schief. You shake your head! Is that a sign that you
refuse? Take a day to think, before you make up your mind. I have
patients in London to whom I am obliged to go back. But the day after
to-morrow, I shall return to Ramsgate. If I find you still here, I shall
tell Miss Finch you are no more Oscar Dubourg than I am. In her present
state, I see less danger in giving her even that serious shock than in
leaving her to the slow torment of mind which you are inflicting by your
continued presence in this place. My last word is said. I go back by the
next train, in an hour's time. Good morning, Mr. Nugent. If you are a
wise man, you will meet me at the station."

After this, the accounts vary. Nugent's statement asserts that he
accompanied Grosse on his way back to Miss Batchford's lodging, arguing
the matter with him, and only leaving him at the door of the house.
Grosse's statement, on the other hand, makes no allusion to this. The
disagreement between them is, however, of no consequence here. It is
admitted, on either side, that the result of the interview was the same.
When Grosse took the train for London, Nugent Dubourg was not at the
station. The next entry in the Journal shows that he remained that day
and night, at least, at Ramsgate.

You now know, from the narrative of the surgeon's own proceedings, how
seriously he thought of his patient's case, and how firmly he did his
duty as a professional man. Having given you this necessary information,
I again retire, and leave Lucilla to take up the next link in the chain
of events.--P.]

_September_ 5th. _Six o'clock in the morning._--A few hours of restless,
broken sleep--disturbed by horrid dreams, and waking over and over again
with startings that seemed to shake me from head to foot. I can bear it
no longer. The sun is rising. I have got up--and here I am at the
writing-table, trying to finish the long story of yesterday still
uncompleted in my Journal.

I have just been looking at the view from my window--and I notice one
thing which has struck me. The mist this morning is the thickest mist I
have yet seen here.

The sea-view is almost invisible, it is so dim and dull. Even the objects
about me in my room are nothing like so plain as usual. The mist is
stealing in no doubt through my open window. It gets between me and my
paper, and obliges me to bend down close over the page to see what I am
about. When the sun is higher, things will be clear again. In the
mea