curate, the Rev. Sprigge Biddlepen, and Lord Ilbury.

Uncle Silas was terribly ill when we returned to Bartram-Haugh, the
result of an overdose of opium; but for the doctor's aid he would have
died. Remembering how desperate Lady Knollys had told me his monetary
position was, a new and dreadful suspicion began to haunt me.

"Had he attempted to poison himself?"

I remember I was left alone with him while his attendant fetched a fresh
candle. A small thick Bible lay on the mantle-shelf. I turned over its
leaves, and lighted on two or three odd-looking papers--promissory
notes, I believe--when Uncle Silas, dressed in a long white
morning-gown, slid over the end of the bed and stood behind me with a
deathlike scowl and simper. Diving over my shoulder, with his long, thin
hand he snatched the Bible from me, and whispered over my head, "The
serpent beguiled her, and she did eat."

It seemed an hour before Wyat came back. You may be sure I did not
prolong my watch. I had a long, hysterical fit of weeping when I got to
my room: the sorceries of Bartram-Haugh were enveloping.

About this time Dudley began to persecute me with his odious attentions.
I was obliged to complain of him to my uncle. He was disposed to think
well of the match; but I could not consent, and it was arranged that my
cousin should go abroad. And then that night I had the key to some of
the mysterious doings at Bartram-Haugh--the comings and goings in the
darkness which had so often startled me--the face of Madame de la
Rougierre peeped into the room.