one's self in the way of being
thought _de trop_--don't you see--by other people--and annoyed in this
way--and--you--you don't know the _world_, Puddock--you'd much better
leave yourself in any hands, d'ye see; and so, I suppose, we may as well
be off now--'tis no use waiting longer.'

And discontentedly and lingeringly the gallant captain, followed by
Puddock, withdrew himself--pausing to caress the wolf-dog at the corner
of the court-yard, and loitering as long as it was decent in the avenue.

All this time Miss Gertrude Chattesworth, like her more mature relative,
was in the quiet precincts of her chamber. She, too, had locked her
door, and, with throbbing temples and pale face, was writing a letter,
from which I take the liberty of printing a few scarcely coherent
passages.

* * * * *

'I saw you on Sunday--for near two hours--may Heaven forgive me,
thinking of little else than you. And, oh! what would I not have given
to speak, were it but ten words to you? When is my miserable probation
to end? Why is this perverse mystery persisted in? I sometimes lose all
hope in my destiny, and well-nigh all trust in you. I feel that I am a
deceiver, and cannot bear it. I assure you, on my sacred honour, I
believe there is nothing gained by all this--oh! forgive the
word--deception. How or when is it to terminate?--what do you
purpose?--why does the clerk's absence from the town cause you so much
uneasiness--is there any danger you have not disclosed? A friend told me
that you were making preparations to leave Chapelizod and return to
England. I think I was on the point of fainting when I heard it. I
almost regret I did not, as the secret would thus have been discovered,
and my emancipation accomplished. How have you acquired this strange
influence over me, to make me so deceive those in whom I should most
naturally confide? I am persuaded they believe I really recoil from you.
And what is this new business of Doctor Sturk? I am distracted with
uncertainties and fears. I hear so little, and imperfectly from you, I
cannot tell from your dark hints whether some new danger lurks in those
unlooked-for quarters. I know not what magic binds me so to you, to
endure the misery of this strange deceitful mystery--but you are all
mystery; and yet be not--you cannot be--my evil genius. You will not
condemn me longer to a wretchedness that must destroy me. I conjure you,
declare yourself. What have we to