nd look--"go, and burn everlastingly in the place of torment!" His eyes
glared at me. "Your turn now," he said--and rushed at me with his
weapon ready in his hand. I hurled the chair at his right arm. The razor
dropped on the floor. I caught him by the wrist. Like a wild animal he
tried to bite me. With my free hand--if I had known how to defend myself
in any other way, I would have taken that way--with my free hand I
seized him by the throat; forced him back; and held him against the
wall. My grasp on his throat kept him quiet. But the dread of seriously
injuring him so completely overcame me, that I forgot I was a prisoner
in the room, and was on the point of alarming the household by a cry for
help.

I was still struggling to preserve my self-control, when the sound of
footsteps broke the silence outside. I heard the key turn in the lock,
and saw the doctor at the open door.

CHAPTER XLVI. THE CUMBERSOME LADIES.

I cannot prevail upon myself to dwell at any length on the events that
followed.

We secured my unhappy friend, and carried him to his bed. It was
necessary to have men in attendance who could perform the duty of
watching him. The doctor sent for them, while I went downstairs to make
the best I could of the miserable news which it was impossible entirely
to conceal. All that I could do to spare Miss Jillgall, I did. I was
obliged to acknowledge that there had been an outbreak of violence,
and that the portrait of the Minister's wife had been destroyed by the
Minister himself. Of Helena's revenge on me I said nothing. It had
led to consequences which even her merciless malice could not have
contemplated. There were no obstacles in the way of keeping secret the
attempt on my life. But I was compelled to own that Mr. Gracedieu had
taken a dislike to me, which rendered it necessary that my visit should
be brought to an end. I hastened to add that I should go to the hotel,
and should wait there until the next day, in the hope of hearing better
news.

Of the multitude of questions with which poor Miss Jillgall overwhelmed
me--of the wild words of sorrow and alarm that escaped her--of the
desperate manner in which she held by my arm, and implored me not to
go away, when I must see for myself that "she was a person entirely
destitute of presence of mind"--I shall say nothing. The undeserved
suffering that is inflicted on innocent persons by the sins of others
demands silent sympathy; and, to that extent at