eps we heard behind
us were not the footsteps of any one belonging to the house.

Who could it have been?

It seems useless to inquire. I cannot even decide whether the figure
was a man's or a woman's. I can only say that I think it was a woman's.

VI

June 18th.--The misery of self-reproach which I suffered yesterday
evening, on hearing what Laura told me in the boat-house, returned in
the loneliness of the night, and kept me waking and wretched for hours.

I lighted my candle at last, and searched through my old journals to
see what my share in the fatal error of her marriage had really been,
and what I might have once done to save her from it. The result
soothed me a little for it showed that, however blindly and ignorantly
I acted, I acted for the best. Crying generally does me harm; but it
was not so last night--I think it relieved me. I rose this morning
with a settled resolution and a quiet mind. Nothing Sir Percival can
say or do shall ever irritate me again, or make me forget for one
moment that I am staying here in defiance of mortifications, insults,
and threats, for Laura's service and for Laura's sake.

The speculations in which we might have indulged this morning, on the
subject of the figure at the lake and the footsteps in the plantation,
have been all suspended by a trifling accident which has caused Laura
great regret. She has lost the little brooch I gave her for a keepsake
on the day before her marriage. As she wore it when we went out
yesterday evening we can only suppose that it must have dropped from
her dress, either in the boat-house or on our way back. The servants
have been sent to search, and have returned unsuccessful. And now
Laura herself has gone to look for it. Whether she finds it or not the
loss will help to excuse her absence from the house, if Sir Percival
returns before the letter from Mr. Gilmore's partner is placed in my
hands.

One o'clock has just struck. I am considering whether I had better
wait here for the arrival of the messenger from London, or slip away
quietly, and watch for him outside the lodge gate.

My suspicion of everybody and everything in this house inclines me to
think that the second plan may be the best. The Count is safe in the
breakfast-room. I heard him, through the door, as I ran upstairs ten
minutes since, exercising his canary-birds at their tricks:--"Come out
on my little finger, my pret-pret-pretties! Come out, and hop upstairs!