Let's Read and Talk On The Story The Woman in White

Белгородский государственный университет
Кафедра делового иностранного языка
Пособие по домашнему чтению

на английском языке
часть 2
Авторы-составители О.В.Серкина, Т.Н. Тимофеева
Для студентов, изучающих английский язык

в университетах и институтах
Белгород 2005
1
ББК 81.2 Англ. я73
Печатается по решению Редакционно-издательского совета

Белгородского государственного университета
Авторы составители: О.В. Серкина, к.ф.н., доцент кафедры делового

иностранного языка,
Т.Н. Тимофеева, ассистент кафедры делового
иностранного языка
Рецензенты: И.Г. Серова, к.ф.н., доцент кафедры английской

филологии Тамбовского государственного университета
им. Г. Р. Державина,
Н.А. Беседина, к.ф.н., доцент кафедры делового
иностранного языка Белгородского государственного
университета
Let’s Read and Talk on the Story “The Woman in White” (W.
Collins). Пособие по домашнему чтению на английском языке.
Часть 2. / Авторы-составители: О.В. Серкина, Т.Н. Тимофеева. –
Белгород: Изд-во БелГУ, 2005. – 141 с.
Пособие для развития навыков чтения художественного текста

предназначено для студентов 1-2 курсов, изучающих английский язык в
качестве основного иностранного языка.
В основе пособия – роман Уилки Коллинза «Женщина в белом»,
который считается одним из шедевров английской детективной
литературы. Оригинальное произведение методически обработано и
разбито на блоки, каждый из которых снабжен языковым
комментарием и заданиями.
Данное пособие может использоваться как на занятиях по домашнему
чтению, так и для индивидуального чтения студентов и всех
изучающих английский язык.
ББК 81.2 Англ. я73
© Серкина О.В., Тимофеева Т.Н., 2005

© Изд-во БелГУ, 2005
2
Оглавление
Предисловие ………………………………………………………………4
Chapter 1 ……………………………………………………………………5
Chapter 2 ……………………………………………………………………8
Assignment 1……………………………………………………………….13
Chapter 3 …………………………………………………………………..16
Assignment 2 ………………………………………………………………21
Chapter 4 …………………………………………………………………...24
Chapter 5 …………………………………………………………………...27
Assignment 3……………………………………………………………….32
Chapter 6 …………………………………………………………………...35
Chapter 7 …………………………………………………………………..36
Chapter 8 …………………………………………………………………..39
Assignment 4……………………………………………………………….41
Chapter 9 …………………………………………………………………..44
Assignment 5……………………………………………………………….52
Chapter 10.………………………………………………………………….55
Chapter 11...………………………………………………………………...56
Assignment 6……………………………………………………………….61
Chapter 12..…..……………………………………………………….……64
Assignment 7………………..……………………………………..……….69
Chapter 13……………………………..……………………………….…..72
Chapter 14…………………………………………..………………….…..74
Assignment 8……………………………………………………..…..…….79
Chapter 15…………………………………………………………………..82
Chapter 16………………………………………………………………….82
Chapter 17………………………………………………………………….86
Assignment 9……………………………………………………………….90
Chapter 18…………………………………………………………………..92
Chapter 19…………………………………………………………………..95
Assignment 10…………………………………………………………….101
Chapter 20……...……………………………………………………….…105
Chapter 21………………...…………………………………………….…110
Chapter 22…………………………...………………………………….…113
Assignment 11……………………………………..…………………..….117
Chapter 23…………………………………………………...………….…120
Chapter 24……………………………………………………………....…122
Chapter 25…………………………………………………………………125
Assignment 12…………………………………………………………….129
Assignment 13 ……………………………………………………………132
Follow-up Activities………………………………………………………133
Grammar exercises………………………………………………………..139
3
Предисловие
Данное пособие подготовлено на кафедре делового иностранного

языка факультета романо-германской филологии Белгородского
государственного университета. Оно является второй частью серии
пособий по домашнему чтению «Let’s Read and Talk on the Story» и
ориентировано на студентов экономического факультета
(специальности «Мировая экономика», «Экономика и управление на
предприятии (туризм и гостиничное хозяйство)»), а также студентов
физико-математического факультета (специальность «Информатика с
дополнительной специальностью иностранный язык»), изучающих
английский как основной иностранный язык.
Пособие соответствует основным программным требованиям,
утверждённым учебно-методическим объединением по
вышеперечисленным специальностям (См.: Каталог учебных программ.
– Часть 4. – М.: ФА при Правительстве РФ, 1999).
Цель данного пособия – способствовать формированию у студентов
навыков работы с художественным текстом, расширению их общего
кругозора и повышению уровня культуры студентов, знакомить их с
реалиями культурологического характера, представленными в
произведении У. Коллинза, а также обеспечить планомерное
руководство самостоятельной (внеаудиторной) и аудиторной
деятельностью студентов, направленной на основательное изучение
читаемого художественного произведения и его обсуждение по частям
и в целом, с применением смыслового анализа его идейно-образной
системы.
Пособие состоит из двенадцати блоков, каждый из которых
включает в себя непосредственно фрагмент адаптированного текса,
задания для работы со словами и выражениями (Work with words and
word-combinations: работа с новыми словами с использованием англо-
русских и англо-английских словарей, подбор синонимов и антонимов,
перевод устойчивых выражений и др.), задания для работы с текстом
(Working on the text: перефразирование и перевод предложений,
комментирование отдельных моментов текста и др.), задания для
обсуждения текста (Talking on the text: ответы на вопросы, дискуссии
по предложенным проблемам и др.).
Последний тринадцатый блок содержит задания для
заключительного обсуждения романа.
Пособие может быть также использовано на занятиях по
английскому языку со студентами других неязыковых факультетов,
изучающими иностранный язык по расширенной сетке часов, и со
студентами младших курсов языковых вузов.
4
THE FIRST EPOCH
THE STORY BEGUN BY WALTER HARTRIGHT OF

CLEMENT’S INN, TEACHER OF DRAWING
It was the last day of July.

The evening, I remember, was still and cloudy. I roused myself from
the book which I was reading, and left my room to meet the cool night air. I
turned my steps northward, in the direction of Hampstead, where my mother
and my sister lived.
Events which I have yet to relate make it necessary to mention here
that my father had been dead some years. He had left my mother and sister a
considerable sum of money, which he earned by teaching the art of drawing.
Soon I came to my mother’s cottage and rang the bell. The house-door
was opened violently and my Italian friend, Professor Pesca, appeared. He
was apparently waiting for me.
I had first become acquainted with the Professor by meeting him at
certain great houses, where he taught his own language and I taught drawing
like my father.
Pesca’s face and manner informed me that something extraordinary

had happened.
We both went into the parlour very much excited.
My mother sat by the open window. “I don't know what has happened,
Walter,” said she. “Pesca is half mad with impatience; and I have been half
mad with curiosity. The Professor has brought some wonderful news with
him and he has cruelly refused to give us the smallest hint of it. ”
“Now, my good dears,”* began Pesca, “listen to me. The time has
come. I speak at last.”
“Hear, hear!” said my mother.
“Among the fine London houses where I teach the language of my
native country,” said the Professor, “there is one, mighty fine, * in the big
place called Portland. You all know where that is? Yes, yes. Inside the fine
house, my good dears, is a fine family. A Mamma, fair and fat; three young
Misses, fair and fat; two young Misters, * fair and fat; and a Papa, the fattest
of all. In his hand, the Papa has a letter. ‘O, my dears,’ says he, ‘I have got
here a letter from my friend, Mr. Fairlie. He wants a recommendation from
me of a drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.’ ”
“Read!” said Pesca, majestically handing me the letter.

значение слова или фразы, снабженных данным символом, объясняется в конце каждого раздела в
секции Notes
5
It informed me that Frederick Fairlie, Esquire, of Limmeridge House,
Cumberland,* wanted to engage the services* of a competent drawing-master,
for a period of four months...
The letter contained a description of the duties which the master was
expected to perform.* Тhey were both easy and agreeable. The terms were
four guineas a week.
“Oh, Walter, your father never had such a chance as this!” said my
mother when she had also read the note. Everybody was delighted at this fine
prospect.
The next morning I sent my testimonials to Mr. Fairlie. On the fourth
day an answer came. It announced that Mr. Fairlie accepted my services, and
requested me to start for Cumberland immediately.
I made my arrangements for leaving London early the next day.
The heat had been oppressive all day; and it was now a close and
sultry night. I had spent my last evening with my mother and sister before
leaving for Cumberland.
It was nearly midnight when the servant locked my mother’s garden-
gate behind me. I walked forward on the shortest way to London.
The moon was full and broad in the dark-blue sky.
I soon arrived at that point of my walk where four roads met—the road
to Hampstead; the road to Finchley; the road to West End; and the road to
London. I turned in this latter direction, and was strolling along the lonely
high-road, when suddenly I felt the touch of a hand on my shoulder.
I turned on the instant.*
There, in the middle of the broad road stood the figure of a solitary
woman, dressed from head to foot in white.
“Is that the road to London?” she asked.
I looked attentively at her. It was then nearly one o'clock. It all looked
very strange.
“Yes,” I replied, “that is the way; it leads to St. John's Wood and the
Regent's Park.”
“You don’t suspect me of doing anything wrong, do you? * I have done
nothing wrong. I have met with an accident* – I am very unfortunate.”
She spoke with agitation, and I did my best* to reassure her.
“Pray, don’t suppose that I suspect you,” I said, “I have no other wish
than to be of assistance* to you, if I can.”
“May I trust you?” she asked.
The loneliness and helplessness of the woman touched me.
“You may trust me,” I said. “Tell me how I can help you; and if I can,
I will.”*
“You are very kind, and I am very, very thankful to you. I have only
been in London once before,” she went on, more and more rapidly; “and I
know nothing about that side of it. Can I get a carriage of any kind? Is it too
late? I don't know. If you could show me where to get a fly—I have a friend
in London who will be glad to receive me—I want nothing else.”
6
She looked anxiously up and down the road.
What could I do? Here was a stranger helplessly at my mercy.*
“Are you sure that your friend in London will receive you at such a
late hour as this?” I said.
“Quite sure. Only say you’ll let me leave you when and how I please.
Will you promise?”
“Yes.”
“I want to ask you something,” she said suddenly when we started
walking on together.
“Do you know many people in London?”
“Yes, a great many.”
“Many men of rank and title?”*
“Some,” I said, after a moment of silence.
“Many”—-she looked me searchingly in the face—“many men of the
rank of Baronet?”
Too much astonished to reply, I questioned her in my turn.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I hope, for my own sake, there is one Baronet that you don't
know.”
“Will you tell me his name?”
“I can’t— I daren't.” And then she added in a whisper, “Tell me which
of them you know.”
I could not refuse her, and I mentioned three names: two, the names of
fathers of families whose daughters I had taught, one, the name of a bachelor
who had once taken me on a cruise in his yacht, to make sketches for him.
“Ah! you don’t know him,” she said, with a sigh of relief. Are you a
man of rank and title yourself?”
“Far from it. I am only a drawing-master!”
“Not a man of rank and title,” she repeated to herself. “Thank God! I
may trust him!”
“I am afraid you have serious reason to complain of some man of rank
and title?” I said.
“Don't ask me; don't make me talk of it,” she answered. “I'm not fit,
now. People have been very cruel to me. You will be very kind if you will
walk on fast and not speak to me. I sadly want to quiet myself, if I can." We
moved forward again at a quick pace.
“Do you live in London?” she said.
“Yes. But to-morrow I shall be away from London for some time. I am
going into the country.”
“Where?” she asked. ‘North, or south?”
“North—to Cumberland.”
“Cumberland!” she repeated the word tenderly. ‘Ah! I wish I was
going there, too. I was once happy in Cumberland.
“I was born in Hampshire; but I once went to school in Cumberland.
It's Limmeridge village, and Limmeridge House. I should like to see these
places again.”
7
I stopped suddenly. This was the place to which I was going!
“Did you hear anybody calling after us?” she asked, looking up and
down the road, the instant I stopped.*
“No, no. I was only struck by the name of Limmeridge House—I
heard it mentioned by some people a few days ago.”
“Ah! not my people. Mrs. Fairlie who was so kind to me is dead; and
her husband is dead; and their little girl may be married and gone away by
this time. I can't say who lives at Limmeridge now.”
We were reaching London. The sight of the gas-lamps and houses
seemed to agitate her.
“This is London,’ she said. ‘Do you see any carriage I can get? I am
tired and frightened.”
I saw a cab and hailed it. When I said good-bye to her, she caught my
hand in hers, kissed it, and pushed it away. Then she got into the cab and the
cab started.
Ten minutes, or more, passed. Suddenly a carriage went by—there
were two men in it.
“Stop!” cried one, seeing a policeman not far away. “There's a
policeman. Let’s ask him.”
“Policeman!” cried the first speaker. “Have you seen a woman pass
this way?”
“What sort of woman, sir?”
“In white, policeman. A woman in white.”
“I haven’t seen her, sir.”
“If you, or any of your men,* meet with the woman, stop her, and send
her to that address. I’ll pay all expenses, and a fair reward into the bargain.”*
The policeman looked at the card that was handed down to him.
“Why are we to stop her, sir? What has she done?”
“She has escaped from my Asylum. Don’t forget: a woman in
white.”
II
My travelling instructions directed me to go to Carlisle, and then to

