April 26.  Ten days have elapsed since I have had the heart to make any entry in my journal.  Why should I record my own humiliation and degradation?  I had vowed never to open it again.  And yet the force of habit is strong, and here I find myself taking up once more the record of my own dreadful experiences—­in much the same spirit in which a suicide has been known to take notes of the effects of the poison which killed him.

Well, the crash which I had foreseen has come—­and that no further back than yesterday.  The university authorities have taken my lectureship from me.  It has been done in the most delicate way, purporting to be a temporary measure to relieve me from the effects of overwork, and to give me the opportunity of recovering my health.  None the less, it has been done, and I am no longer Professor Gilroy.  The laboratory is still in my charge, but I have little doubt that that also will soon go.

The fact is that my lectures had become the laughing-stock of the university.  My class was crowded with students who came to see and hear what the eccentric professor would do or say next.  I cannot go into the detail of my humiliation.  Oh, that devilish woman!  There is no depth of buffoonery and imbecility to which she has not forced me.  I would begin my lecture clearly and well, but always with the sense of a coming eclipse.  Then as I felt the influence I would struggle against it, striving with clenched hands and beads of sweat upon my brow to get the better of it, while the students, hearing my incoherent words and watching my contortions, would roar with laughter at the antics of their professor.  And then, when she had once fairly mastered me, out would come the most outrageous things—­silly jokes, sentiments as though I were proposing a toast, snatches of ballads, personal abuse even against some member of my class.  And then in a moment my brain would clear again, and my lecture would proceed decorously to the end.  No wonder that my conduct has been the talk of the colleges.  No wonder that the University Senate has been compelled to take official notice of such a scandal.  Oh, that devilish woman!

And the most dreadful part of it all is my own loneliness.  Here I sit in a commonplace English bow-window, looking out upon a commonplace English street with its garish ’buses and its lounging policeman, and behind me there hangs a shadow which is out of all keeping with the age and place.  In the home of knowledge I am weighed down and tortured by a power of which science knows nothing.  No magistrate would listen to me.  No paper would discuss my case.  No doctor would believe my symptoms.  My own most intimate friends would only look upon it as a sign of brain derangement.  I am out of all touch with my kind.  Oh, that devilish woman!  Let her have a care!  She may push me too far.  When the law cannot help a man, he may make a law for himself.

She met me in the High Street yesterday evening and spoke to me.  It was as well for her, perhaps, that it was not between the hedges of a lonely country road.  She asked me with her cold smile whether I had been chastened yet.  I did not deign to answer her.  “We must try another turn of the screw;” said she.  Have a care, my lady, have a care!  I had her at my mercy once.  Perhaps another chance may come.