Lane, 14. My own name is Asta Langen.

"They took away my travelling bag, but they did not find this little
book and the tiny bottle of perfume which I had in the pocket of my
dress. And I found this old pen and a little ink in a drawer of the
writing table in my room.

"Wednesday. The stranger was here again to-day. I recognised his
soft voice. He spoke to the woman in the hall outside my room. I
listened, but I could catch only a few words. 'To-morrow evening
- I will come myself - no responsibility for you.' Were these words
meant for me? Are they going to take me away? Where will they take
me? Then they do not dare to kill me here? My head is burning hot.
I have not dared to drink a drop of liquid for four days. I dare
not take anything into which they might have put some drug or some
poison.

"Who could have such an interest in my death? It cannot be because
of the fortune which is to be mine when I come of age; for if I die,
my father has willed it to various charitable institutions. I have
no relatives, at least none who could inherit my money. I had never
harmed any one; who can wish for my death?

"There is somebody with her, somebody was listening at the door.
I have a feeling as if I was being watched. And yet - I examined
the door, but there is no crack anywhere and the key is in the lock.
Still I seem to feel a burning glance resting on me. Ah! the
parrot! is this another delusion? Oh God, let it end soon! I am
not yet quite insane, but all these unknown dangers around me will
drive me mad. I must fight against them.