try, I might have
taken Lady Glyde's life. At immense personal sacrifice I followed the
dictates of my own ingenuity, my own humanity, my own caution, and took
her identity instead. Judge me by what I might have done. How
comparatively innocent! how indirectly virtuous I appear in what I
really did!

I announced on beginning it that this narrative would be a remarkable
document. It has entirely answered my expectations. Receive these
fervid lines--my last legacy to the country I leave for ever. They are
worthy of the occasion, and worthy of

FOSCO.

THE STORY CONCLUDED BY WALTER HARTRIGHT

I

When I closed the last leaf of the Count's manuscript the half-hour
during which I had engaged to remain at Forest Road had expired.
Monsieur Rubelle looked at his watch and bowed. I rose immediately,
and left the agent in possession of the empty house. I never saw him
again--I never heard more of him or of his wife. Out of the dark byways
of villainy and deceit they had crawled across our path--into the same
byways they crawled back secretly and were lost.

In a quarter of an hour after leaving Forest Road I was at home again.

But few words sufficed to tell Laura and Marian how my desperate
venture had ended, and what the next event in our lives was likely to
be. I left all details to be described later in the day, and hastened
back to St. John's Wood, to see the person of whom Count Fosco had
ordered the fly, when he went to meet Laura at the station.

The address in my possession led me to some "livery stables," about a
quarter of a mile distant from Forest Road. The proprietor proved to
be a civil and respectable man. When I explained that an important
family matter obliged me to ask him to refer to his books for the
purpose of ascertaining a date with which the record of his business
transactions might supply me, he offered no objection to granting my
request. The book was produced, and there, under the date of "July
26th, 1850," the order was entered in these words--

"Brougham to Count Fosco, 5 Forest Road. Two o'clock. (John Owen)."

I found on inquiry that the name of "John Owen," attached to the entry,
referred to the man who had been employed to drive the fly. He was then
at work in the stable-yard, and was sent for to see me at my request.

"Do you remember driving a gentleman, in the month of July last, from
Number Five Forest Road to the Waterloo Bri