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I write from memory, unassisted by notes or diaries; and I haveno distinct recollection of the length of our residence abroad.It certainly extended over a period of some months. Long afterEustace was strong enough to take the journey to London thedoctors persisted in keeping him in Paris. He had shown symptomsof weakness in one of his lungs, and his medical advisers, seeingthat he prospered in the dry atmosphere of France, warned him tobe careful of breathing too soon the moist air of his owncountry.

Thus it happened that we were still in Paris when I received mynext news from Gleninch.

This time no letters passed on either side. To my surprise anddelight, Benjamin quietly made his appearance one morning in ourpretty French drawing-room. He was so preternaturally smart inhis dress, and so incomprehensibly anxious (while my husband wasin the way) to make us understand that his reasons for visitingParis were holiday reasons only, that I at once suspected him ofhaving crossed the Channel in a double character--say, as touristin search of pleasure, when third persons were present; asambassador from Mr. Playmore, when he and I had the room toourselves.

Later in the day I contrived that we should be left together, andI soon found that my anticipations had not misled me. Benjaminhad set out for Paris, at Mr. Playmore's express request, toconsult with me as to the future, and to enlighten me as to thepast. He presented me with his credentials in the shape of alittle note from the lawyer.

"There are some few points" (Mr. Playmore wrote) "which therecovery of the letter does not seem to clear up. I have done mybest, with Mr. Benjamin's assistance, to find the rightexplanation of these debatable matters; and I have treated thesubject, for the sake of brevity, in the form of Questions andAnswers. Will you accept me as interpreter, after the mistakes Imade when you consulted me in Edinburgh? Events, I admit, haveproved that I was entirely wrong in trying to prevent you fromreturning to Dexter--and partially wrong in suspecting Dexter ofbeing directly, instead of indirectly, answerable for the firstMrs. Eustace's death. I frankly make my confession, and leave youto tell Mr. Benjamin whether you think my new Catechism worthy ofexamination or not."

I thought his "new Catechism" (as he called it) decidedly worthyof examination. If you don't ag ree with this view, and if youare dying to be done with me and my narrative, pass on to thenext chapter by all means!

Benjamin produced the Questions and Answers; and read them to me,at my request, in these terms:

"Questions suggested by the letter discovered at Gleninch. FirstGroup: Questions relating to the Diary. First Question: obtainingaccess to Mr. Macallan's private journal, was Miserrimus Dexterguided by any previous knowledge of its contents?

"Answer: It is doubtful if he had any such knowledge. Theprobabilities are that he noticed how carefully Mr. Macallansecured his Diary from observation; that he inferred therefromthe existence of dangerous domestic secrets in the locked-uppages; and that he speculated on using those secrets for his ownpurpose when he caused the false keys to be made.

"Second Question: To what motive are we to attribute MiserrimusDexter's interference with the sheriff's officers, on the daywhen they seized Mr. Macallan's Diary along with his otherpapers?

"Answer: In replying to this question, we must first do justiceto Dexter himself. Infamously as we now know him to have acted,the man was not a downright fiend. That he secretly hated Mr.Macallan, as his successful rival in the affections of the womanhe loved--and that he did all he could to induce the unhappy ladyto desert her husband--are, in this case, facts not to be denied.On the other hand, it is fairly to be doubted whether he wereadditionally capable of permitting the friend who trusted him tobe tried for murder, through his fault, without making an effortto save the innocent man. It had naturally never occurred to Mr.Macallan (being guiltless of his wife's death) to destroy hisDiary and his letters, in the fear that they might be usedagainst him. Until the prompt and secret action of the Fiscaltook him by surprise, the idea of his being charged with themurder of his wife was an idea which we know, from his ownstatement, had never even entered his mind. But Dexter must havelooked at the matter from another point of view. In his lastwandering words (spoken when his mind broke down) he refers tothe Diary in these terms, 'The Diary will hang him; I won't havehim hanged.' If he could have found his opportunity of getting atit in time--or if the sheriff's officers had not been too quickfor him--there can be no reasonable doubt that Dexter would havehimself destroyed the Diary, foreseeing the consequences of itsproduction in court. So strongly does he appear to have feltthese considerations, that he even resisted the officers in theexecution of their duty. His agitation when he sent for Mr.Playmore to interfere was witnessed by that gentleman, and (itmay not be amiss to add) was genuine agitation beyond dispute.

"Questions of the Second Group: relating to the Wife'sConfession. First Question: What prevented Dexter from destroyingthe letter, when he first discovered it under the dead woman'spillow?

"Answer: The same motives which led him to resist the seizure ofthe Diary, and to give his evidence in the prisoner's favor atthe Trial, induced him to preserve the letter until the verdictwas known. Looking back once more at his last words (as takendown by Mr. Benjamin), we may infer that if the verdict had beenGuilty, he would not have hesitated to save the innocent husbandby producing the wife's confession. There are degrees in allwickedness. Dexter was wicked enough to suppress the letter,which wounded his vanity by revealing him as an object forloathing and contempt--but he was not wicked enough deliberatelyto let an innocent man perish on the scaffold. He was capable ofexposing the rival whom he hated to the infamy and torture of apublic accusation of murder; but, in the event of an adverseverdict, he shrank before the direr cruelty of letting him behanged. Reflect, in this connection, on what he must havesuffered, villain as he was, when he first read the wife'sconfession. He had calculated on undermining her affection forher husband--and whither had his calculations led him? He haddriven the woman whom he loved to the last dreadful refuge ofdeath by suicide! Give these considerations their due weight; andyou will understand that some little redeeming virtue might showitself, as the result even of _this_ man's remorse.

