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.  Need I say more?

THE STORY CONTINUED BY ELIZA MICHELSON (Housekeeper at Blackwater Park)

I

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.