change for a branch railway which ran in the direction of the coast. At
Carlisle I had to wait some hours; and when a late train finally deposited me
at the nearest station to Limmeridge House, it was past ten, and the night was
so dark that I could hardly see my way to the pony-chaise which Mr. Fairlie
had ordered to be waiting for me.*
At the house I was received by a solemn man-servant, who informed
me that the family had already gone to sleep. My supper was awaiting me.
I was too tired to eat or drink much. Then the solemn servant
conducted me into a prettily furnished room, said “Breakfast at nine o'clock,
sir”—and went away.
“What shall I see in my dreams to-night?” I thought to myself, as I put
out the candle; “the woman in white?”
8
A little before nine o'clock in the morning, I descended to the ground
floor of the house. The man-servant of the night before met me and showed
me the way to the breakfast-room.
My first glance round me, as the man opened the door, showed me a
well-furnished breakfast-table, standing in the middle of a long room with
many windows in it. I looked from the table to the window furthest from me,
and saw a lady standing at it, with her back turned toward me. The instant
my eyes rested on her, I was struck by the rare beauty of her figure, which
was tall, yet not too tall. She had not heard my entrance into the room. Then
I moved one of the chairs near me. She turned toward me immediately. She
left the window—and I said to myself, The lady is dark. She moved forward
a few steps—and I said to myself, The lady is young. She approached nearer
—and I said to myself— (with a sense of surprise). The lady is ugly!
“Mr. Hartright?” said the lady, interrogatively, her dark face lighting
up with a smile. “We resigned all hope of you* last night, and went to bed as
usual. Allow me to introduce myself as one of your pupils. Shall we shake
hands?”*
We sat down together at the breakfast-table and she handed me my
cup of tea.
“Well, let me tell you about all of us. Suppose * I begin with myself.
My name is Marian Halcombe. My mother was twice married; the first time
to Mr. Halcombe, my father; the second time to Mr. Fairlie, my half-sister’s
father. My father was a poor man, and Miss Fairlie’s father was a rich man. I
have got nothing, and she has a fortune. Now I live with my uncle, Mr.
Fairlie. What am I to tell you about my uncle? Upon my honour, I hardly
know*. He is sure to send for you* after breakfast, and you can study him for
yourself. In the meantime, I may inform you, first, that he is the late Mr.
Fairlie’s younger brother; secondly, that he is a single man; and, thirdly, that
he is Miss Fairlie’s guardian, sister and I are fond of each other. I won’t live
without her and she can’t live without me.”
I liked her from the very beginning. After tea I decided to tell her
about my night’s adventure.
“I must tell you something important, Miss Halcombe. The very night
before I arrived at this house, I met with an adventure.”
“You don't say so,* Mr. Hartright! May I hear it?”
“Well, the chief person in the adventure was a total stranger to me, and
may perhaps be a total stranger to you; but she certainly mentioned the name
of the late Mrs. Fairlie with the sincerest gratitude.”
“Mentioned my mother’s name! You interest me indescribably. Pray
go on.”
I at once related the circumstances under which* I had met the woman
in white. We were interrupted by the entrance of the servant, with a message
from Mr. Fairlie, stating that he would be glad to see me as soon as I had
finished breakfast.
9
The servant led me upstairs to Mr. Fairlie’s apartment. I found myself
in a large, lofty room.
Mr. Fairlie’s age might be over fifty and under sixty years. His
beardless face was thin, worn, and transparently pale, but not wrinkled.
“So glad to have you at Limmeridge, Mr. Hartright,” he said. “Pray sit
down. And don’t trouble yourself to move the chair, please. In the wretched
state of my nerves, movement of any kind is painful to me.”
I sat down.
“I beg your pardon,” continued Mr. Fairlie. “Do you mind my closing
my eyes* while you speak? I am so tired!”
“I will not keep you long, Sir,” I said.
“The only point, Mr. Fairlie, that is to be discussed between us,” I
said, “refers, I think, to the lessons in drawing which I must give to the two
young ladies.”
“Ah! just so,’ said Mr. Fairlie. “The young ladies are very fond of your
charming art. Please take pains with them.* Yes. Is there anything else? No.
Good morning!”
At two o'clock, I descended again to the breakfast-room. When I

entered the room, I found Miss Halcombe and an elderly lady seated at the
luncheon-table.
The elderly lady was Miss Fairlie’s former governess, Mrs. Vesey, a
mild and amiable old woman.
There were no signs of Miss Fairlie. We finished our luncheon; and
still she never appeared.
After luncheon we started on a little walk over the park. We turned off
into a winding path and came to a little summer-house. A young lady was
standing there, absently turning over the leaves of a little sketch-book. This
was Miss Fairlie.
How can I describe her?
The water-colour drawing that I made of Laura Fairlie, later, lies on
my desk while I write. Her hair is of a pale brown. The eyebrows are rather
darker than the hair; and the eyes are blue. Lovely eyes in colour, lovely eyes
in form—but beautiful above all things* in the clear truthfulness of look. And
lovely she was all from head to foot! She held out her hand to me with
indescribable grace, and we all three had a stroll through the park.
Later we had dinner together, and then Miss Halcombe called me into
the sitting-room.
“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “will you come here for a minute? I want to
speak to you.”
“I want you to listen while I read some passages in this letter,” said
Miss Halcombe. “Tell me if you think they throw any light upon your
strange adventure on the road to London. The letter is addressed by my
mother to her second husband, Mr. Fairlie; and the date refers to a period of
between eleven and twelve years back.”
Miss Halcombe began to read, as follows:
10
“You will be tired, my dear Philip, of hearing* perpetually about my
schools.
But this time, I have something really interesting to tell you about a new
scholar.
“You know old Mrs. Kempe at the village shop. Well, after years of
ailing, the doctor has at last given her up,* and she is dying slowly, day by
day. Her only living relation, a sister, arrived last week to take care of her.
This sister comes from Hampshire—her name is Mrs. Catherick. Four days
ago Mrs. Catherick came here to see me, and brought her only child with her,
a sweet little girl about a year older than our darling Laura.
“She is now my scholar. I have taken a violent fancy, * Philip, to my
new scholar. The poor little thing’s* intellect is not developed as it ought to
be at her age. Seeing this, I called her to the house the next day, and privately
arranged with the doctor to come and watch her and question her, and tell me
what he thought. His opinion is that she will be better in time. This poor little
Anne Catherick is a sweet, affectionate, grateful girl; I arranged, yesterday,
that some of our darling Laura's old white frocks and white hats should be
altered for Anne Catherick explaining to her that little girls of her
complexion looked better all in white than in anything else. Her little hand
clasped mine suddenly. She kissed it, Philip; and said (oh, so earnestly!), ‘I
will ways wear white as long as I live.’”*
Miss Halcombe paused.
“Did the forlorn woman whom you met in the high-road look young?”
she asked. “Young enough to be two- or three- and-twenty?”*
“Yes, Miss Halcombe, as young as that.”*
“And she was strangely dressed, from head to foot, all in white?”
“All in white.”
“All in white?” Miss Halcombe repeated. “But the most important
sentences in the letter, Mr. Hartright, are those at the end, which I will read
to you immediately.”
Miss Halcombe read to me the last sentences to which she had
referred:
“’And, my dear Philip, although she is not so pretty, she is
nevertheless the living likeness,* in her hair, her complexion, the colour of
her eyes, and the shape of her face, of Laura.”’
At this moment Laura entered.
I compared her with the woman in white.
There stood Miss Fairlie, a white figure; in her attitude, in the turn of
her head, in the shape of her face, the living image of the woman in white!
The days passed on, the weeks passed on.

I loved her.
We had parted one night, as usual. No word had fallen from my lips, at
that time or at any time before it, that could betray me. But, when we met
again in the morning, a change had come over her *—a change that told me
all.
11
There was a coldness in her hand, there was an unnatural immobility
in her face. I understood that she loved me too, but for some reason wanted
to keep aloof from me.
Notes:
I roused myself — зд. я оторвался
my good dears — дорогие мои, хорошие мои
mighty fine — совершенно замечательный
Misses, Misters — зд. дочери, сыновья
of Limmeridge House, Cumberland — проживающий в Лиммеридже,
графство Кумберлэнд
to engage the services of... — нанять (учителя и т. п.)
which the master was expected to perform — которые должен был
выполнять учитель (субъектный инфинитивный оборот)
on the instant — тотчас, немедленно
You don't suspect me of doing anything wrong, do you? — Вы ведь не
подозреваете меня в том, что я делаю что-то дурное, правда?
I have met with an accident — со мной случилось несчастье
to do one's best — сделать все возможное, все от себя зависящее
to be of assistance — помочь
I will —зд. я помогу. Will с местоимением 1-го лица выражает
решимость или желание что-либо сделать
at my mercy — в моей власти
a man of rank and title — знатная титулованная особа
the instant I stopped — как только я остановился
or any of your men — или какой-нибудь из ваших полицейских
into the bargain — в придачу
had ordered to be waiting for me — приказал меня ожидать
her dark face lighting up with a smile — и ее смуглое лицо осветилось
улыбкой (независимый причастный оборот)
we resigned all hope of you — мы оставили всякую надежду увидеть вас
Shall we shake hands? — Давайте поздороваемся за руку?
Suppose — ну, предположим
What am I to tell you about my uncle? Upon my honour, I hardly know.
— Что мне сказать вам о дяде? Клянусь честью, не знаю
You don't say so! — Что вы говорите! (Неужели!)
the circumstances under which — обстоятельства, при которых
do you mind my closing my eyes — вы ничего не имеете против, если я
закрою глаза
Please take pains with them. — зд. Пожалуйста, приложите для их
обучения все усилия
above all things — прежде всего
you will be tired... of hearing — тебе надоест слушать (герундий)
has at last given her up — зд. в конце концов признал ее безнадежной
I have taken a violent fancy — я очень сильно привязалась
12
poor little thing — бедняжка
as long as I live — всю свою жизнь
Young enough to be two- or three-and-twenty? — (Она выглядела) не
старше двадцати двух или двадцати трех лет?
as young as that — зд. не старше
is... the living likeness (of) — абсолютно похожа (на)
a change had come over her — в ней произошла перемена
Assignment 1
(Chapters 1-2)
Working with words and word-combinations
I Active vocabulary
to relate to ail
to stroll along a parlour
to be of assistance a testimonial
to complain of smth a guardian
to hail violently
to descend at one’s mercy
to do one’s best
II Exercises
1. Recount the situations in which the active vocabulary is used in the
chapters under discussion.
2. Make up your own sentences with the active vocabulary.
3. Practice the pronunciation and give definitions of these lexical units
using an English-English dictionary:
to rouse, considerable, a parlour, curiosity, solitary, interrogatively, honour,
a guardian, perpetually.
4. Practice the pronunciation of the following proper names:

Hampstead Marian Halcombe
Portland Laura Fairlie
Cumberland Mrs. Catherick
Limmeridge House Finchley
Professor Pesca Regent’s Park
Walter Hartright St. John’s Wood
Mr. Fairlie Hampshire
5. Give synonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

to relate, to inform, mighty fine, majestically, a testimonial, to reassure, to be
struck by smth., to keep aloof, extraordinary
6. Give antonyms for the following words and word-combinations:
13
violently, to descend, to engage, to add in a whisper, to resemble smb., still,
extraordinary, mighty fine, to be excited, cruelly
7. Find the Russian equivalents for the following words and word-
combinations. Use the English equivalents to make up your own
sentences:
to become acquainted with smb.; to be mad with smth.; to engage the
services of; to add in a whisper; with the sincerest gratitude; to throw light
upon smth.; to keep aloof from smb.
8. Find in the chapters under discussion English equivalents for the

following words and word-combinations and use them in your own
sentences:
большая сумма денег; намекать на что-либо; быть восхищенным;
сделать все возможное; красиво меблированная комната; клянусь
честью; заботиться о ком-либо
Working on the text
1. Paraphrase or explain the sentences in your own words:

