She was some way behind me,
and feeling that she could not otherwise prevent my entrance, for I was
now upon the very lobby, she made a desperate attempt to seize hold of
my person: she succeeded in grasping the end of my shawl, which she drew
from my shoulders; but slipping at the same time upon the polished oak
floor, she fell at full length upon the boards. A little frightened as well as angry at the rudeness of this strange
woman, I hastily pushed open the door of my room, at which I now stood,
in order to escape from her; but great was my amazement on entering to
find the apartment occupied. The window was open, and beside it stood two male figures; they appeared
to be examining the fastenings of the casement, and their backs were
turned towards the door. One of them was my uncle; they both turned on
my entrance, as if startled. The stranger was booted and cloaked, and
wore a heavy broad-leafed hat over his brows. He turned but for a
moment, and averted his face; but I had seen enough to convince me that
he was no other than my cousin Edward. My uncle had some iron instrument
in his hand, which he hastily concealed behind his back; and, coming
towards me, said something as if in an explanatory tone; but I was too
much shocked and confounded to understand what it might be. He said
something about "repairs--window-frames--cold, and safety." I did not wait, however, to ask or to receive explanations, but hastily
left the room. As I went down the stairs I thought I heard the voice of
the French woman in all the shrill volubility of excuse, which was met,
however, by suppressed but vehement imprecations, or what seemed to me
to be such, in which the voice of my cousin Edward distinctly mingled. I joined my cousin Emily quite out of breath. I need not say that my
head was too full of other things to think much of drawing for that day. I imparted to her frankly the cause of my alarms, but at the same time
as gently as I could; and with tears she promised vigilance, and
devotion, and love. I never had reason for a moment to repent the
unreserved confidence which I then reposed in her. She was no less
surprised than I at the unexpected appearance of her brother, whose
departure for France neither of us had for a moment doubted, but which
was now proved by his actual presence to be nothing more than an
imposture, practised, I feared, for no good end. The situation in which I had found my uncle had removed completely all
my doubts as to his designs. I magnified suspicions into certainties,
and dreaded night after night that I should be murdered in my bed. The
nervousness produced by sleepless nights and days of anxious fears
increased the horrors of my situation to such a degree, that I at length
wrote a letter to a Mr. Jefferies, an old and faithful friend of my
father's, and perfectly acquainted with all his affairs, praying him,
for God's sake, to relieve me from my present terrible situation, and
communicating without reserve the nature and grounds of my suspicions. This letter I kept sealed and directed for two or three days always
about my person--for discovery would have been ruinous--in expectation
of an opportunity which might be safely trusted, whereby to have it
placed in the post-office. As neither Emily nor I was permitted to pass
beyond the precincts of the demesne itself, which was surrounded by high
walls formed of dry stone, the difficulty of procuring such an
opportunity was greatly enhanced. At this time Emily had a short conversation with her father, which she
reported to me instantly. After some indifferent matter, he had asked her whether she and I were
upon good terms, and whether I was unreserved in my disposition. She
answered in the affirmative; and he then inquired whether I had been
much surprised to find him in my chamber on the other day. She answered
that I had been both surprised and amused. "And what did she think of George Wilson's appearance?" "Who?" inquired she. "Oh, the architect," he answered, "who is to contract for the repairs of
the house; he is accounted a handsome fellow." "She could not see his face," said Emily, "and she was in such a hurry
to escape that she scarcely noticed him." Sir Arthur appeared satisfied, and the conversation ended. This slight conversation, repeated accurately to me by Emily, had the
effect of confirming, if indeed anything was required to do so, all
that I had before believed as to Edward's actual presence; and I
naturally became, if possible, more anxious than ever to despatch the
letter to Mr. Jefferies. An opportunity at length occurred. As Emily and I were walking one day near the gate of the demesne, a man
from the village happened to be passing down the avenue from the house;
the spot was secluded, and as this person was not connected by service
with those whose observation I dreaded, I committed the letter to his
keeping, with strict injunctions that he should put it without delay
into the receiver of the town post-office; at the same time I added a
suitable gratuity, and the man, having made many protestations of
punctuality, was soon out of sight. He was hardly gone when I began to doubt my discretion in having trusted
this person; but I had no better or safer means of despatching the
letter, and I was not warranted in suspecting him of such wanton
dishonesty as an inclination to tamper with it; but I could not be quite
satisfied of its safety until I had received an answer, which could not
arrive for a few days. Before I did, however, an event occurred which a
little surprised me. I was sitting in my bedroom early in the day, reading by myself, when I
heard a knock at the door. "Come in," said I; and my uncle entered the room. "Will you excuse me?" said he. "I sought you in the parlour, and thence
I have come here. I desire to say a word with you. I trust that you have
hitherto found my conduct to you such as that of a guardian towards his
ward should be." I dared not withhold my assent. "And," he continued, "I trust that you have not found me harsh or
unjust, and that you have perceived, my dear niece, that I have sought
to make this poor place as agreeable to you as may be." I assented again; and he put his hand in his pocket, whence he drew a
folded paper, and dashing it upon the table with startling emphasis, he
said,--

"Did you write that letter?" The sudden and fearful alteration of his voice, manner, and face, but,
more than all, the unexpected production of my letter to Mr. Jefferies,
which I at once recognized, so confounded and terrified me that I felt
almost choking. I could not utter a word. "Did you write that letter?" he repeated, with slow and intense
emphasis. "You did, liar and hypocrite! You dared to write this foul and
infamous libel; but it shall be your last. Men will universally believe
you mad, if I choose to call for an inquiry. I can make you appear so. The suspicions expressed in this letter are the hallucinations and
alarms of moping lunacy.