outside. It was plain that
I had (quite innocently) disturbed the repose of some formidable secrets
in Miserrimus Dexter's mind. I confused and wearied my poor brains
in trying to guess what the secrets might be. All my ingenuity--as
after-events showed me--was wasted on speculations not one of which
even approached the truth. I was on surer ground when I arrived at the
conclusion that Dexter had really kept every mortal creature out of
his confidence. He could never have betrayed such serious signs of
disturbance as I had noticed in him, if he had publicly acknowledged at
the Trial, or if he had privately communicated to any chosen friend, all
that he knew of the tragic and terrible drama acted in the bedchamber at
Gleninch. What powerful influence had induced him to close his lips?
Had he been silent in mercy to others? or in dread of consequences to
himself? Impossible to tell! Could I hope that he would confide to Me
what he had kept secret from Justice and Friendship alike? When he knew
what I really wanted of him, would he arm me, out of his own stores of
knowledge, with the weapon that would win me victory in the struggle to
come? The chances were against it--there was no denying that. Still the
end was worth trying for. The caprice of the moment might yet stand my
friend, with such a wayward being as Miserrimus Dexter. My plans and
projects were sufficiently strange, sufficiently wide of the ordinary
limits of a woman's thoughts and actions, to attract his sympathies.
"Who knows," I thought to myself, "if I may not take his confidence by
surprise, by simply telling him the truth?"

The interval expired; the door was thrown open; the voice of my host
summoned me again to the inner room.

"Welcome back!" said Miserrimus Dexter.

"Dear Mrs. Valeria, I am quite myself again. How are you?"

He looked and spoke with the easy cordiality of an old friend. During
the period of my absence, short as it was, another change had passed
over this most multiform of living beings. His eyes sparkled with
good-humor; his cheeks were flushing under a new excitement of some
sort. Even his dress had undergone alteration since I had seen it last.
He now wore an extemporized cap of white paper; his ruffles were tucked
up; a clean apron was thrown over the sea-green coverlet. He hacked his
chair before me, bowing and smiling, and waved me to a seat with
the grace of a dancing master, chastened by the dignity of a lord in
waiting.