The Story Continued by Marian Halcombe

mind. Any woman who is sure of her own wits is a match at any time for a man who is not sure of his own temper. I had no such fear of Sir Percival as I had of the Count. Instead of fluttering, it had composed me, to hear of the errand on which he had gone out. While the tracing of Anne Catherick was the great anxiety that occupied him, Laura and I might hope for some cessation of any active persecution at his hands. For our sakes now, as well as for Anne’s, I hoped and prayed fervently that she might still escape him. I walked on as briskly as the heat would let me till I reached the crossroad which led to the village, looking back from time to time to make sure that I was not followed by anyone. Nothing was behind me all the way but an empty country wagon. The noise made by the lumbering wheels annoyed me, and when I found that the wagon took the road to the village, as well as myself, I stopped to let it go by and pass out of hearing. As I looked toward it, more attentively than before, I thought I detected at intervals the feet of a man walking close behind it, the carter being in front, by the side of his horses. The part of the crossroad which I had just passed over was so narrow that the wagon coming after me brushed the trees and thickets on either side, and I had to wait until it went by before I could test the correctness of my impression. Apparently that impression was wrong, for when the wagon had passed me the road behind it was quite clear. I reached the inn without meeting Sir Percival, and without noticing anything more, and was glad to find that