I did not wake her, but tucked her up warmly. I have taken care that the
door is locked and the window securely fastened.
She looks so sweet as she sleeps, but she is paler than is her wont, and
there is a drawn, haggard look under her eyes which I do not like. I fear she
is fretting about something. I wish I could find out what it is.
15 August.--Rose later than usual. Lucy was languid and tired, and slept on
after we had been called. We had a happy surprise at breakfast. Arthur's father
is better, and wants the marriage to come off soon. Lucy is full of quiet joy,
and her mother is glad and sorry at once. Later on in the day she told me the
cause. She is grieved to lose Lucy as her very own, but she is rejoiced that
she is soon to have some one to protect her. Poor dear, sweet lady! She
confided to me that she has got her death warrant. She has not told Lucy, and
made me promise secrecy. Her doctor told her that within a few months, at most,
she must die, for her heart is weakening. At any time, even now, a sudden shock
would be almost sure to kill her. Ah, we were wise to keep from her the affair
of the dreadful night of Lucy's sleep-walking.
17 August.--No diary for two whole days. I have not had the heart to write.
Some sort of shadowy pall seems to be coming over our happiness. No news from
Jonathan, and Lucy seems to be growing weaker, whilst her mother's hours are
numbering to a close. I do not understand Lucy's fading away as she is doing.
She eats well and sleeps well, and enjoys the fresh air, but all the time the
roses in her cheeks are fading, and she gets weaker and more languid day by
day. At night I hear her gasping as if for air.
I keep the key of our door always fastened to my wrist at night, but she
gets up and walks about the room, and sits at the open window. Last night I
found her leaning out when I woke up, and when I tried to wake her I could not.
She was in a faint. When I managed to restore her, she was weak as water,
and cried silently between long, painful struggles for breath. When I asked her
how she came to be at the window she shook her head and turned away.
I trust her feeling ill may not be from that unlucky prick of the
safety-pin. I looked at her throat just now as she lay asleep, and the tiny
wounds seem not to have healed. They are still open, and, if anything, larger
than before, and the edges of them are faintly white. They are like little
white dots with red centres. Unless they heal within a day or two, I shall
insist on the doctor seeing about them.
LETTER, SAMUEL F. BILLINGTON & SON, SOLICITORS WHITBY,
TO MESSRS. CARTER, PATERSON & CO., LONDON.
17 August
"Dear Sirs, --
"Herewith please receive invoice of goods sent by Great Northern
Railway. Same are to be delivered at Carfax, near Purfleet, immediately on
receipt at goods station King's Cross. The house is at present empty, but
enclosed please find keys, all of which are labelled.
"You will please deposit the boxes, fifty in number, which form the
consignment, in the partially ruined building forming part of the house and
marked `A' on rough diagrams enclosed. Your agent will easily recognize the
locality, as it is the ancient chapel of the mansion. The goods leave by the
train at 9:30 tonight, and will be due at King's Cross at 4:30 tomorrow
afternoon. As our client wishes the delivery made as soon as possible, we shall
be obliged by your having teams ready at King's Cross at the time named and
forthwith conveying the goods to destination. In order to obviate any delays
possible through any routine requirements as to payment in your departments, we
enclose cheque herewith for ten pounds, receipt of which please acknowledge.
Should the charge be less than this amount, you can return balance, if greater,
we shall at once send cheque for difference on hearing from you. You are to
leave the keys on coming away in the main hall of the house, where the
proprietor may get them on his entering the house by means of his duplicate
key.