werless to place my interests or Percival's secret in jeopardy. I
committed one error in trusting myself to such a blindfold calculation
of chances as this. I committed another when Percival had paid the
penalty of his own obstinacy and violence, by granting Lady Glyde a
second reprieve from the mad-house, and allowing Mr. Hartright a second
chance of escaping me. In brief, Fosco, at this serious crisis, was
untrue to himself. Deplorable and uncharacteristic fault! Behold the
cause, in my heart--behold, in the image of Marian Halcombe, the first
and last weakness of Fosco's life!

At the ripe age of sixty, I make this unparalleled confession. Youths!
I invoke your sympathy. Maidens! I claim your tears.

A word more, and the attention of the reader (concentrated breathlessly
on myself) shall be released.

My own mental insight informs me that three inevitable questions will
be asked here by persons of inquiring minds. They shall be
stated--they shall be answered.

First question. What is the secret of Madame Fosco's unhesitating
devotion of herself to the fulfilment of my boldest wishes, to the
furtherance of my deepest plans? I might answer this by simply
referring to my own character, and by asking, in my turn, Where, in the
history of the world, has a man of my order ever been found without a
woman in the background self-immolated on the altar of his life? But I
remember that I am writing in England, I remember that I was married in
England, and I ask if a woman's marriage obligations in this country
provide for her private opinion of her husband's principles? No! They
charge her unreservedly to love, honour, and obey him. That is exactly
what my wife has done. I stand here on a supreme moral elevation, and
I loftily assert her accurate performance of her conjugal duties.
Silence, Calumny! Your sympathy, Wives of England, for Madame Fosco!

Second question. If Anne Catherick had not died when she did, what
should I have done? I should, in that case, have assisted worn-out
Nature in finding permanent repose. I should have opened the doors of
the Prison of Life, and have extended to the captive (incurably
afflicted in mind and body both) a happy release.

Third question. On a calm revision of all the circumstances--Is my
conduct worthy of any serious blame? Most emphatically, No! Have I not
carefully avoided exposing myself to the odium of committing
unnecessary crime? With my vast resources in chemis