I saw here an opening to ask him about Jonathan, so I said, “He was almost recovered, but he has been greatly upset by Mr. Hawkins death.”

He interrupted, “Oh, yes.  I know.  I know.  I have read your last two letters.”

I went on, “I suppose this upset him, for when we were in town on Thursday last he had a sort of shock.”

“A shock, and after brain fever so soon!  That is not good.  What kind of shock was it?”

“He thought he saw some one who recalled something terrible, something which led to his brain fever.”  And here the whole thing seemed to overwhelm me in a rush.  The pity for Jonathan, the horror which he experienced, the whole fearful mystery of his diary, and the fear that has been brooding over me ever since, all came in a tumult.  I suppose I was hysterical, for I threw myself on my knees and held up my hands to him, and implored him to make my husband well again.  He took my hands and raised me up, and made me sit on the sofa, and sat by me.  He held my hand in his, and said to me with, oh, such infinite sweetness,

“My life is a barren and lonely one, and so full of work that I have not had much time for friendships, but since I have been summoned to here by my friend John Seward I have known so many good people and seen such nobility that I feel more than ever, and it has grown with my advancing years, the loneliness of my life.  Believe me, then, that I come here full of respect for you, and you have given me hope, hope, not in what I am seeking of, but that there are good women still left to make life happy, good women, whose lives and whose truths may make good lesson for the children that are to be.  I am glad, glad, that I may here be of some use to you.  For if your husband suffer, he suffer within the range of my study and experience.  I promise you that I will gladly do all for him that I can, all to make his life strong and manly, and your life a happy one.  Now you must eat.  You are overwrought and perhaps over-anxious.  Husband Jonathan would not like to see you so pale, and what he like not where he love, is not to his good.  Therefore for his sake you must eat and smile.  You have told me about Lucy, and so now we shall not speak of it, lest it distress.  I shall stay in Exeter tonight, for I want to think much over what you have told me, and when I have thought I will ask you questions, if I may.  And then too, you will tell me of husband Jonathan’s trouble so far as you can, but not yet.  You must eat now, afterwards you shall tell me all.”

After lunch, when we went back to the drawing room, he said to me, “And now tell me all about him.”

When it came to speaking to this great learned man, I began to fear that he would think me a weak fool, and Jonathan a madman, that journal is all so strange, and I hesitated to go on.  But he was so sweet and kind, and he had promised to help, and I trusted him, so I said,