I was many months in my recovery—­in fact, I cannot say that I have ever recovered, for to the end of my days I shall carry a stick as a sign of my night with the Brazilian cat.  Baldwin, the groom, and the other servants could not tell what had occurred, when, drawn by the death-cries of their master, they found me behind the bars, and his remains—­or what they afterwards discovered to be his remains—­in the clutch of the creature which he had reared.  They stalled him off with hot irons, and afterwards shot him through the loophole of the door before they could finally extricate me.  I was carried to my bedroom, and there, under the roof of my would-be murderer, I remained between life and death for several weeks.  They had sent for a surgeon from Clipton and a nurse from London, and in a month I was able to be carried to the station, and so conveyed back once more to Grosvenor Mansions.

I have one remembrance of that illness, which might have been part of the ever-changing panorama conjured up by a delirious brain were it not so definitely fixed in my memory.  One night, when the nurse was absent, the door of my chamber opened, and a tall woman in blackest mourning slipped into the room.  She came across to me, and as she bent her sallow face I saw by the faint gleam of the night-light that it was the Brazilian woman whom my cousin had married.  She stared intently into my face, and her expression was more kindly than I had ever seen it.

“Are you conscious?” she asked.

I feebly nodded—­for I was still very weak.

“Well; then, I only wished to say to you that you have yourself to blame.  Did I not do all I could for you?  From the beginning I tried to drive you from the house.  By every means, short of betraying my husband, I tried to save you from him.  I knew that he had a reason for bringing you here.  I knew that he would never let you get away again.  No one knew him as I knew him, who had suffered from him so often.  I did not dare to tell you all this.  He would have killed me.  But I did my best for you.  As things have turned out, you have been the best friend that I have ever had.  You have set me free, and I fancied that nothing but death would do that.  I am sorry if you are hurt, but I cannot reproach myself.  I told you that you were a fool—­and a fool you have been.”  She crept out of the room, the bitter, singular woman, and I was never destined to see her again.  With what remained from her husband’s property she went back to her native land, and I have heard that she afterwards took the veil at Pernambuco.

It was not until I had been back in London for some time that the doctors pronounced me to be well enough to do business.  It was not a very welcome permission to me, for I feared that it would be the signal for an inrush of creditors; but it was Summers, my lawyer, who first took advantage of it.

“I am very glad to see that your lordship is so much better,” said he.  “I have been waiting a long time to offer my congratulations.”