As an instance of the base arts employed to still further entangle and incriminate me I recount the following circumstances. Whose devilish ingenuity first conceived the idea I never discovered.
The spare room in which I slept was at the back of the house, and its window faced the window of another house, used also, I believe, as a bedroom. I stood in front of this window, shaving, one morning; the blind was up and the day was bright. While the razor was at my cheek Barbara rushed into the room, crying at the top of her voice:
"John—John—John! For mercy's sake, don't!" And as she spoke she threw herself upon me.
Fearful lest the razor should cut her I threw it away, but not before I had gashed my cheek, causing blood to flow. Then, observing that she was in her nightdress and that the bosom was open, I quickly drew down the blind.
"What is the meaning of this?" I inquired, bitterly. "Do you fear that I intend to kill myself?"
Her only answer was a series of hysterical shrieks which could be heard a long distance off. For a few moments I thought she had gone mad, and I stooped to raise her from the floor, upon which she had fallen.
"For mercy's sake, for mercy's sake!" she screamed, and in the midst of the confusion Annette entered the room and led her mistress away. I followed her into the passage, the blood running down my face, and there upon the stairs were the servants, who had naturally been alarmed by Barbara's screams, and had run up to see what was the matter.
"Go down," said Annette, speaking to them in a tone of command. "Madame is ill—very, very ill. I will attend to her."
I did not see my wife again that day; the door of her room was locked against me. To all my inquiries after her Annette replied:
"She is more composed; she will recover in a few days, perhaps."