different rooms on the
ground floor, one after another. They were all
empty. I came out again into the hall, and
went up-stairs to return to Laura. Madame
Fosco opened her door, as I passed it in my
way along the passage; and I stopped to see if
she could inform me of the whereabouts of her
husband and Sir Percival. Yes; she had seen
them both from her window more than an hour
since. The Count had looked up, with his customary
kindness, and had mentioned, with his
habitual attention to her in the smallest trifles,
that he and his friend were going out together
for a long walk.

For a long walk! They had never yet been
in each other's company with that object in my
experience of them. Sir Percival cared for no
exercise but riding: and the Count (except
when he was polite enough to be my escort)
cared for no exercise at all.

When I joined Laura again, I found that she
had called to mind, in my absence, the impending
question of the signature to the deed, which, in
the interest of discussing her interview with
Anne Catherick, we had hitherto overlooked.
Her first words when I saw her, expressed her
surprise at the absence of the expected
summons to attend Sir Percival in the library.

"You may make your mind easy on that subject,"
I said. " For the present, at least, neither
your resolution nor mine will be exposed to any
further trial. Sir Percival has altered his plans:
the business of the signature is put off."

"Put off?" Laura repeated, amazedly. "Who
told you so?"

"My authority is Count Fosco. I believe it
is to his interference that we are indebted for
your husband's sudden change of purpose."

"It seems impossible, Marian. If the object
of my signing was, as we suppose, to obtain
money for Sir Percival that he urgently wanted,
how can the matter be put off?"

"I think, Laura, we have the means at hand
of setting that doubt at rest. Have you forgotten
the conversation that I heard between
Sir Percival and the lawyer, as they were
crossing the hall?"

"No; but I don't remember——"

"I do. There were two alternatives proposed.
One, was to obtain your signature to
the parchment. The other, was to gain time by
giving bills at three months. The last resource
is evidently the resource now adopted—and we
may fairly hope to be relieved from our share in
Sir Percival's embarrassments for some time to
come."

"Oh, Marian, it sounds too good to be true!"

"Does it, my love? You complimented me