CHAPTER THE FIRST.

AN OPEN DOOR.


I think I was as nearly mad as I could be; nearer madness, I believe,
than I shall ever be again, thank God! Three weeks of it had driven me
to the very verge of desperation. I cannot say here what had brought me
to this pass, for I do not know into whose hands these pages may fall;
but I had made up my mind to persist in a certain line of conduct which
I firmly believed to be right, while those who had authority over me,
and were stronger than I was, were resolutely bent upon making me submit
to their will. The conflict had been going on, more or less violently,
for months; now I had come very near the end of it. I felt that I must
either yield or go mad. There was no chance of my dying; I was too
strong for that. There was no other alternative than subjection or
insanity.

It had been raining all the day long, in a ceaseless, driving torrent,
which had kept the streets clear of passengers. I could see nothing but
wet flag-stones, with little pools of water lodging in every hollow, in
which the rain-drops splashed heavily whenever the storm grew more in
earnest. Now and then a tradesman's cart, or a cab, with their drivers
wrapped in mackintoshes, dashed past; and I watched them till they were
out of my sight. It had been the dreariest of days. My eyes had followed
the course of solitary drops rolling down the window-panes, until my