ly? I am
shivering again--shivering, from head to foot, in the summer air. Have
I been sitting here asleep? I don't know what I have been doing.

Oh, my God! am I going to be ill?

Ill, at such a time as this!

My head--I am sadly afraid of my head. I can write, but the lines all
run together. I see the words. Laura--I can write Laura, and see I
write it. Eight or nine--which was it?

So cold, so cold--oh, that rain last night!--and the strokes of the
clock, the strokes I can't count, keep striking in my head----

* * * * * * * * * *

Note [At this place the entry in the Diary ceases to be legible. The
two or three lines which follow contain fragments of words only,
mingled with blots and scratches of the pen. The last marks on the
paper bear some resemblance to the first two letters (L and A) of the
name of Lady Glyde.

On the next page of the Diary, another entry appears. It is in a man's
handwriting, large, bold, and firmly regular, and the date is "June the
21st." It contains these lines--]

POSTSCRIPT BY A SINCERE FRIEND

The illness of our excellent Miss Halcombe has afforded me the
opportunity of enjoying an unexpected intellectual pleasure.

I refer to the perusal (which I have just completed) of this
interesting Diary.

There are many hundred pages here. I can lay my hand on my heart, and
declare that every page has charmed, refreshed, delighted me.

To a man of my sentiments it is unspeakably gratifying to be able to
say this.

Admirable woman!

I allude to Miss Halcombe.

Stupendous effort!

I refer to the Diary.

Yes! these pages are amazing. The tact which I find here, the
discretion, the rare courage, the wonderful power of memory, the
accurate observation of character, the easy grace of style, the
charming outbursts of womanly feeling, have all inexpressibly increased
my admiration of this sublime creature, of this magnificent Marian.
The presentation of my own character is masterly in the extreme. I
certify, with my whole heart, to the fidelity of the portrait. I feel
how vivid an impression I must have produced to have been painted in
such strong, such rich, such massive colours as these. I lament afresh
the cruel necessity which sets our interests at variance, and opposes
us to each other. Under happier circumstances how worthy I should have
been of Miss Halcombe--how worthy Miss Halcombe would have been of ME.

The sentiments whi