but I had seen enough to convince me that he was no other than my cousin Edward.  My uncle had some iron instrument in his hand, which he hastily concealed behind his back; and coming towards me, said something as if in an explanatory tone; but I was too much shocked and confounded to understand what it might be.  He said something about “repairs—­window-frames—­cold, and safety.”  I did not wait, however, to ask or to receive explanations, but hastily left the room.  As I went down stairs I thought I heard the voice of the Frenchwoman in all the shrill volubility of excuse, and others uttering suppressed but vehement imprecations, or what seemed to me to be such.

I joined my cousin Emily quite out of breath.  I need not say that my head was too full of other things to think much of drawing for that day.  I imparted to her frankly the cause of my alarms, but, at the same time, as gently as I could; and with tears she promised vigilance, devotion, and love.  I never had reason for a moment to repent the unreserved confidence which I then reposed in her.  She was no less surprised than I at the unexpected appearance of Edward, whose departure for France neither of us had for a moment doubted, but which was now proved by his actual presence to be nothing more than an imposture practised, I feared, for no good end.  The situation in which I had found my uncle had very nearly removed all my doubts as to his designs; I magnified suspicions into certainties, and dreaded night after night that I should be murdered in my bed.  The nervousness produced by sleepless nights and days of anxious fears increased the horrors of my situation to such a degree, that I at length wrote a letter to a Mr. Jefferies, an old and faithful friend of my father’s, and perfectly acquainted with all his affairs, praying him, for God’s sake, to relieve me from my present terrible situation, and communicating without reserve the nature and grounds of my suspicions.  This letter I kept sealed and directed for two or three days always about my person, for discovery would have been ruinous, in expectation of an opportunity, which might be safely trusted, of having it placed in the post-office; as neither Emily nor I were permitted to pass beyond the precincts of the demesne itself, which was surrounded by high walls formed of dry stone, the difficulty of procuring such an opportunity was greatly enhanced.

At this time Emily had a short conversation with her father, which she reported to me instantly.  After some indifferent matter, he had asked her whether she and I were upon good terms, and whether I was unreserved in my disposition.  She answered in the affirmative; and he then inquired whether I had been much surprised to find him in my chamber on the other day.  She answered that I had been both surprised and amused.  “And what did she think of George Wilson’s appearance?” “Who?” inquired she.  “Oh! the architect,” he answered, “who is to contract for the repairs of the house; he is accounted a handsome fellow.”  “She could not see his face,” said Emily, “and she was in such a hurry to escape that she scarcely observed him.”  Sir Arthur appeared satisfied, and the conversation ended.