"Second Question: What motive influenced Miserrimus Dexter'sconduct, when Mrs. (Valeria) Macallan informed him that sheproposed reopening the inquiry into the poisoning at Gleninch?

"Answer: In all probability, Dexter's guilty fears suggested tohim that he might have been watched on the morning when hesecretly entered the chamber in which the first Mrs. Eustace laydead. Feeling no scruples himself to restrain him from listeningat doors and looking through keyholes, he would be all the moreready to suspect other people of the same practices. With thisdread in him, it would naturally occur to his mind that Mrs.Valeria might meet with the person who had watched him, and mighthear all that the person had discovered--unless he led her astrayat the outset of her investigations. Her own jealous suspicionsof Mrs. Beauly offered him the chance of easily doing this. Andhe was all the readier to profit by the chance, being himselfanimated by the most hostile feeling toward that lady. He knewher as the enemy who destroyed the domestic peace of the mistressof the house; he loved the mistress of the house--and he hatedher enemy accordingly. The preservation of his guilty secret, andthe persecution of Mrs. Beauly: there you have the greater andthe lesser motive of his conduct in his relations with Mrs.Eustace the second!"*

----------------------------------- * Note by the writer of theNarrative:

Look back for a further illustration of this point of view to thescene at Benjamin's house (Chapter XXXV.), where Dexter, in amoment of ungovernable agitation, betrays his own secret toValeria. -----------------------------------

Benjamin laid down his notes, and took off his spectacles.

"We have not thought it necessary to go further than this," hesaid. "Is there any point you can think of that is still leftunexplained?"

I reflected. There was no point of any importance leftunexplained that I could remember. But there was one littlematter (suggested by the recent allusions to Mrs. Beauly) which Iwished (if possible) to have thoroughly cleared up.

"Have you and Mr. Playmore ever spoken together on the subject ofmy husband's former attachment to Mrs. Beauly?" I asked. "Has Mr.Playmore ever told you why Eustace did not marry her, after theTrial?"

"I put that question to Mr. Playmore myself," said Benjamin. "Heanswered it easily enough. Being your husband's confidentialfriend and adviser, he was consulted when Mr. Eustace wrote toMrs. Beauly, after the Trial; and he repeated the substance ofthe letter, at my request. Would you like to hear what I rememberof it, in my turn?"

I owned that I should like to hear it. What Benjamin thereupontold me, exactly coincided with what Miserrimus Dexter had toldme--as related in the thirtieth chapter of my narrative. Mrs.Beauly had been a witness of the public degradation of myhusband. That was enough in itself to prevent him from marryingher: He broke off with _her_ for the same reason which had ledhim to separate himself from _me._ Existence with a woman whoknew that he had been tried for his life as a murderer was anexistence which he had not resolution enough to face. The twoaccounts agreed in every particular. At last my jealous curiositywas pacified; and Benjamin was free to dismiss the past fromfurther consideration, and to approach the more critical and moreinteresting topic of the future.

His first inquiries related to Eustace. He asked if my husbandhad any suspicion of the proceedings which had taken place atGleninch.

I told him what had happened, and how I had contrived to put offthe inevitable disclosure for a time.

My old friend's face cleared up as he listened to me.

"This will be good news for Mr. Playmore," he said. "Ourexcellent friend, the lawyer, is sorely afraid that our discoveries may compromise your position with your husband. On theone hand, he is naturally anxious to spare Mr. Eustace thedistress which he must certainly feel, if he read his firstwife's confession. On the other hand, it is impossible, injustice (as Mr. Playmore puts it) to the unborn children of yourmarriage, to suppress a document which vindicates the memory oftheir father from the aspersion that the Scotch Verdict mightotherwise cast on it."

I listened attentively. Benjamin had touched on a trouble whichwas still secretly preying on my mind.

"How does Mr. Playmore propose to meet the difficulty?" I asked.

"He can only meet it in one way," Benjamin replied. "He proposesto seal up the original manuscript of the letter, and to add toit a plain statement of the circumstances under which it wasdiscovered, supported by your signed attestation and mine, aswitnesses to the fact. This done, he must leave it to you to takeyour husband into your confidence, at your own time. It will thenbe for Mr. Eustace to decide whether he will open theinclosure--or whether he will leave it, with the seal unbroken,as an heirloom to his children, to be made public or not, attheir discretion, when they are of an age to think forthemselves. Do you consent to this, my dear? Or would you preferthat Mr. Playmore should see your husband, and act for you in thematter?"

I decided, without hesitation, to take the responsibility onmyself. Where the question of guiding Eustace's decision wasconcerned, I considered my influence to be decidedly superior tothe influence of Mr. Playmore. My choice met with Benjamin's fullapproval. He arranged to write to Edinburgh, and relieve thelawyer's anxieties by that day's post.

The one last thing now left to be settled related to our plansfor returning to England. The doctors were the authorities onthis subject. I promised to consult them about it at their nextvisit to Eustace.

"Have you anything more to say to me?" Benjamin inquired, as heopened his writing-case.

I thought of Miserrimus Dexter and Ariel; and I inquired if hehad heard any news of them lately. My old friend sighed, andwarned me that I had touched on a painful subject.

"The best thing that can happen to that unhappy man is likely tohappen," he said. "The one change in him is a change thatthreatens paralysis. You may hear of his death before you getback to England."

"And Ariel?" I asked.

"Quite unaltered," Benjamin answered. "Perfectly happy so long asshe is with 'the Master.' From all I can hear of her, poor soul,she doesn't reckon Dexter among moral beings. She laughs at theidea of his dying; and she waits patiently, in the firmpersuasion that he will recognize her again."

Benjamin's news saddened and silenced me. I left him to hisletter.