is a comfort to me to remember that I have never
said a hard word to Traveler, and never lifted my hand on him in anger.

All this about a dog! And not a word about Stella? Not a word. _Those_
thoughts are not to be written.

I have reached the last page of my diary. I shall lock it, and leave it
in charge of my bankers, on my way to the Portsmouth train. Shall I ever
want a new diary? Superstitious people might associate this coming to
the end of the book with coming to an end of another kind. I have no
imagination, and I take my leap in the dark hopefully--with Byron's
glorious lines in my mind:

"Here's a sigh to those who love me,
And a smile to those that hate;
And whatever sky's above met
Here's heart for every fate."

*****

(An inclosure is inserted here, marking a lapse of seven months, before
the entries in the diary are resumed. It consists of two telegrams,
dispatched respectively on the 1st and 2d of May, 1864.)

1. "From Bernard Winterfield, Portsmouth, England. To Mrs. Romayne care
of M. Villeray, St. Germain, near Paris.--Penrose is safe on board
my yacht. His unfortunate companion has died of exhaustion, and he
is himself in a feeble state of health. I at once take him with me to
London for medical advice. We are eager for news of you. Telegraph to
Derwent's Hotel."

2. "From Mrs. Eyrecourt, St. Germain. To Bernard Winterfield, Derwent's
Hotel, London.--Your telegram received with joy, and sent on to Stella
in Paris. All well. But strange events have happened. If you cannot come
here at once, go to Lord Loring. He will tell you everything."

Tenth Extract.

London, 2d May, 1864.--Mrs. Eyrecourt's telegram reached me just after
Doctor Wybrow had paid his first professional visit to Penrose, at the
hotel. I had hardly time to feel relieved by the opinion of the case
which he expressed, before my mind was upset by Mrs. Eyrecourt. Leaving
Penrose under the charge of our excellent landlady, I hurried away to
Lord Loring.

It was still early in the day: his lordship was at home. He maddened
me with impatience by apologizing at full length for "the inexcusable
manner in which he had misinterpreted my conduct on the deplorable
occasion of the marriage ceremony at Brussels." I stopped his flow of
words (very earnestly spoken, it is only right to add), and entreated
him to tell me, in the first place, what Stella was doing in Paris.

"Stella is with her husband," Lord Loring rep