1. I roused myself from the book which I was reading, and left my room
to meet the cool night air.
2. The instant my eyes rested on her, I was struck by the rare beauty of
her figure, which was tall, yet not too tall.
3. I have got nothing, she has a fortune.
4. Please, take pains with them.
5. I have taken a violent fancy to my new scholar.
2. Make up your own sentences using the underlined parts of the

sentences as the models:
1. He is sure to send for you after breakfast.
2. Everybody was delighted at this fine prospect.
3. You will be tired of hearing about my school.
3. Insert prepositions where necessary:

1. Pesca is half mad … impatience; and I have been half mad …
curiosity.
2. He has cruelly refused to give us the smallest hint … it.
3. Frederick Fairlie wanted to engage the services … a competent
drawing master, … a period … four months.
4. You don’t suspect me … doing anything wrong to you.
5. I am afraid you have serious reason to complain … some man … rank
and title.
6. I compared her … the woman in white.
14
4. Use the words in brackets to form the words to complete the following
sentences:
1. I made my (to arrange) for leaving London early the next day.
2. I looked (attentive) at her.
3. The (lonely) and (helpless) of the woman touched me.
4. She held out her hand to me with (to describe) grace.
5. Translate into Russian:
1. The passage on page 9 from “My first glance round me, as the man
opened the door, showed me a well-furnished breakfast-table, standing
in the middle of a long room with many windows in it…” up to “We
sat down together at the breakfast-table and she handed me my cup of
tea.”
2. The passage on page 10 from “The water-colour drawing that I made
of Laura Fairlie, later, lies on my desk while I write...” up to “She held
out her hand to me with indescribable grace, and we all three had a
stroll through the park.”
Talking on the text
1. Introduce the main characters of the chapters. Give a brief

description to each of them.
2. Find facts from the text to support these statements:
1. Mr. Hartright needed a job badly.
2. The lady Mr. Hartright met was strange.
3. Answer the following questions:

1. What can you say about Mr. Hartright’s family? What news did
Professor Pesca bring the Hartrights?
2. Whom did Mr. Hartright meet, while walking to London before his
departure to Limmeridge house? What was strange about the woman?
What did they talk about?
3. Describe Limmeridge House and its inhabitants (Marian Halcombe,
Mr. Fairlie and Miss Fairlie).
4. Did Mr. Hartright tell anybody about his night encounter? What
discovery did Miss Halcommbe make?
5. Give the main idea of the letter Miss Halcombe showed to Mr.
Hartright.
6. Speak about Laura and the impression she produced on Mr. Hartright.
4. Give a brief summary of the chapters under discussion.
15
III
It was on Thursday in the next week, and nearly at the end of the third
month of my sojourn in Cumberland. I directed my steps toward the garden
when I saw Miss Halcombe who was standing with her hat in her hand, and a
shawl over her arm.
“Have you any time to spare,” she asked, “before you begin to work in
your own room?”
“Certainly, Miss Halcombe. I have always time at your service.”*
“I want to say a word to you in private, Mr. Hartright. Get your hat
and come out into the garden.”
As we stepped out on to the lawn, one of the under-gardeners came to
us with a letter in his hand. Miss Halcombe stopped him.
“Is that letter for me?” she asked.
“No, miss; it’s for Miss Fairlie,” answered the lad, holding out the
letter as he spoke.
Miss Halcombe took it from him, and looked at the address.
“A strange handwriting,” she said to herself. “Who can Laura’s
correspondent be? Where did you get this?” she continued addressing the
gardener.
“Well, miss,” said the lad, “I just got it from a woman.”
“What woman?”
“A woman well stricken in age.”*
Miss Halcombe gave the letter back to the under-gardener telling him
to hand it over to her sister. Then Miss Halcombe led me across the lawn.
Here she stopped, and broke the silence.
“What I have to say to you, I can say here.”
“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “I am going to tell you at once, that I have
discovered your secret. I am now speaking to you as a friend. Mr. Hartright,
you love my sister, Laura. Listen to me,” she said. “You must leave
Limmeridge House, Mr. Hartright. You must leave us, not because you are a
teacher of drawing —”
She waited a moment.
“Not because you are a teacher of drawing,” she repeated, “but
because Laura is engaged to be married.”
The last word went like a bullet to my heart. I could neither move nor
speak. What Marian had said she said as a real friend. I had liked her from
the very beginning and now I felt all the sincerity of her tone.
“But, Miss Halcombe,” I said when the pang passed, “may I venture to
ask who is the gentleman engaged to Miss Fairlie?”
“A gentleman of large property, in Hampshire.”
Hamsphire! Anne Catherick’s native place. Again and again, the
woman in white. There was a fatality in it.
“And his name?” I said.
“Sir Percival Glyde.”
“Knight, or Baronet?” I asked.
She paused for a moment, and then answered, rather coldly:
16
“Baronet, of course. And he is coming here soon,” she added.
Not a word more was said, as we walked back to the house. Miss
Halcombe hastened immediately to her sister's room; and I withdrew to my
studio to busy myself with drawings. But it was not an easy task after all I
had learnt!
I had been engaged with my drawings little more than half an hour,
when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door; and to my surprise,
Miss Halcombe entered the room.
“Mr. Hartright,” she said, “I had hoped that all painful subjects of
conversation were exhausted between us. But it is not to be so. * You saw me
send the gardener on to the house, with a letter addressed, in a strange
handwriting, to Miss Fairlie?”
“Certainly.”
“The letter is an anonymous letter.”
She gave me the letter. I started reading it. It began abruptly:
“Last night, I dreamed about you, Miss Fairlie. I dreamed that I was
standing inside a church.
“After a time,* there walked toward me a man and a woman, coming
to be married. You were the woman.
“The outside of the man you were marrying was this: he was about
forty-five years old. He had a pale face, and was bald over the forehead, but
had dark hair on the rest of his head. His beard was shaven on his chin, but
was let to grow* of a fine rich brown,* on his cheeks and his upper lip. His
eyes were brown too, and very bright.
“Then I saw down into his inmost heart.* It was black as night; and on
it were written, in red flaming letters—‘Without pity’.”
There, the extraordinary letter ended.
“One of the paragraphs of the anonymous letter,” I said, “contains
some sentences of personal description. Sir Percival Clyde’s name is not
mentioned, I know—but does description at all resemble him?”
“Accurately,” Мiss Наlcombe replied.
“We must make inquiries about the author of that letter,” I said.
We started with them at our own village and the neighbouring ones.
Our inquiries at Limmeridge were patiently pursued in all directions. * But
nothing came of them.
Only a boy saw, or thought he saw, a ghost, a woman in white, as he
was passing the church-yard; and the figure was standing by the marble cross
over Mrs. Fairlie’s grave.
“The boy’s story,” I said, “as I believe, has a foundation in fact. I
believe that the fancied ghost in the church-yard and the writer of the
anonymous letter are one and the same person. I am anxious to see the
monument over Mrs. Fairlie’s grave. Very possibly, if it is the woman in
white who wrote the letter, she often comes to the grave of her beloved Mrs.
Fairlie. And perhaps I shall see her there too.”
17
“Mr. Hartright,” said Marian, “I will show you the grave, and then go
back at once to the house. I had better not leave Laura* too long alone.”
We went to the church-yard. Just beyond the trees rose the white
marble cross that distinguished Mrs. Fairlie’s grave from the humble
monuments scattered about it.
“I think I shall go no further with you,” said Miss Halcombe, pointing
to the grave. Let us meet again at the house.”
She left me. I descended at once to the church-yard, and stopped at
some distance from Mrs. Fairlie’s grave, concealed behind a tree.
And then, suddenly, I saw a woman all in white approach the grave,
and stand looking at it for a little while *. She then glanced all round her, and,
taking a white linen cloth or handkerchief began cleaning the monument.
She was so absorbed over her work that she did not hear me
approaching the grave. Then, she looked up, and stood facing me in
speechless and motionless terror.*
“Don’t be frightened,” I said. I looked into her face.
It was the same face which had first looked into mine on the London
high-road by night!
“You remember me?” I asked. “We met very late, and I helped you to
find the way to London. Surely you have not forgotten that?” I made a pause.
“How did you come here?” she asked with a sigh of relief.
“Don’t you remember my telling you,* when we last met, that I was
going to Cumberland? I have been in Cumberland ever since; * I have been
staying all the time at Limmeridge House.”
“At Limmeridge House!” Her pale face brightened as she repeated the
words; her wandering eyes fixed on me with a sudden interest. “Ah, how
happy you must have been!” she said, looking at me eagerly.
I looked at her, with my mind full of that other lovely face; I saw Miss
Fairlie’s likeness in this woman—in the general outline of the countenance,
the general proportion of the features; in the colour of the hair; in the height
and size of the figure.
“You are looking at me; and you are thinking of something,” she said.
“What is it?”
“I was only wondering how you came here,” I answered.
“I came here with a friend, who is very good to me. I have only been
here two days.”
“And you found your way to this place yesterday?”*
She turned from me, and knelt down before the monument.
“Where should I go, if not here?” she said. “She was better than a
mother to me.”
“I confess,” I said, “it is a satisfaction to me, as well as a surprise, to
see you here. I felt very uneasy* about you after you left me in the cab.”
She looked up quickly and suspiciously.
“Uneasy,” she repeated. “Why?”
“A strange thing happened, after we parted, that night. Two men
overtook me in a chaise. They did not see where I was standing; but they
18
stopped near me and spoke to a po1iceman, on the other side of the way.
They asked him if he had seen you. He had not seen you; and then one of the
men spoke again and said you had escaped from his Asylum. A word from
me would have told the men which way you had gone *—and I never spoke
the word. I helped your escape.”
“You don’t think I ought to be back in the Asylum, do you?” she said.
“Certainly not. I am glad you escaped from it. I am glad you prospered
*
well, after you left me,” I answered. “You said you had a friend in London
to go to. Did you find the friend?”
“Yes. It was very late; but there was a girl up * at needle-work in the
house, and she helped me to rouse Mrs. Clements. Mrs. Clements is my
friend. A good, kind woman, but not like Mrs. Fairlie. Ah, no, nobody is like
Mrs. Fairlie!”
“Is Mrs. Clements an old friend of yours? Have you known her a long
time?”
“Yes, she was a neighbour of ours once, at home, in Hampshire; and
liked me, and took care of me when I was a little girl.”
“Have you no father or mother to take care of you?”
“Father? I never saw him; I never heard mother speak of him. Father?
Ah, dear!* he is dead, I suppose.”
“And your mother?”
“I don't get on well with her. Don’t ask me about mother,” she went
on. “I’d rather talk* of Mrs. Clements. Mrs. Clements is like you, she doesn’t
think that I ought to be back in the Asylum; and she is as glad as you are that
I escaped from it.”
“Tell me how long you stayed with Mrs. Clements in London, and
how you came here.”
“How long?” she repeated. “I stayed with Mrs. Clements till we both
came to this place, two days ago.”
“You are living in the village, then?” I said. “It is strange I have not
heard of you, though you have only been here two days.”
“No, no; not in the village. Three miles away at a farm. Do you know
the farm? They call it Todd's Corner.” She made a pause.
“They are relations of Mrs. Clements at Todd’s Corner,” she went on,
“and they had often asked her to go and see them. She said she would go,
and take me with her, for the quiet and fresh air. * But is Miss Fairlie well and
happy? Does she wear white now, as she used* when she was a girl?”
“Miss Fairlie does not feel very well this morning,” I said.
She opened her mouth as if to ask something.
“Did you ask me why Miss Fairlie was not well this morning?” I
continued.
“No,” she said, quickly and eagerly—“Oh, no, I never asked that.”
“I will tell you without your asking,” I went on. “Miss Fairlie has
received your letter.”
“How do you know?” she said, faintly. “Who showed it to you? I
never wrote it,” she gasped out; “I know nothing about it!”
19
“Yes,” I said, “you wrote it, and you know about it. It was wrong to
send such a letter; it was wrong to frighten Miss Fairlie. You mention no
names in the letter; but Miss Fairlie knows that the person you write of is Sir
Percival Clyde- ”
The instant I pronounced that name she started to her feet, and a
scream burst from her that rang through the church-yard. The shriek at the
name,* the look of hatred and fear that instantly followed, told all. Her
mother was guiltless of imprisoning her in the Asylum. A man had shut her
up - that man was Sir Percival Glyde! I was sure of this now.
The scream had reached other ears than mine.* I heard the voice of her
companion, Mrs. Clements, I guessed.
“I'm coming! I'm coming!” cried the voice.
In a moment more, Mrs. Clements hurried into view.*
“Who are you?” she cried. “How dare you frighten * a poor helpless
woman like that?”
She was at the girl’s side, and had put one arm around before I could
answer. “What is it, my dear?" she said. “What has he done to you?”
“Nothing,” the poor creature answered. “Nothing, I’m only
frightened.”
“Yes, yes,” she said; “he was good to me once; he helped me—” She
whispered the rest into her friend’s ear.
Mrs. Clements glanced at me, and shook her head.
“Good-night, sir,” she said.
They moved away a few steps. I thought they had left me; but Anne
suddenly stopped, and separated herself from her friend.
“Wait little,” she said. “I must say good-bye.”
She returned to the grave, rested both hands tenderly on the marble
cross, and kissed it.
“I’m better now,” she sighed.
She joined her companion again, and they left the church-yard.
Notes:
at your service — в вашем распоряжении
well stricken in age — очень пожилая
But it is not to be so. — Но получается иначе.
after a time — некоторое время спустя
was let to grow — была отпущена
of a fine rich brown — густого каштанового цвета
I saw down into his inmost heart — я заглянула в самую глубину его
сердца
our inquiries... were patiently pursued in all directions. — терпеливо
провели наши розыски во всех направлениях
I had better not leave Laura — (мне) лучше не оставлять Лopy
for a little while — некоторое время
in speechless and motionless terror —застыв от страха и не произнеся
ни единого слова
20
don’t you remember my telling you — разве вы не помните, что я вам
сказал (my telling — герундиальный оборот)
ever since — с тех пор
And you found your way to this place yesterday? — И вы же вчера
пришли сюда?
to feel uneasy — беспокоиться
A word from me would have told the men which way you have gone —
Одно мое слово указало бы этим людям, по какому пути вы
направились
you prospered well — у вас все было благополучно
there was a girl up — была девушка, которая еще не спала
Ah, dear! — восклицание, выражающее сожаление, огорчение и другие
чувства
I’d rather talk = I would rather talk — лучше уж я буду говорить (я
предпочитаю говорить)
for the quiet and fresh air – пожить в тишине и на свежем воздухе
as she used – как она имела обыкновение
the shriek at the name — зд. крик, вырвавшийся у нее, когда я произнес
это имя
The scream had reached other ears than mine. — Крик достиг не только
моих ушей.
hurried into view — зд. торопливо подошла к нам
How dare you frighten...? — Как вы смеете пугать...? После глагола
dare инфинитив употребляется без частицы to.
Assignment 2
(Chapter 3)
I Active vocabulary
to distinguish a handwriting
to hasten a grave
to be exhausted a countenance
to pause a scream
to be engaged to be married a creature
to get on well with smb. tenderly
to feel uneasy marble
to dare (do smth.) for a (little) while
a sojourn ever since
a shawl
II Exercises
21
a sojourn, fatality, to withdraw, extraordinary, a ghost, a pause, a
countenance

