he must have surprised, by the most dishonourable
means, the secret of my application in
Laura's interests, to the lawyer; and that,
having now assured himself of the private
manner in which I had received the answer, he
had discovered enough to suit his purposes, and
was only bent on trying to quiet the suspicions
which he knew he must have aroused in my
mind. I was wise enough, under these
circumstances, not to attempt to deceive him by
plausible explanations—and woman enough,
notwithstanding my dread of him, to feel as if
my hand was tainted by resting on his arm.

On the drive in front of the house we met the
dog-cart being taken round to the stables. Sir
Percival had just returned. He came out to
meet us at the house-door. Whatever other
results his journey might have had, it had not
ended in softening his savage temper.

"Oh! here are two of you come back," he
said, with a lowering face. "What is the meaning
of the house being deserted in this way?
Where is Lady Glyde?"

I told him of the loss of the brooch, and said
that Laura had gone into the plantation to look
for it.

"Brooch or no brooch," he growled, sulkily,
"I recommend her not to forget her appointment
in the library, this afternoon. I shall
expect to see her in half an hour."

I took my hand from the Count's arm, and
slowly ascended the steps. He honoured me
with one of his magnificent bows; and then
addressed himself gaily to the scowling master
of the house.

"Tell me, Percival," he said, "have you had
a pleasant drive? And has your pretty shining
Brown Molly come back at all tired?"

"Brown Molly be hanged—and the drive,
too! I want my lunch."

"And I want five minutes' talk with you,
Percival, first," returned the Count. "Five
minutes' talk, my friend, here on the grass."

"What about?"

"About business that very much concerns
you."

I lingered long enough, in passing through
the hall-door, to hear this question and answer,
and to see Sir Percival thrust his hands into his
pockets, in sullen hesitation.

"If you want to badger me with any more of
your infernal scruples," he said, "I, for one,
won't hear them. I want my lunch!"

"Come out here, and speak to me," repeated
the Count, still perfectly uninfluenced by the
rudest speech that his friend could make to
him.

Sir Percival descended the steps. The Count
took him by the arm, and walked him away
gently. The "business," I was sure, referred
to the question of the signature. They were
speaking of Laura and of me, beyond a doubt.
I felt heart-sick and faint with anxiety. It might
be of the last importance to both of us to know
what they were saying to each other at that
moment—and not one word of it could, by any
possibility, reach my ears.

I walked about the house, from room to room,
with the lawyer's letter in my bosom (I was
afraid, by this time, even to trust it under lock
and key), till the oppression of my suspense
half maddened me. There were no signs of
Laura's return; and I thought of going out to
look for her. But my strength was so exhausted
by the trials and anxieties of the morning, that
the heat of the day quite overpowered me; and,
after an attempt to get to the door, I was
obliged to return to the drawing-room, and lie
down on the nearest sofa to recover.

I was just composing myself, when the door
opened softly, and the Count looked in.

"A thousand pardons, Miss Halcombe" he
said; "I only venture to disturb you because I
am the bearer of good news. Percival—who is
capricious in everything, as you know—has seen
fit to alter his mind, at the last moment; and
the business of the signature is put off for the
present. A great relief to all of us, Miss
Halcombe, as I see with pleasure in your face.
Pray present my best respects and felicitations,
when you mention this pleasant change of
circumstances to Lady Glyde."

He left me before I had recovered my
astonishment. There could be no doubt that this
extraordinary alteration of purpose in the matter
of the signature, was due to his influence; and
that his discovery of my application to London
yesterday, and of my having received an answer
to it to-day, had offered him the means of
interfering with certain success.

I felt these impressions; but my mind seemed
to share the exhaustion of my body, and I was in
no condition to dwell on them, with any useful
reference to the doubtful present, or the
threatening future. I tried a second time to run out,
and find Laura; but my head was giddy, and my
knees trembled under me. There was no choice
but to give it up again, and return to the sofa,
sorely against my will.

The quiet in the house, and the low murmuring
hum of summer insects outside the open
window, soothed me. My eyes closed of
themselves; and I passed gradually into a
strange condition, which was not waking—for I knew
nothing of what was going on about me; and
not sleeping—for I was conscious of my own
repose. In this state, my fevered mind broke
loose from me, while my weary body was at rest;
and, in a trance, or day-dream of my fancy—
I know not what to call it—I saw Walter
Hartright. I had not thought of him, since I rose
that morning; Laura had not said one word to
me either directly or indirectly referring to him
—and yet, I saw him now, as plainly as if the
past time had returned, and we were both
together again at Limmeridge House.

He appeared to me as one among many other
men, none of whose faces I could plainly discern.
They were all lying on the steps of an immense
ruined temple. Colossal tropical trees—with
rank creepers twining endlessly about their
trunks, and hideous stone idols glimmering and
grinning at intervals behind leaves and stalks
and branches—surrounded the temple, and shut