The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

waiting at the door? My tone surprises you⁠—ha? I dare say it does⁠—it is the tone of a man who can keep his temper. How many doses of good advice have I given you in my time? More than you can count. Have I ever been wrong? I defy you to quote me an instance of it. Go! take your drive. The matter of the signature can wait till tomorrow. Let it wait⁠—and renew it when you come back.” Sir Percival hesitated and looked at his watch. His anxiety about the secret journey which he was to take that day, revived by the Count’s words, was now evidently disputing possession of his mind with his anxiety to obtain Laura’s signature. He considered for a little while, and then got up from his chair. “It is easy to argue me down,” he said, “when I have no time to answer you. I will take your advice, Fosco⁠—not because I want it, or believe in it, but because I can’t stop here any longer.” He paused, and looked round darkly at his wife. “If you don’t give me your signature when I come back tomorrow⁠—!” The rest was lost in the noise of his opening the bookcase cupboard again, and locking up the parchment once more. He took his hat and gloves off the table, and made for the door. Laura and I drew back to let him pass. “Remember tomorrow!” he said to his wife, and went out. We waited to give him time to cross the hall and drive away. The Count approached us while we were standing near the door. “You have just seen Percival at his worst, Miss Halcombe,” he said. “As his old friend, I am sorry for him and ashamed