my reference to the past. We sat together near the window, and while I
spoke and she listened, we looked at the glory of the sunlight shining
on the majesty of the sea.

"Whatever comes of this confidence between us," I said, "whether it
ends happily or sorrowfully for ME, Laura's interests will still be the
interests of my life. When we leave this place, on whatever terms we
leave it, my determination to wrest from Count Fosco the confession
which I failed to obtain from his accomplice, goes back with me to
London, as certainly as I go back myself. Neither you nor I can tell
how that man may turn on me, if I bring him to bay; we only know, by
his own words and actions, that he is capable of striking at me through
Laura, without a moment's hesitation, or a moment's remorse. In our
present position I have no claim on her which society sanctions, which
the law allows, to strengthen me in resisting him, and in protecting
HER. This places me at a serious disadvantage. If I am to fight our
cause with the Count, strong in the consciousness of Laura's safety, I
must fight it for my Wife. Do you agree to that, Marian, so far?"

"To every word of it," she answered.

"I will not plead out of my own heart," I went on; "I will not appeal
to the love which has survived all changes and all shocks--I will rest
my only vindication of myself for thinking of her, and speaking of her
as my wife, on what I have just said. If the chance of forcing a
confession from the Count is, as I believe it to be, the last chance
left of publicly establishing the fact of Laura's existence, the least
selfish reason that I can advance for our marriage is recognised by us
both. But I may be wrong in my conviction--other means of achieving
our purpose may be in our power, which are less uncertain and less
dangerous. I have searched anxiously, in my own mind, for those means,
and I have not found them. Have you?"

"No. I have thought about it too, and thought in vain."

"In all likelihood," I continued, "the same questions have occurred to
you, in considering this difficult subject, which have occurred to me.
Ought we to return with her to Limmeridge, now that she is like herself
again, and trust to the recognition of her by the people of the
village, or by the children at the school? Ought we to appeal to the
practical test of her handwriting? Suppose we did so. Suppose the
recognition of her obtained, and the identity of the handwriting
e