sincerity, flaming, to descend, to conceal, a glance, to be absorbed, terror,
eagerly, faintly, to gasp out
sentences:
to have time to spare; well stricken in age; to be bald over the forehead; to
resemble smb; to make inquiries; to be anxious to do smth.; a sigh of relief;
to feel uneasy; to take care of smb.
8. In the chapters under discussion find the English equivalents for the
following words and word-combinations and use them to make up your
own sentences:
в вашем распоряжении; прервать тишину; занять себя чем-либо;
анонимное письмо; странное письмо; разбросанный; быть
поглощенным чем-либо; опуститься на колени; уживаться с кем-либо;
отойти от кого-либо
Working on the text

1. May I venture to ask…
2. I had better not leave Laura too long alone.
3. She was so absorbed over her work that she did not hear me
approaching the grave.

1. Miss Halcombe gave the letter back to the under-gardener telling him
to hand it … to her sister.
2. We must make inquiries ... the author of that letter.
3. She was so absorbed … her work that she did not hear me
4. She asked with the sigh ... relief.
sentences:
1. There was a (fatal) in it.
2. Her mother was (guilt) of imprisoning her in the Asylum.
22
1. The passage on page 17 from “She gave me the letter. I started reading
it. It began abruptly…” up to “’Accurately,’ Miss Halcombe replied.”
2. The passage on page 18 from “She left me. I descended at once …” up
to “’Ah, how happy you must have been!’ she said, looking at me
eagerly.”
Talking on the text

1. Mr. Hartright had to leave Limmeridge House.
2. Ann Catherick was afraid of Mr. Glyde.
3. Mr. Hartright and Laura loved each other dearly, but Mr. Hartright had
to leave Limmeridge House.

1. What inquiries did Mr. Hartright and Marian make? What was the
conclusion they came to?
2. Speak on the meeting near the grave. Was the lady afraid of Mr.
Hartright? What or who was she afraid of? How can you explain this
fact?
23
IV
Half an hour later, I was back at the house, and was informing Miss
Halcombe of all that had happened.
She attentively listened to me from beginning to end.
“Let me suggest, then,” I continued, “that you should see Anne
Catherick yourself, and do all you can to win her confidence, order to find
out everything.”
“I will go anywhere and do anything to serve Laura’s interests. What
was the name of the place you said?”
“You must know it well. It is called Todd’s Corner.”
“Certainly. Todd’s Corner is one of Mr. Fairlie’s farms. Our dairy-
maid here is the farmer’s second daughter. She goes backward and forward
constantly, between the house and her father’s farm. She has several sisters
there. I can speak to her to-morrow, or even go there myself. In the
meantime let me thoroughly understand what I can gain through my
interview with Anne Catherick. Is there no doubt in your mind that the
person who put her in the Asylum was Sir Percival Glyde?”
“There is not the shadow of a doubt. The only mystery that remains is
the mystery of his motive.”
“In a private Asylum, I think you said?”
“Yes, in a private Asylum.”
“I see where the doubt lies, Mr. Hartright,” she said. “My sister’s
future is my dearest care in life; and I have influence enough over her to give
me some power where marriage is concerned.”*
We parted for the night.
The next morning I began to form my plans for my departure.
After breakfast I decided to speak to Mr. Fairlie at once. Of course I
could not go away without speaking to the head of the house. It was
necessary to ask Mr. Fairlie’s permission to shorten my engagement by a
month.
But the question was: how to explain it all to him?
Fortunately the post brought me two letters from London friends that
morning. So I could say that something urgent required my presence in
London. I sent the servant with a message to Mr. Fairlie, asking when I could
see him on a matter of business*.
The servant returned with the following message: Mr. Fairlie regretted
that the state of his health, on that particular morning, was such as to exclude
his having the pleasure of receiving me. He begged, therefore, that I would
accept his apologies, and kindly communicate what I had to say in the form
of a letter.
I sat down at once to write the letter explaining as briefly as possible
why I had to leave. Mr. Fairlie did not hurry with the reply. Nearly an hour
passed before the answer was placed in my hands.
“Mr. Fairlie’s compliments to Mr. Hartright. Mr. Fairlie is surprised
by Mr. Hartright’s application. Mr. Fairlie informs Mr. Hartright that he may
go.”
24
I folded the letter up, and informed Miss Halcombe that I was ready to
walk with her to the farm.
“Has Mr. Fairlie given you a satisfactory answer?” she asked, as we
left the house.
“He has allowed me to go, Miss Halcombe.”
On our way to the farm we arranged that Miss Halcombe was to enter
the house alone,* and that I was to wait outside.
Little more than five minutes had elapsed before Miss Halcombe
returned.
“Does Anne Catherick refuse to see you?” I asked, in astonishment.
“Anne Catherick has gone,” replied Miss Halcombe.
“Gone!”
“Gone with Mrs. Clements. They both left the farm at eight o’clock
this morning. Just before supper time yesterday Anne Catherick suddenly felt
faint.* The cause of it is a complete mystery. There was no stranger in the
room who could frighten her. The only visitor was our dairy-maid. But Mrs.
Clements said that they must go.”
“Let us see the maid,” I said.
Miss Halcombe led me round to the dairy.
“I have brought this gentleman to see your dairy, Hannah,” said Miss
Halcombe. “It's one of the sights of the house. We have just come from your
father’s,”* she said. “You were there yesterday evening, I hear;* and you
found visitors at the house?”
“Yes, miss.”
“One of them was taken faint and ill, I am told? I suppose nothing was
said or done to frighten her? You were not talking of anything very terrible,
were you?”
“Oh, no, miss!” said the girl laughing. “We were only talking of the
news,”
“And you told them the news at Limmeridge House?”
I whispered to Miss Halcombe:
“Ask her if she mentioned last night, that visitors were expected at
Limmeridge House.”
Miss Halcombe showed me, by a look, that she understood, and put
the question.
“Oh, yes, miss: I mentioned that,” said the girl, simply. “The company
coming was all the news I had to take to the farm.”*
“Did you mention names? Did you tell them that Sir Percival Glyde
was expected on Monday?”
“Yes, miss - I told them Sir Percival Glyde was coming. I hope there
was no harm in it; I hope I didn’t do wrong?”
“Oh, no, no harm. Come, Mr. Hartright.”
With these words we left the dairy. We stopped and looked at one
another, the moment we were along again.
“Is there any doubt in your mind now, Miss Halcombe?”
25
“Sir Percival Glyde shall remove that doubt,* Mr. Hartright – or, Laura
Fairlie shall never be his wife.”
The next day as we walked round to the front of the house, a fly from
the railway station approached us along the drive. Mr. Fairlie’s solicitor Mr.
Gilmore had arrived.
I looked at him, when we were introduced to each other, with interest.
This man was to remain at Limmeridge house after I had left it; he was to
hear Sir Percival Glyde’s explanation and was to wait until the question of
marriage was settled.
The old gentleman and Miss Halcombe entered the house together,
and I continued walking about the garden alone. After some time I went back
to the house. On the west terrace-walk I met Mr. Gilmore. He was evidently
in search of me.
“You are the very person I wanted to see, *” said the old gentleman. “I
have two words to say to you. Miss Halcombe and I have been talking over
family affairs – affairs which are the cause of my being here – and in the
course of our conversation, she naturally told me of the anonymous letter. I
mean to send a copy of the letter, accompanied by a statement of the
circumstances, to Sir Percival Glyde’s solicitor in London, with whom I have
some acquaintance. The letter itself I shall keep here, to show Sir Percival as
soon as he arrives.”
I thanked him for the information and returned to my room. I wanted
to be alone for some time.
The end comes fast.

It was about half past seven when I went downstairs next morning—
but I found both the young ladies at the breakfast-fable waiting for me.
After breakfast as I held out my hand, and Miss Halcombe, who was
nearer to me, took it, Miss Fairlie turned away suddenly, and hurried from
the room. I waited a moment before I could speak—it was hard to lose her,
without a word, or a parting look.
“Have I deserved that you should write to me?” was all I could say.
“You have nobly deserved everything that I can do for you. Whatever
the end is, you shall know it.”
Then Miss Halcombe left too.
A minute passed, when I heard the door open again softly, and the
rustling of a woman’s dress moved toward me. My heart beat violently as I
turned round. Miss Fairlie was approaching me from the further end of the
room.
“I only went into the drawing-room,” she said, “to look for this.”
She turned her head away and offered me a little sketch drawn by her
own pencil, of the summer-house in which we had first met. The paper
trembled in her hand as she held it out to me—trembled in mine, as I took it
from her.
26
I was afraid to say what I felt – I only answered: “It shall never leave
me. I am very grateful for it - very grateful to you for coming, to say good-
bye to me.”
“Oh!” she said, innocently, “how could I let you go, after we have
passed so many happy days together!”
“Those days may never return, Miss Fairlie—my way of life and yours
are very far apart. But if a time should come * when the devotion of my whole
heart and soul and strength will give you a moment’s happiness, will you try
to remember the poor drawing-master who has taught you?”
“I promise it,” she said, in broken tones.* “Oh, don’t look at me like
that! I promise it with all my heart.”
I came a little nearer to her and held out my hand.
“You have many friends who love you, Miss Fairlie. Your happy
future is the object of many hopes.* May I say, at parting, that it is the dear
object of my hopes too?”
The tears flowed fast down her cheeks. She rested one trembling hand
on the table. I took it in mine—I held it fast. My head drooped over it, my
tears fell on it.
“Leave me!” she said faintly.
I said no more.* I hurried away. The door had closed – the great gulf of
separation had opened between us—the image of Laura Fairlie was a
memory of the past already.
THE STORY CONTINUED BY VINCENT GILMORE OF

CHANCERY LANE, SOLICITOR
I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright.

