“Worse! worse than I thought!” she said, walking about the room, in a bewildered manner. “The Count knew Mr. Dawson would never consent to Marian’s taking a journey⁠—he purposely insulted the doctor to get him out of the house.”

“Oh, my lady! my lady!” I remonstrated.

“ Mrs. Michelson!” she went on vehemently, “no words that ever were spoken will persuade me that my sister is in that man’s power and in that man’s house with her own consent. My horror of him is such, that nothing Sir Percival could say and no letters my uncle could write, would induce me, if I had only my own feelings to consult, to eat, drink, or sleep under his roof. But my misery of suspense about Marian gives me the courage to follow her anywhere, to follow her even into Count Fosco’s house.”