And the most dreadful part of it all is my own
loneliness. Here I sit in a commonplace English bow-
window, looking out upon a commonplace English street
with its garish 'buses and its lounging policeman, and
behind me there hangs a shadow which is out of all
keeping with the age and place. In the home of
knowledge I am weighed down and tortured by a power of
which science knows nothing. No magistrate would
listen to me. No paper would discuss my case. No
doctor would believe my symptoms. My own most intimate
friends would only look upon it as a sign of brain
derangement. I am out of all touch with my kind. Oh,
that devilish woman! Let her have a care! She may
push me too far. When the law cannot help a man, he
may make a law for himself.

She met me in the High Street yesterday evening and
spoke to me. It was as well for her, perhaps, that it
was not between the hedges of a lonely country road.
She asked me with her cold smile whether I had been
chastened yet. I did not deign to answer her. "We
must try another turn of the screw;" said she. Have a
care, my lady, have a care! I had her at my mercy
once. Perhaps another chance may come.

April 28. The suspension of my lectureship has had the
effect also of taking away her means of annoying me,
and so I have enjoyed two blessed days of peace. After
all, there is no reason to despair. Sympathy pours in