I arrived at Limmeridge House on Friday, the second of November.
I wanted to remain at Mr. Fairlie’s until the arrival of Sir Percival
Glyde. If that event led to Sir Percival’s union with Miss Fairlie, I was to
take the necessary instructions back with me to London, and to occupy
myself in drawing up the lady’s marriage-settlement.
On Saturday, Mr. Hartright had left before I got down to breakfast.
Miss Fairlie kept her room* all day; and Miss Halcombe appeared to be out
of spirits.*
Sunday was also a dull day. A letter arrived for me from Sir Percival
Clyde’s solicitor, acknowledging the receipt of my copy of the anonymous
letter.
On Monday Sir Percival Glyde arrived.
I found him a most pleasant man. He looked rather older than I had
expected; his head was bald over the forehead, and his face somewhat worn.
His meeting with Miss Halcombe was most hearty: Miss Fairlie was not with
us when he arrived, but she entered the room about ten minutes afterwards.
Sir Percival rose and paid his compliments with perfect grace. * I was rather
27
surprised to see that Miss Fairlie continued to be uneasy in his presence, and
that she soon left the room again.
As soon as Miss Fairlie had left the room, he spoke of the anonymous
letter. He had stopped in London on his way and he had seen his solicitor. I
offered him the original letter, which I had kept for his inspection. He
thanked me, and declined to look at it, saying that he had seen the copy.
Mrs. Catherick, he informed us, in past years, had rendered faithful
service to his family and to himself. She had been most unfortunate in her
life. Her husband deserted her, and she had an only child whose mind had
been in a disturbed condition from a very early age. Sir Percival had taken
care not to lose sight of her. In course of time, the symptoms of mental
affliction in her unhappy daughter increased to such a serious extent as to
make it a matter of necessity * to place her under proper medical care. Mrs.
Catherick herself recognized this necessity; but she also was against
allowing her child to be admitted* as a pauper, into a public Asylum, Sir
Percival decided to show his gratitude to Mrs. Catherick for her past service
to himself and his family, by putting her daughter in a trustworthy private
Asylum. To her mother’s regret, and to his own regret, the unfortunate
creature had discovered his part in it and had begun to hate him for this. The
anonymous letter, written after her escape, could well be explained by that
hatred. If Miss Halcombe or Mr. Gilmore wished for any additional
information about the Asylum (the address of which he mentioned, as well as
the names and addresses of the two doctors), he was ready to answer any
question. He had done his duty to the unhappy young woman.
“But I owe to you, Miss Halcombe, a proof of the truth of my
assertion. May I beg that you should write * at once to the mother of this
unfortunate woman—to Mrs. Catherick, to ask for her testimony. Let me beg
you to write the note,” he said, “as a favour to me. You have only to ask Mrs.
Catherick a question. That is to say* if her daughter was placed in the
Asylum with her knowledge and approval.”
Miss Halcombe was not long in writing * the note. When it was done,
she rose from the writing-table, and handed the open sheet of paper to Sir
Percival.
“You insist on my posting this letter, Sir Percival?” said Miss
Halcombe.
“I beg you to post it,” he answered.
Miss Halcombe promised to do so. He thanked her — nodded
pleasantly—and left us.
“I still have doubts,” said Miss Halcombe when we remained alone.
“If any doubts still trouble you,” I said, “why not mention them to me
at once? Tell me plainly, have you any reason to distrust Sir Percival
Glyde?”
“None whatever.”*
“Do you see anything improbable, or contradictory, in his
explanation?”
28
“How can I say I do? We will post the note,” she said rising to leave
the room, “and see what answer comes.”
The Wednesday’s post brought with it an event—the reply from Mrs.

Catherick. It ran as follows:
“Madame, - You ask if my daughter, Anne, was placed under medical
care with my knowledge and approval. My answer is in the affirmative, and
believe me to remain your obedient servant,
Jane Anne Catherick.”
“I suppose we have really and truly done all we can?” said Miss
Halcombe, turning and twisting Mrs. Catherick’s letter in her hand.
“If we are friends of Sir Percival’s, who know him and trust him, we
have done all,” I answered.
“I accuse nobody and I suspect nothing,” she broke out, “But I cannot
and will not accept the responsibility of persuading Laura to this marriage. It
is a difficult case. If I tell her to reflect on the circumstances of her
engagement, I at once appeal to two of the strongest feelings in her nature—
to her love for her father’s memory, and to her strict regard for truth. You
know that she never broke, promise in her life; you know that she entered on
this engagement at the beginning of her father’s fatal illness, and that he
spoke hopefully and happily of her marriage tо Sir Percival Glyde on his
death-bed.”
“In the eyes of law and reason, Mr. Gilmore, I have no excuse for my
hesitation. If she still hesitates, and if I still hesitate, you must attribute our
strange conduct, if you like,* to caprice in both cases.”
The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, I went up to Miss
Fairlie’s sitting-room. The poor girl looked very pale and sad.
“You used often to sit on my knee when you were a child, my dear,” I
said. “I am your old lawyer and your old friend; and I may remind you, I am
sure, without offence, of the possibility of your marrying Sir Percival
Glyde.”
“Is it absolutely necessary to speak of my marriage engagement?” she
asked, in low tones.*
“It is necessary,” I answered; “let me merely say that you may marry,
or that you may not marry. In the first case, I must be prepared, beforehand,
to draw up your marriage-settlement; and I ought not to do that without first
consulting you.* Let us, therefore, take the case of your marriage, and let me
inform you, in as few words as possible, what your position is now, and what
you may make it, in the future.”
I explained to her the object of a marriage-settlement and then told her
exactly what her prospects were—in the first place,* on her coming of age,*
and, in the second place, on the decease of her uncle - making the distinction
between the property in which she had a life interest only, and the property
which was left at her own control. She listened to me most attentively.
Then she moved uneasily in her chair and looked in my face earnestly.
29
“If it does happen,” she began, faintly; “if I am – ”
“If you are married,” I added, helping her out.
“Don’t let him part me from Marian,” she suddenly cried, with a
sudden outbreak of energy. “Oh, Mr. Gilmore, pray make it law * that Marian
is to live with me!”
“That can easily be settled by private arrangement,” I said. “But you
hardly understood my question, I think. It referred to the disposal of your
money. Supposing you were to make a will, when you come of age, whom
would you like the money to go to?"*
“Marian has been mother and sister both to me,” said the girl, her
pretty blue eyes glistening while she spoke. “May I leave it to Marian, Mr.
Gilmore?”
“Certainly, my love,” I answered. “But remember what a large sum it
is. Would you like it all to go to Miss Halcombe?”
She hesitated; her colour came and went.
“Not all of it,” she said. “There is some one else, besides Marian, -”
she stopped, and blushed suddenly.
“You mean some other member of the family besides Miss
Halcombe?” I suggested.
“There is some one else,” she said, not noticing my last words, though
she had evidently heard them; “There is some one else who might like a little
keepsake,* if – if I might leave it. There would be no harm, if I should die
first.”* She paused again. The colour that had spread over her cheeks
suddenly, as suddenly left them.
I said nothing.
Soon I led her into speaking * on other topics. In ten minutes’ time she
was in better spirits;* and I rose to say good-by.
“Come here again,” she said, earnestly. “I will try to be worthier of
your kind feeling for me and for my interests if you will only come again.”*
The whole interview between us had hardly lasted more than half an
hour.
The hour for my departure was now drawing near.
Just before I left, I saw Miss Halcombe, for a moment, alone.
“Have you said all you wanted to Laura?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “She is very weak and nervous.”
Sir Percival most politely insisted on seeing me to the carriage door.*
“If you are ever in my neighbourhood,” he said, “pray, don’t forget
that I shall be very glad to see you. The old friend of this family, will be
always a welcome visitor in any house of mine.”
A really irresistible man—a gentleman. As I drove away to the station,
I felt as if I could cheerfully do anything to promote the interests of Sir
Percival Glyde—anything in the world, except drawing up the marriage-
settlement of his wife
Notes:
where her marriage is concerned — когда дело касается ее замужества.
(Союзное наречие where иногда может означать «когда»)
30
on a matter of business — по деловому вопросу
was to enter the house alone — войдет в дом одна. Глагол to be в
сочетании с инфинитивом другого глагола выражает действие, которое
должно совершиться по заранее разработанному плану,
договоренности.
to feel faint — чувствовать дурноту
from your father's — от вашего отца (из дома вашего отца)
I hear — я слышала (мне говорили)
The company coming was all the news I had to take to the farm. -
Приезд гостей был единственной новостью, которую мне предстояло
принести на ферму.
shall remove that doubt — должен непременно снять это сомнение;
shall употребляется со 2-м и 3-м лицами для выражения твердой
решимости, обещания
the very person I wanted to see — тот самый человек, которого я хотел
видеть. В английском языке часто встречается бессоюзное
присоединение определительных придаточных предложений.
if a time should come —если вдруг наступит такое время
in broken tones — зд. прерывающимся голосом
the object of many hopes — предмет надежд многих
I said no more. — Я больше ничего не сказал.
to keep one’s room — не выходить из комнаты
appeared to be out of spirits — казалось, была в подавленном
настроении
paid his compliments with perfect grace – он приветствовал ее с
удивительной любезностью
increased to such a serious extent as to make it a matter of necessity -
усилились до такой значительной степени, что стало необходимо
she also was against allowing her child to be admitted... - она также
была против того, чтобы ее дочь поместили…
may I beg that you should write – могу ли я попросить, чтобы вы
написали
that is to say – то есть
was not long in writing – сразу написала
None whatever. – Никакого (основания)
if you like — если вам угодно
in low tones - тихим голосом
without first consulting you — не посоветовавшись прежде с вами
(герундиальный оборот)
in the first place — во-первых; in the second place — во-вторых
on her coming of age — по ее совершеннолетии; to be of age - достичь
совершеннолетия
pray make it law — убедительно прошу вас оформить это законным
образом
31
Supposing you were to make a will... whom would you like the money to
go to? — Если бы вам нужно было написать завещание, кому бы вы
хотели оставить свои деньги?
who might like a little keepsake — кому, может быть, было бы приятно
получить что-либо от меня на память
There would be no harm, if I should die first. — Ничего плохого в этом
не было бы, раз я умерла бы первой.
soon I led her into speaking... — я вскоре перевел разговор...
she was in better spirits — она была в лучшем настроении
if you will only come again — если вы только не откажетесь приехать
снова. Will после if употреблено для выражения просьбы
insisted on seeing me to the carriage door — настоял на том, чтобы
проводить меня до экипажа (герундий)
Assignment 3
(Chapters 4-5)
I Active vocabulary
to suggest a fly
to find out a pauper
to gain hatred
to tremble a testimony
to acknowledge offence
to decline to do smth. a keepsake
to be of age urgent
to come of age innocent
to lose sight of abruptly
dairy-maid in the first (second) place
application evidently
solicitor
II Exercises
confidence, thoroughly, departure, circumstances, affliction, assertion,
contradictory, persuading

constantly, departure, elapse, terrible, trustworthy, contradictory, blush
32
attentively, thoroughly, harm, to remove, hearty
sentences:
to keep one’s room; to be out of spirits; to render a service to smb.; to break
a promise; to draw up smth.; to win one’s confidence; to feel faint; to remove
the doubt; to be in search of smb.; to be far apart; on a matter of business; a
parting word; in broken tones; at smb’s request
sentences:
ни тени сомнения; иметь огромное влияние; улаживать что-либо; быть
благодарным за что-либо; пропасть легла между нами; не терять кого-
либо из виду; выразить благодарность; ничего не подозревать; по
совершеннолетии; защитить чьи-либо интересы
Working on the text

1. “I accuse nobody, and I suspect nothing,” she broke out, abruptly.
“But I cannot and will not accept the responsibility of persuading
Laura to this marriage.”
2. “In the eyes of law and reason, Mr. Gilmore, I have no excuse for my
hesitation.”

1. Miss Halcombe was to enter the house alone.
2. Miss Halcombe was not long in writing the note.
3. You used often to sit on my knee when you were a child, my dear.

1. Miss Halcombe was to enter ... the house alone.
2. I write these lines ... the request of my friend.
3. She was ... better spirits.
4. Then she moved uneasily … her chair and looked … my face
earnestly.
sentences:
1. But if the time should come when the (devote) of my whole heart and
soul and strength will give you a moment’s happiness, will you try to
remember the poor drawing-master who has taught you?
2. I wanted to remain at Mr. Faille’s until the (arrive) of Sir Glyde.
33
3. Mrs. Catherick herself recognized this (necessary).
4. He had done his duty to the (happy) young woman.
5. I have no excuse for my (to hesitate).

