I became aware, after this visit, that Mrs. Raymond had become my jailer as well as her mother’s.  She came regularly at supper-time thereafter to superintend Dinah’s arrangements, to give Mrs. Clayton her night-draught, which did not assuage her direful vigilance one particle, but rather seemed to infuse new powers of wakefulness in those ever-watchful eyes, until sunrise, when, protected by the knowledge that others besides herself were on the watch, she permitted sleep to take possession of her senses.

I earnestly believe that no one ever so effectually controlled the predisposition to slumber as did this woman.

After locking us up regularly for the night, the “Lady Anastasia” withdrew, followed by Dinah; and I would hear, later, sounds of festivity, in which her well-known laugh was blended, in the dining-room below, where, with Bainrothe and his friends, she held wassail, frequently, until after midnight.  The groans of Mrs. Clayton would then commence, and, with little intermission, last until morning’s light.

Yet it was something to be rid of Mrs. Raymond’s surveillance during those very hours I had selected for my second effort to escape.  This must be hazarded, I knew, between eight and ten o’clock of the evening, during which time I had reason to suppose the house-door remained unlocked.  The risk of encountering some one in the hall below—­for there was constant passing and repassing of footsteps during those hours—­constituted my chief danger; but, at all hazards, the experiment must then, if at all, be made.

October was fast drifting away, and I knew that at its close my course would be decided for me, should I not anticipate such despotism by setting it at naught, in the only possible way—­that of flying from the scene of my oppression.

How to do this, and when, became the one problem of my existence; and it was well for me that Mrs. Clayton was too great a sufferer to notice beyond my external safety, or she might have seen clear indications of some strange change at work, stamped upon my features.

My unsettled intentions were suddenly brought to a crisis by the contents of a letter handed to me, as usual, in the shadows of the evening, by the long-absent Dr. Englehart, who came in person, in accordance with Mrs. Raymond’s announcement (arriving, as it chanced, while Mrs. Clayton slumbered), to deliver it.

Gregory wrote a large, clear hand, not difficult to decipher, even by the dim light of a moonlight lamp; and, while Dr. Englehart stood regarding me in the shadow, anxiously enough, I perceived, to keep me entirely on my guard, I perused, with mingled derision and terror, this truly characteristic epistle.  My running commentaries, as I read—­entirely sotto voce, of course, for one does not care to rouse the wrath of a tiger on the crouch, by flinging pebbles in the jungle—­may give some idea of the impression it made upon me, and the emotions it excited.