The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe, in Extracts from Her Diary

a tone of levity which, Heaven knows, is far enough from my heart, and which it has rather shocked me to discover on looking back at the entries in my journal. Perhaps I may have caught the feverish excitement of Laura’s spirits for the last week. If so, the fit has already passed away from me, and has left me in a very strange state of mind. A persistent idea has been forcing itself on my attention, ever since last night, that something will yet happen to prevent the marriage. What has produced this singular fancy? Is it the indirect result of my apprehensions for Laura’s future? Or has it been unconsciously suggested to me by the increasing restlessness and irritability which I have certainly observed in Sir Percival’s manner as the wedding-day draws nearer and nearer? Impossible to say. I know that I have the idea⁠—surely the wildest idea, under the circumstances, that ever entered a woman’s head?⁠—but try as I may, I cannot trace it back to its source. This last day has been all confusion and wretchedness. How can I write about it?⁠—and yet, I must write. Anything is better than brooding over my own gloomy thoughts. Kind Mrs. Vesey, whom we have all too much overlooked and forgotten of late, innocently caused us a sad morning to begin with. She has been, for months past, secretly making a warm Shetland shawl for her dear pupil⁠—a most beautiful and surprising piece of work to be done by a woman at her age and with her habits. The gift was presented this morning, and poor warmhearted Laura completely broke down when the shawl was put proudly