1. The passage on pages 26-27 from “A minute passed, when I heard the
door open again softly, and the rustling of a woman’s dress moved
toward me…” up to “The door had closed – the great gulf of
separation had opened between us - the image of Laura Glyde was a
memory of the past already.”
2. The passage on page 27 from “On Monday Sir Percival Glyde arrived
…” up to “He thanked me, and declined to look at it, saying that he
had seen the copy.”
Talking on the text

1. Miss Halcombe was sure that Anne Catherick was really afraid of Sir
Glyde.
2. The parting talk between Laura and Walter was very difficult for both.
3. Sir Percival assured everybody that he was guiltless in Anne
Catherick’s misfortunes.
2. Answer the following questions and do the assignments:

1. Why did Ann and her friend leave Todd’s Corner?
2. Speak on the day of Mr. Hartright’s departure and his talk with Laura.
3. What did Sir Glyde say about Ann Catherick? Was he frank in saying
this? Did he feel any guilt concerning what had happened?
34
VI
A week passed, after my return to London, without the receipt of any
communication from Miss Halcombe.
On the eighth day, a letter in her handwriting was placed among other
letters on my table.
It announced that Sir Percival Glyde had been definitely accepted, and
that the marriage was to take place before the end of the year. In all
probability the ceremony would be performed during the last fortnight in
December. Miss Fairlie’s twenty-first birthday was late in March. She would
therefore, by this arrangement, become Sir Percival’s wife about three
months before she was of age.
Now the plain duty for me is to relate the drawing up of the settlement.
Mr. Philip Fairlie died leaving an only daughter, the Laura of this
story; and the estate, in the event of her uncle’s death, went, in course of
law,* to her.
If she married, with a proper settlement*—the income from the estate
(a good three thousand a year *) would, during her life-time, be at her own
disposal. If she died before her husband, the income would naturally be left
to him for his life-time. If she had a son, that son would be the heir. Thus, Sir
Percival’s prospects in marrying Miss Fairlie promised him these two
advantages, on Mr. Frederick Fairlie's death: first the use of three thousand a
year, and, secondly, the inheritance of Limmeridge for his son, if he had one.
So much for the landed property.*
The money to which Miss Fairlie would become entitled on reaching
the age of twenty-one years, is the next point to consider.
This part of her inheritance was a big fortune. It amounted to the sum
of twenty thousand pounds. Besides this, she had a life interest in * ten
thousand pounds more; which latter amount was to go, on her decease, to her
aunt Eleanor, her father’s only sister.
Mr. Philip Fairlie had lived on excellent terms * with his sister Eleanor,
as long as she remained a single woman. But when she married an Italian
gentleman, named Fosco — Mr. Fairlie disapproved of her conduct so
strongly that he stopped all communication with her, and even struck her
name out of his will. In many of his opinions he was an Englishman of the
old school; and he hated a foreigner, simply because he was a foreigner. The
utmost that he could be persuaded to do,* in after years,* mainly at Miss
Fairlie’s request, was to restore his sister’s name to its former place in his
will, but to keep her waiting for her legacy * by giving her income of the
money to his daughter for life. Considering the relative ages of the two
ladies, the aunt’s chance of receiving the ten thousand pounds, was thus
doubtful.
Now I come, at last, to the real knot of the case—to the twenty
thousand pounds.
This sum was absolutely Miss Fairlie’s own, on her coming of age;
and the whole future disposition of it depended on the conditions I could
obtain for her* in her marriage-settlement.
35
My conditions in regard to the twenty thousand pounds were simply
this: if Lady Glyde died without leaving children, her half-sister, Miss
Halcombe, and any other relatives or friends would, on her husband’s death,
divide among them such shares of her money as she desired them to have. If,
on the other hand, she died, leaving children, they came first.
At the time when Miss Halcombe’s letter reached me, I was even more
busily occupied than usual. But I found time for the settlement. I had drawn
it up and had sent for approval to Sir Percival’s solicitor.
After two days, the document was returned to me, with notes and
remarks of the baronet’s lawyer. His objections were few and unimportant,
until he came to the clause relating to the twenty thousand pounds. Against
this there were double lines drawn in red ink,* and the following note was
appended to them:
“Not admissible. The money to go to* Sir Percival Glyde in the event
of his surviving Lady Glyde, if there are no children.”
That is to say, not one farthing of the twenty thousand pounds was to
go to Miss Halcombe, or to any other relative or friend of Lady Clyde’s. The
whole sum, if she left no children, was to slip into the pockets of her
husband.
The answer I wrote to this was as short and sharp as I could make it.
“My dear Sir. Miss Fairlie’s settlement. I maintain the clause to which you
object, exactly as it stands. Yours truly.” The answer came back in a quarter
of an hour. “My dear Sir. Miss Fairlie’s settlement. I maintain the red ink to
which you object, exactly as it stands. Yours truly.”
My client—Miss Fairlie had not yet reached her twenty-first year and
she had her guardian, Mr. Frederick Fairlie. I wrote a letter at once and put
the case before him exactly as it stood.
Mr. Fairlie’s answer turned into plain English,* practically expressed
itself so: Please, dear Gilmore, do not worry your friend and client about
such a trifle. You want to upset me, to upset yourself, to upset Glyde, to
upset Laura; and all this for the sake of the very last thing in the world that is
likely to happen.* No, dear friend—in the interest of peace and quietness,
positively No!”
What could I do under these circumstances?
VII
THE STORY CONTINUED BY MARIAN HALCOMBE, IN

EXTRACTS FROM HER DIARY
Limmeridge House, Nov. 8th.

This morning Mr. Gilmore left us.
His interview with Laura had evidently grieved and surprised him and
her.
36
When I went into her room in the morning, I found her walking up and
*
down in great impatience. She looked excited; and she came forward at
once, and spoke to me before I could open my lips.
“I wanted you,” she said. “Come and sit down on the sofa with me,
Marian! I can bear this no longer—I must and will end it.”*
“Tell me quietly, my darling, what you wish to do,” I said. “Has Mr.
Gilmore been advising you?”
She shook her head. “No, not in what I am thinking of now. He was
very kind and good to me, Marian. For my own sake and for all our sakes, I
must have courage enough to end it.”
“Do you mean courage enough to claim your release?”* I asked.
“No,” she said simply. “Courage, dear, to tell the truth.”
She put her arms round my neck. On the opposite wall hung the
portrait of her father. I saw that she was looking at it.
“I can never claim release from my engagement,” she went on.
“What is it you propose, then?”* I asked.
“To tell Sir Percival Glyde the truth with my own lips,” she answered,
“and to let him release me, if he will, * not because I ask him, but because he
knows all.”
“What do you mean, Laura, by ‘all’?”
“I want to tell him that the engagement was made for me by my father;
and that I wanted to keep it, but, Marian, another love grew in my heart,
which was not there when I first promised to be Sir Percival’s wife. I do not
want to be false to him, not even in my past thoughts.”
I only answered by drawing her close to me again. I was afraid of
crying if I spoke.
As the clock struck eleven, Sir Percival knocked at the door, and came
in.
There was just one moment of dead silence before Laura addressed
him.
“I wish to speak to you, Sir Percival,” she said, “on a subject that is
very important to us both. My sister is here because her presence helps me,
and gives me confidence. She has not suggested one word of what I am
going to say: I speak from my own thoughts, not from hers. I am sure you
will be kind enough to understand that, before I go any further?”
Sir Percival bowed.
“I have heard from Marian,” she went on, “that I have only to claim
my release from our engagement, to obtain that release from you. When I
promised to be your wife I was guided by my father, because I had always
found him the truest of all advisers, the best of all friends. I have lost him
now; I have only his memory to love. When our engagement began, my heart
was free. Will you pardon me, Sir Percival, if I say that it is not so any
longer?”
She made a little pause.
“I wish you to understand that I have no selfish motives,” she
continued. “If you leave me, Sir Percival, after you have just heard, you do
37
not leave me to marry another man—you only allow me to remain a single
woman for the rest of my life. My fault toward you has begun and ended in
my own thoughts. It can never go any further. No word has passed—” She
hesitated, in doubt about the expression she should use next; hesitated, in a
momentary confusion which it was very sad and very painful to see. “No
word has passed,” she patiently and resolutely resumed, “between myself
and the person to whom I am now referring for the first and last time in your
presence, of my feelings towards him, or of his feelings towards me—no
word ever can pass - I earnestly beg you to spare me from saying any more, *
and to believe me, on my word,* in what I have just told you. It is the truth,
Sir Percival—the truth which I think my promised husband has a claim to
hear. I trust to his generosity to pardon me,* and to his honour to keep my
secret.”
“Both those trusts are sacred to me,*” he said, “and both shall be
sacredly kept.”
After answering in those terms, he paused, and looked at her, as if he
was waiting to hear more.
“I have said all I wish to say,” she added, quietly—“I have said more
than enough to justify you in withdrawing from your engagement.”
“You have left it to me,* Miss Fairlie, to resign you,” he continued, “I
am not heartless enough to resign a woman who has just shown herself to be
the noblest of her sex.* I think I shall be able to give you happiness.”
He raised her hand gently to his lips, bowed to me —and then, with
perfect delicacy and discretion, silently quitted the room.
“I must submit,” she said. “My new life has its hard duties; and one of
them begins to-day.”
As she spoke, she went to a side table near the window, on which her
sketching materials were placed; gathered them together carefully; and put
them in a drawer of her cabinet. She locked the drawer, and brought the key
to me.
“I must part from everything* that reminds me of him,” she said.
“Keep the key wherever you please—I shall never want it again.”
I will tell you what is in that drawer: Walter Hartright's drawings are
there.
15th. —A letter from Walter has come for me today. A private

expedition to make excavations among the ruined cities of Central America
will soon sail from Liverpool. And Walter is to sail with it. He is to be
engaged for six months, from the time of the landing in Honduras, and for a
year afterward, if the excavations are successful.
19th. —Today I spoke to Mr. Percival about my living under his

wife’s roof, when he brings her back to England. He caught me warmly by
the hand, and said I had made the very offer to him which he wanted to make
to me. I was the companion whom he most sincerely longed to secure for his
wife…
38
…It is all over.* They are married.
Three o’clock.- They are gone! I am blind with crying – I can write no
more.
THE SECOND EPOCH
VIII
STORY CONTINUED BY MARIAN HALCOMBE, IN EXTRACTS

FROM HER DIARY
Blackwater Park, Hampshire.
June 11th, 1850. — Six months have gone by—six long, lonely
months, since Laura and I last saw each other!
How many days have I still to wait? Only one! Tomorrow, the twelfth,
the travellers return to England from their wedding travel. I can hardly
realize my own happiness.
Laura and her husband have been in Italy all the winter, and afterward
in the Tyrol. They come back, accompanied by Count Fosco and his wife,
Laura’s aunt and Mr. Fairlie’s sister, who propose to settle somewhere in the
neighbourhood of London, and who want to stay at Sir Percival’s estate,
Blackwater Park, for the summer months, before deciding on a place of
residence.
I left Limmeridge yesterday and came to Blackwater Park to meet
them at their country house.
Eleven o’clock has just struck. Reading is out of the question *—I can’t
fix my attention on books. Standing on the threshold of a new life, what can I
recall of persons and events during the past six months?
Walter Hartright is uppermost in my memory.* I received a few lines
from him after the landing of the expedition in Honduras. A month or six
weeks later, I saw an extract from an American newspaper, describing the
departure of the adventurers on their inland journey. They were last seen
entering a wild forest. Since that time civilization has lost all trace of them.
Not a line more have I received from Walter.
The same obscurity hangs over the fate of Anne Catherick, and her
companion, Mrs. Clements. Nothing whatever has been heard of either of
them. Whether they are in the country or out of it, whether they are living or
dead, no one knows.
Poor Mrs. Vesey travelled with me as far as London. It was impossible
to abandon her to solitude at Limmeridge after Laura had left the house, and
we have arranged that she is to live with an unmarried younger sister of hers.
What, next, of the one person who holds the first place in my heart?
Laura has been present to my thoughts all the while I have been writing these
lines. What can I say about her, during the past six months?
I have only her letters to guide me: and, on the most important of all
questions every one of those letters leaves me in the dark.
39
Does he treat her kindly? Is she happier now than she was when I
parted with her on the wedding-day? All my letters have contained these two
inquiries, put more or less directly, now in one form, and now in another. *
She informs me, over and over again*, that she is perfectly well. But the
name of her husband is only mentioned in her letters as she might mention
the name of a friend who was travelling with them.
The strange silence which she keeps on the subject of her husband’s
character and conduct, she keeps also towards her husband’s bosom friend,
Count Fosco. She only says that she does not understand what kind of man
he is.
Notes:
in course of law — по закону
a proper settlement — зд. брачное соглашение, в котором соблюдались
бы ее интересы
a good three thousand a year—добрых три тысячи стерлингов в год
So much for the landed property. — Вот все, что касается движимого
имущества
a life interest in... —зд. пожизненное право получать проценты с...
to live (be) on excellent terms — быть в прекрасных отношениях
the utmost that he could be persuaded to do — единственное, на что он
согласился
in after years — в последующие годы
but to keep her waiting for her legacy — но заставить ее ждать своего
наследства
depended on the conditions I could obtain for her — зависели от
условий, которых я сумею добиться для нее (бессоюзное
присоединение придаточного определительного предложения)
against this there were double lines drawn in red ink — против этого
места красными чернилами были проведены две черты
the money to go to — деньги должны перейти к
turned into plain English — в переводе на простой английский язык
for the sake of the very last thing... that is likely to happen - ради самого
маловероятного предположения
to walk up and down (the room) — ходить туда-сюда (по комнате)
I must and will end it. — Я должна с этим покончить и покончу с этим
to claim your release—просить освобождения (от обещания стать
женой сэра Персиваля)
What is it you propose, then? — Что же ты в таком случае
намереваешься делать?
if he will — если он согласится на это.
to spare me from saying any more - избавить меня от необходимости
сказать что-либо еще
on my word — на слово
trust to his generosity to pardon me — я верю, что он великодушно
простит меня
40
both those trusts are sacred to me — оба эти проявления доверия
священны для меня
you have left it to me — вы предоставили это мне
who has just shown herself to be the noblest of her sex — которая
только что проявила себя благороднейшей из женщин
to part from everything — я должна расстаться со всем
It is all over. — Все кончено
reading is out of the question —о чтении не может быть и речи
is uppermost in my memory - стоит первым в моих воспоминаниях
now in one form, and now in another — то в одной, то в друг форме;
now... now — то... то
over and over again - снова и снова
Assignment 4
(Chapters 6-8)
I Active vocabulary
to persuade to do smth. confusion
to abandon generosity
to hesitate a proper settlement
to submit a place of residence
to believe smb. on smb’s word obscurity
to be on excellent (good) terms discretion
with receipt
smb. sacred
an heir for the sake of…
a share out of the question
a trifle in course of law
a fault
II Exercises
inheritance, a foreigner, a lawyer, courage, confusion, sacred, delicacy,
neighbourhood, an advantage, an objection, admissible, a guardian, courage,
patiently, discretion, excavations, an adventure

