in some special subject of warfare. It will go hard
with me, but I shall keep them together.

How I got through the rest of the day I know not. I tried hard not to
create any domestic trouble by my manner, lest Aunt Janet should, after
her lurid dream or vision of last night, attach some new importance to
it. I think I succeeded, for she did not, so far as I could tell, take
any special notice of me. We parted as usual at half-past ten, and I
came here and made this entry in my journal. I am more restless than
ever to-night, and no wonder. I would give anything to be able to pay a
visit to St. Sava's, and see my wife again--if it were only sleeping in
her tomb. But I dare not do even that, lest she should come to see me
here, and I should miss her. So I have done what I can. The glass door
to the Terrace is open, so that she can enter at once if she comes. The
fire is lit, and the room is warm. There is food ready in case she
should care for it. I have plenty of light in the room, so that through
the aperture where I have not fully drawn the curtain there may be light
to guide her.

Oh, how the time drags! The clock has struck midnight. One, two! Thank
goodness, it will shortly be dawn, and the activity of the day may begin!
Work may again prove, in a way, to be an anodyne. In the meantime I must
write on, lest despair overwhelm me.

Once during the night I thought I heard a footstep outside. I rushed to
the window and looked out, but there was nothing to see, no sound to
hear. That was a little after one o'clock. I feared to go outside, lest
that should alarm her; so I came back to my table. I could not write,
but I sat as if writing for a while. But I could not stand it, so rose
and walked about the room. As I walked I felt that my Lady--it gives me
a pang every time I remember that I do not know even her name--was not
quite so far away from me. It made my heart beat to think that it might
mean that she was coming to me. Could not I as well as Aunt Janet have a
little Second Sight! I went towards the window, and, standing behind the
curtain, listened. Far away I thought I heard a cry, and ran out on the
Terrace; but there was no sound to be heard, and no sign of any living
thing anywhere; so I took it for granted that it was the cry of some
night bird, and came back to my room, and wrote at my journal till I was
calm. I think my nerves must be getting out of order, when every sound
of the