es of the outer world.

Strangely enough, he fancied that I had made my escape long before the room
was entered; and, even if he were arrested, there was no evidence, he was
certain, to connect _him_ with the murder, all knowledge of which he would
stoutly deny.

There was an inquest on the body of my uncle, and Dr. Jolks was the chief
witness. They found that his death was caused by 'an excessive dose of
laudanum, accidentally administered by himself.'

It was not until nearly a year after the dreadful occurrences at Bartram
that Dickon Hawkes was arrested on a very awful charge, and placed in gaol.
It was an old crime, committed in Lancashire, that had found him out.
After his conviction, as a last chance, he tried a disclosure of all the
circumstances of the unsuspected death of the Frenchwoman. Her body was
discovered buried where he indicated, in the inner court of Bartram-Haugh,
and, after due legal enquiry, was interred in the churchyard of Feltram.

Thus I escaped the horrors of the witness-box, or the far worse torture of
a dreadful secret.

Doctor Bryerly, shortly after Lady Knollys had described to him the manner
in which Dudley entered my room, visited the house of Bartram-Haugh, and
minutely examined the windows of the room in which Mr. Charke had slept on
the night of his murder. One of these he found provided with powerful steel
hinges, very craftily sunk and concealed in the timber of the window-frame,
which was secured by an iron pin outside, and swung open on its removal.
This was the room in which they had placed me, and this the contrivance
by means of which the room had been entered. The problem of Mr. Charke's
murder was solved.

* * * * *

I have penned it. I sit for a moment breathless. My hands are cold and
damp. I rise with a great sigh, and look out on the sweet green landscape
and pastoral hills, and see the flowers and birds and the waving boughs of
glorious trees--all images of liberty and safety; and as the tremendous
nightmare of my youth melts into air, I lift my eyes in boundless gratitude
to the God of all comfort, whose mighty hand and outstretched arm delivered
me. When I lower my eyes and unclasp my hands, my cheeks are wet with
tears. A tiny voice is calling me 'Mamma!' and a beloved smiling face, with
his dear father's silken brown tresses, peeps in.

'Yes, darling, our walk. Come away!'

I am Lady Ilbury, happy in the affection of a beloved