to consider, to withdraw, to secure, obscurity, to abandon
41
to disapprove of smth., sharp, quietness, to justify.
sentences:
to take place; to have a life interest in smth.; to strike one’s name out of a
will; to slip into one’s pockets; to walk up and down; for smb’s sake; to have
enough courage to do smth.; to be false to smb.; to be blind with smth.; to be
uppermost; to leave smb. in the dark.
own sentences:
быть в чьем-либо распоряжении; быть в прекрасных отношениях;
добиться чего-либо для кого-либо; просить освобождения; избавить
кого-либо от чего-либо; поселиться по соседству; отказаться от кого-
либо; о чтении не может быть и речи; потерять следы; чувствовать
отчуждение
Working on the text

1. I have only his memory to love.
2. I have only her letters to guide me.

1. Mr. Fairlie disapproved … her conduct so strongly that he stopped all
communication with her.
2. … he came to the clause relating … the twenty thousand pounds.
3. I wish to speak to you … a subject that is very important to us both.
4. I earnestly beg you to spare me … saying any more, and to believe
me, … my word, … what I have just told you.

1. The passage on pages 37-38 from “’I wish you to understand that I
have no selfish motives,’ she continued …” up to “‘Both those trusts
are sacred to me,’ he said, ‘and both shall be sacredly kept’.”
2. The passage on page 39-40 from “What, next, of the one person who
holds the first place in my heart?..” up to “She only says that she does
not understand what kind of man he is.”
Talking on the text

1. Sir Percival Glyde had fine prospects in marrying Miss Fairlie.
42
2. Laura couldn’t release herself from marriage.
3. Marian was rather anxious about her sister.

1. What prospects did Sir Percival Glyde have in marrying Miss Fairlie?
Who were the other heirs to Laura’s will? How do you like the idea of
marriage-settlements?
2. What were the objections of Mr. Glyde’s lawyer concerning the
marriage?
3. How did Laura try to change that difficult situation? Speak on the
scene of her talk to Mr. Glyde. Comment on the episode.
43
IX
June 15th. — Two days have elapsed since the return of the travellers.
After the happiness of my meeting with Laura was over, I felt a
strangeness instantly, and I could see that she felt it too.
She has found me unaltered; but I have found her changed.
Changed in person, and, in one respect, changed in character. She does
not wish to speak to me about the one thing in which I am most interested—
her married life.
“When you and I are together, Marian,” she said, “we shall both be
happier and easier with each other, if we speak about my married life as little
as possible. Oh, Marian!” she said looking up earnestly in my face, “promise
you will never marry, and leave me. Have you been writing many letters, and
receiving many letters, lately?” she asked next, in low, suddenly altered
tones. I understood what the question meant. “Have you heard from him?”
she went on. “Is he well and happy,— and has he forgotten me?” I replied
that I had not written to him or heard from him lately, and then turned the
conversation to less dangerous topics.
Let me tell now about her travelling companions. Her husband must
engage my attention first. What have I observed in Sir Percival, since his
return?
His manner—at least his manner towards me—is much more abrupt
than it was before. He greeted me on the evening of his return, with a sharp
“How-d’ye-do, Miss Halcombe—glad to see you again.”
On the evening of their arrival, the housekeeper followed me into the
hall to receive her master and mistress and their guests. The instant he saw
her, Sir Percival asked if any one had called lately. The housekeeper
mentioned to him, in reply, that there had been the visit of a strange
gentleman to make inquiries about the time of her master’s return. Sir
Percival looked gloomy. He seems to have some anxiety on his mind.
The two guests—the Count and Countess Fosco—come next in my
catalogue. I will speak of the Countess first.
Mme. Fosco (aged three-and-forty) sits for hours without saying a
word. Her cold blue eyes are often turned on her husband. She looks at him
with the eyes of a faithful dog.
What of the Count?
This, in two words: he looks like a man who could tame anything. If
he had married a tigress, instead of a woman, he would have tamed the
tigress.
He has a most remarkable likeness to Napoleon. This striking
resemblance certainly impressed me; but there is something in him besides
the resemblance; which has impressed me more. I think it is the influence I
find in his eyes.
All the smallest characteristics of this strange man have something
strikingly original in them. His movements are astonishingly light and easy
although he is very fat. He is as noiseless in a room as any of us women.
44
He loves pet animals. He has brought with him to this house a
cockatoo, two canary birds, and a whole family of white mice. He has taught
the creatures to be surprisingly fond of him and familiar with him.
He can manage these as he manages his wife, as he manages Sir
Percival himself, every hour in the day. He talks to me as seriously and
sensibly as if I was a man.
The interest which I felt in this strangely original man has led me to
question Sir Percival about his past life.
Sir Percival either knows little, or will tell me little, * about it. He and
the Count first met many years ago, at Rome. Since that time they have been
together in London, in Paris, and in Vienna —but never in Italy again; the
Count has not crossed the frontiers of his native country for years past.
Perhaps he is the victim of some political persecution? At all events, * he is
anxious not to lose sight of any of his own countrymen who may be in
England. On the evening of his arrival, he asked how far we were from the
nearest town, and whether we knew of any Italian gentlemen living there. He
is certainly in correspondence with people on the Continent, for his letters
have all sorts of odd stamps on them; and I saw one for him this morning,
waiting in his place at the breakfast-table, with a huge official-looking seal
on it. Perhaps he is in correspondence with his Government?
June 16th. — A visitor has arrived — quite unknown to Laura and to

me, and apparently quite unexpected by Sir Percival.
The servant entered to announce the visitor.
“Mr. Merriman has just come, Sir Percival, and wishes to see you
immediately,” he said.
“Mr. Merriman?” he asked.
“Yes, Sir Percival: Mr. Merriman, from London.”
“Where is he?”
“In the library, Sir Percival.”
“Who is Mr. Merriman?” asked Laura appealing to me.
“I have not the least idea,” was all that I could say in reply.
“Mr. Merriman is Sir Percival’s solicitor,” said Fosco quietly.
“Has something happened?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said quietly,— “yes, Miss Halcombe, something has
happened.”
June 16th.—I have a few lines more to add to this day’s entry before I
go to bed to-night.
About two hours after Sir Percival rose to receive his solicitor, Mr.
Merriman, in the library, I left my room, alone, to take a walk in the garden.
Just as I was at the end of the landing, the library door opened, and the two
gentlemen came out. I decided to put off going down till they had crossed the
hall.
“Make your mind easy,* Sir Percival,” I heard the lawyer say. “It all
rests with* Lady Glyde.”
45
“You quite understand, Sir Percival?” the lawyer went on. “Lady
Glyde is to sign her name in the presence of a witness—or two witnesses,
and is then to put her finger on the seal. If that is done in a week’s time, the
arrangement will be perfectly successful, and the difficulty will be all over,
If not—”
“What do you mean by ‘if not’?” asked Sir Percival, angrily. “If the
thing must be done, it shall be done.* I promise you that, Merriman.”
“Just so,* Sir Percival—just so; but there are two alternatives in all
transactions; and we lawyers like to look both of them in the face boldly. If
through any extraordinary circumstance the arrangement should not be
made,* I think I may be able to get the parties to accept bills at three months. *
But how the money is to be raised when the bills fall due—*”
“D—n the bills!* The money is only to be got in one way; and in this
way, I tell you again, it shall be got.”
I had not heard much; but the little that had reached my ears was
enough, to make me feel uneasy. Instead of going out, as I first intended, I
went back immediately to Laura’s room to tell her what I had heard.
“I feared as much,*” she said, “when I heard of that strange gentleman
who called.”
“Who do you think the gentleman was, then?” I asked.
“Some person who has heavy claims on Sir. Percival,” she answered;
“and who has been the cause of Mr. Merriman’s visit here to-day.”
“Do you know anything about those claims?”
“No; I know no particulars.”
“You will sign nothing, Laura, without first looking at it?”
“Certainly not, Marian. I will do nothing ignorantly. Let us say no
more about it now.”
June 17th.—A day of events.

Sir Percival was as silent at breakfast as he had been the evening
before. An hour afterward, however, he suddenly entered the room, where
his wife and I were waiting for Mme. Fosco before going out for a walk, and
inquired for the Count.
“We expect to see him here directly,” I said.
In a moment Fosco and his wife came in.
“The fact is,”* Sir Percival went on, walking nervously about the
room, “I want to ask Fosco and his wife to come to the library, for a mere
business formality; and I want уou there, Laura, for a minute, too.”
Sir Percival looked pale and anxious.
“I am sorry to say, I am obliged to leave you,” he continued, - “a long
drive—a matter that I can’t put off. I shall be back to-morrow, but, before I
go, I should like the little business formality to be settled. * It won’t take a
minute—* mere formality.”
He held the library door open until they had all passed in, followed
them, and shut it softly.
46
I remained, for a moment afterward, standing alone in the hall, with
my heart beating fast.
In a moment I heard Sir Percival’s voice calling to me.
“I must beg you to come to the library too,” he said.
Sir Percival unlocked a cupboard and produced from it a piece of
parchment. He placed it on the table, opened the last fold only, and kept his
hand on the rest. Every line of this writing was hidden. Laura and I looked at
each other. Her face was pale, but it showed no fear.
Sir Percival dipped a pen in ink, and handed it to his wife.
“Sign your name there,” he said. “You and Fosco are to sign
afterward, Miss Halcombe.”
“Sign there,” he repeated, turning suddenly on Laura, and pointing
once more to the place on the parchment.
“What is it I am to sign?” she asked, quietly.
“I have no time to explain,” he answered. “The dogcart is at the door;
and I must go directly. Besides, if I had time, you wouldn’t understand. It is
a purely formal document. Come!* Come! sign your name, and let us finish
with it as soon as possible.”
“I ought surely to know what I am signing, Sir Percival, before I write
my name?”
“Nonsense! What have women to do with business? I tell you again,
you can’t understand it.”
“At any rate, let me try to understand it. Whenever Mr. Gilmore had
any business for me to do, he always explained it first; and I always
understood him.”
“I dare say he did.* He was your servant, and was obliged to explain. I
am your husband, and am not obliged. How much longer do you mean to
keep me here?* I tell you again, there is no time for reading anything; the
dogcart is waiting at the door. Will you sign; or will you not?”
“If my signature pledges me to anything,” she said, “surely I can know
what that pledge is?” He lifted up the parchment, and struck it angrily on the
table.
“Speak out!”* he said. “You were always famous for telling the truth.
Never mind Miss Halcombe; never mind Fosco—say, in plain terms, you
distrust me.”
The Count put his hand on Sir Percival’s shoulder. Sir Percival shook
it off irritably. The Count put it again.
“Control your temper, Percival,” he said. “Lady Glyde is right.”
“Right!” cried Sir Percival. “A wife right in distrusting her husband?”
“It is unjust and cruel to accuse me of distrusting уou,” said Laura.
“Ask Marian if I have a right to know what this writing requires of me before
I sign it?”
“I won’t do it,” retorted Sir Percival. “Miss Halcombe has nothing to
do with the matter.”
47
“Excuse me, Sir Percival,” I said—“but, as one of the witnesses to the
signature, I think I have something to do with the matter. Laura seems to me
perfectly right.”
“A fine declaration, upon my soul!* Miss Halcombe,” cried Sir
Percival. “The next time you invite yourself to a man’s house, I recommend
you not to repay his hospitality by taking his wife’s side against him in a
matter that doesn’t concern you.”
Laura ran to me, with tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh, Marian!”
she whispered, softly. “If my mother had been alive, she could have done no
more for me!”* She knew what I had suffered and what I had suppressed.
“Come back and sign!” cried Sir Percival, from the other side of the
table.
“Shall I?” she asked in my ear; “I will, if you tell me.”
“No,” I answered. “The right and the truth are with you - sign
nothing.”
“Come back and sign!” he repeated, in his loudest and angriest tones.
“I will sign with pleasure,” she said, “if you only show me what is in
that document.”
“You positively refuse, then, to give me your signature?” he asked.
“I refuse my signature until I have read every line in that parchment
from the first word to the last. Come away, Marian; we have remained here
long enough.”
“One moment!” interposed the Count, before Sir Percival could speak
again “one moment, Lady Glyde, I implore you!”
Laura would have left the room without noticing him; * but I stopped
her.
“Don’t make an enemy of the Count!” I whispered.
Sir Percival sat down at the table, with his elbow on the folded
parchment. The Count stood between us—master of the dreadful position in
which we were placed, as he was master of everything else.
“Lady Glyde,” he said, with an extraordinary gentleness, - “pray,
believe that I speak out of my deep respect.” He turned sharply toward Sir
Percival. “Is it absolutely necessary,” he asked, “that this thing here, under
your elbow, should be signed to-day?”
“It is necessary to my plans and wishes,” * answered the other, sulkily.
“But that consideration, as you may have noticed,* has no influence with
Lady Glyde.”
“Answer my plain question plainly. Can the business of the signature
be put off till to-morrow—Yes or No?”
“Yes—if you wish it.”
“Then what are you wasting your time for here? Let the signature wait
till to-morrow—let it wait till you come back.”
Sir Percival looked up.
“You are taking a tone with me that I don’t like,” he said. “A tone I
won't bear from any man.”
48
“I am advising you for your good,” returned the Count with a smile of
quiet contempt. “Give yourself time, give Lady Glyde time. Have you
forgotten that your dogcart is waiting at the door? The matter of the signature
can wait till to-morrow. Let it wait—and renew it when you come back.”
Sir Percival hesitated, and looked at his watch.
“It is easy to argue me down,”* he said, “when I have no time to
answer you. I will take your advice, Fosco—because I can’t stop here any
longer.” He paused, and looked round darkly at his wife. “If you don’t give
me your signature when I come back to-morrow—!” He took his hat and
gloves off the table, and went to the door. “Remember, to-morrow,” he said
to his wife and went out.
The Count approached us.
“You have just seen Percival at his worst, * Miss Halcombe,” he said.
“As his old friend, I am sorry for him and ashamed of him. As his old friend,
I promise you that he shall not break out to-morrow as he has broken out to-
day.”
I thanked the Count. Yes! I thanked him; for I wanted to remain at
Blackwater Park; and I knew after Sir Percival’s conduct to me, that without
the support of the Count, I could not hope to remain there.
We heard the wheels of the dogcart outside. Sir Percival had started on
his journey.
“Where is he going to, Marian?” Laura whispered. “Every fresh thing
he does terrifies me about the future. Have you any suspicions?”
“How should I know his secrets?” I said.
“I wonder if Mrs. Michelson, the housekeeper, knows?” she persisted.
“Certainly not,” I replied. “She must be quite ignorant as we are.”
Laura shook her head doubtfully.
“Did you not hear from the housekeeper that there was a report that
Anne Catherick had been seen in this neighbourhood? Don’t you think he
may have gone away to look for her?”
“Laura, come into my room, and rest and quiet yourself a little.”
We sat down together close to the window.
“We must do what we can to help ourselves,” I said. “Let us try to talk
it over calmly, Laura;—let us do all in our power to decide for the best.”*
We very soon arrived at the conclusion* that the parchment in the
library had been drawn up for the purpose of borrowing money, and that
Laura’s signature was absolutely necessary for the attainment of Sir
Percival’s object.
My impression led me to believe that the contents of the parchment
concealed a transaction of the meanest kind.
I had not formed this conclusion in consequence of Sir Percival’s
refusal to show the writing. No, my sole motive for distrusting his honesty
sprung from the change which I had observed in his language and his
manners at Blackwater Park, a change which convinced me that he had been
acting a part before.* His delicacy; his politeness; his modesty—all these
49
were the artifices of a mean, cunning, and brutal man. Now I saw him
completely changed.
Under these circumstances, the one chance for us when tomorrow
came, was to have a legal objection to giving the signature.
I determined to write to the only honest man who could help us. Mr.
Gilmore had fallen ill. Now Mr. Gilmore’s partner—Mr. Kyrle— conducted
the business.
I began by stating our position to Mr. Kyrle exactly as it was; * and
then asked for his advice. My letter was as short as I could make it.
Just as I was about to put the address on the envelope, an obstacle was
discovered by Laura.
“How are we to get the answer in time?” she asked. “Your letter will
not be delivered in London before to-morrow morning; and the post will not
bring the reply here till the morning after.”
The only way of overcoming this difficulty was to have the answer
brought to us from the lawyer’s office by a special messenger. I wrote a
postscript, begging to dispatch the messenger with the reply by the eleven
o’clock morning train, which would bring him to our station at twenty
minutes past one, and so enable him to reach Blackwater Park by two
o’clock at the latest.* He was to ask for me,* to answer no questions
addressed to him by any one else, and to deliver his letter into no hands but
mine.*
“Let us go down to the drawing-room now,” I said then –“We may
excite suspicion if we remain shut up together too long.”
“Suspicion?” she repeated. “Whose suspicion can we excite, now that
Sir Percival has left the house? Do you mean Count Fosco?”
“Perhaps I do, Laura.”
“You are not afraid of him, are you?”
“Perhaps I am—a little.”
“Afraid of him, after his interference in our favour today?”
“Yes. I am more afraid of his interference than I am of Sir Percival’s
violence. Remember what I said to you in the library. Whatever you do, *
Laura, don’t make an enemy of the Count!”
We went downstairs. Laura entered the drawing-room; and I went
across the hall to put the letter into the post-bag which hung on the wall
opposite to me.
The house door was open; and, as I crossed past it, I saw Count Fosco
and his wife standing talking together on the steps outside, with their faces
turned toward me.
The Countess came into the hall rather hastily and asked if I had
leisure enough for five minutes’ conversation. Feeling a little surprised I still
replied that I was quite at her disposal. She drew me out with her to the large
fish-pond in the park.
As we passed the Count on the steps, he bowed and smiled, and then
went at once into the house.
50
Mme. Fosco seemed resolved not to part with me,* and, to my
unspeakable amazement, resolved also to talk. Hitherto the most silent of
women, she now talked and talked on the subject of Sir Percival and Laura,
on the subject of her own happiness and on half a dozen other subjects
besides.
After we had returned, as I pushed open the door * and entered the hall,
I found myself suddenly face to face with the Count again. He was just
putting a letter into the post-bag.
My next step was to go straight to the post-bag, and take out my own
letter, and look at it again. I saw clearly that it was badly sealed. I do not
know myself why I did it—it was a kind of impulse.*
I almost dread to-morrow—so much depends on my self-control.
There are two things which I must not forget. I must be careful to keep up
friendly appearances with the Count; and I must look out carefully for the
messenger with the answer to my letter.
Notes:
will tell me little — не хочет много мне рассказывать
at all events — во всяком случае
make your mind easy —не тревожьтесь
It all rests with — все зависит только от
it shall be done — будет сделано
just so —именно так
the arrangement should not be made—если... соглашение будет
достигнуто (should выражает здесь предположение)
I may be able to get the parties to accept bills at three months -
возможно, что я смогу добиться того, что заинтересованные стороны
возьмут векселя на срок в три месяца
when the bills fall due — когда придет срок платить по векселям
D—n (=damn) the bills! — К черту векселя!
I feared as much — этого я и боялась
I should like the little business formality to be settled — мне хотелось
покончить с небольшой деловой формальностью
it won’t take a minute — это не займет и минуты
Come! — восклицание, выражающее приглашение, побуждение
I dare say he did. — Надо полагать, что он объяснял.
How much longer do you mean to keep me here? — Сколько времени
вы хотите меня продержать здесь?
Speak out! — Говорите прямо!
upon my soul! — клянусь честью!
If my mother had been alive, she could have done no more me! - Если
бы была жива моя мать, она не могла бы сделать для меня больше (чем
сделала ты) (сослагательное наклонение).
would have left the room without noticing him — вышла бы из комнаты,
не обращая на него внимания (сослагательное наклонение)
51
it is necessary to my plans and wishes — это необходимо с точки зрения
моих планов и желаний
as you may have noticed — как вы, возможно, заметили (сочетание
глагола may с перфектным инфинитивом выражает предположение о
действии, относящемся к прошлому)
it is easy to argue me down — меня легко уговорить
at his worst — в самом худшем виде
to decide for the best — чтобы решить, как лучше
to arrive at the conclusion — прийти к заключению
he had been acting a part before — раньше он притворялся, играл роль
as it was — как оно было
at the latest — самое позднее
he was to ask for me — он должен был спросить меня
to deliver his letter into no hands but mine — не передавать письмо
никому, кроме меня
whatever you do — что бы ты ни делала
seemed resolved not to part with me — по-видимому, решила не
расставаться со мной
to push open the door — открыть дверь
it was a kind of impulse — это был какой-то порыв
Assignment 5
(Chapter 9)
I Active vocabulary
to alter resemblance
to have smth. on one’s a frontier
mind a witness
to dispatch a transaction
to appeal a parchment
to claim a dogcart
to pledge hospitality
to keep up friendly a countryman
appearances consideration
to tame appealing
to have smth. to do gloomy
with at any rate
to arrive in\at never mind
to be about to do smth. sulkily
an influence astonishingly
conduct
52
II Exercises
persecution, correspondence, a transaction, a parchment

unaltered, dangerous, anxiety, a victim, nonsense, unjust

strangeness, abrupt, faithful, claim, nervously, to distrust
sentences:
to have some anxiety on one’s mind; to be the victim of smth.; not to have
the least idea; to look in the face boldly; to have smth. to do with (smb.); to
decide for the best; to have a legal objection; to be at one’s disposal
own sentences:
переписываться с кем-либо; не иметь ни малейшего понятия о чем-
либо; простая формальность; во всяком случае; не тревожьтесь; терять
попусту время; меня легко уговорить; прийти к заключению; вызвать
подозрения; поддерживать дружеские отношения
Working on the text
1. Read the episode in the library and act it out. Choose a role of the
person you most like (dislike) in this episode. Comment on the person.

1. Make your mind easy…It all rests with Lady Glyde.
2. …but there are two alternatives in all transactions; and the lawyers
like to look both of them in the face boldly.
3. I must be careful to keep up friendly appearances with the Count.

1. If he had married a tigress, instead of a woman, he would have tamed
the tigress.
2. If the thing must be done, it shall be done.
53
3. The only way of overcoming this difficulty was to have the answer
brought to us from the lawyer’s office by a special messenger.

1. Changed … person, and … one respect, changed … character.
2. Mme. Fosco (aged three-and-forty) sits … hours without saying a
word.
3. “I have no time to explain,” he answered. “The dogcart is … the door;
and I must go directly.”
4. … the circumstances, the one chance … us when to-morrow came,
was to have a legal objection to giving the signature.

1. He seems to have some anxiety on his mind.
2. The passage on pages 44-45 from ”He has a most remarkable likeness
to Napoleon …” up to “He talks to me as seriously and sensibly as if I
was a man.”
3. The passage on page 49 from “We very soon arrived at the conclusion
that the parchment in the library had been drawn up …” up to “Now I
saw him completely changed.”
Talking on the text

1. Laura didn’t want to speak about her married life.
2. The Foscos were rather strange people.
3. The parchment Sir Percival insisted on being signed was very
important to him.

1. What did Laura say about her married life with Sir Percival Glyde?
Why? What was the problem, to your mind?
2. Describe the Foscos. What was peculiar about the Count?
3. How can you comment upon the accident in the library? How does it
characterize Percival? What was so important about that parchment
for Sir Glyde?
4. What did Marian decide to do? Who did she have to consult with?
Was it easy to sent Mr. Kyrle a letter? Why?
54
X
June 17th.—After dinner Laura proposed a stroll in the park to enjoy
the pleasant evening.
We walked through the shadowy park in silence. The heaviness in the
evening air oppressed us both; and when we reached the boat-house near the
lake we were glad to sit down and rest inside.
A white fog hung low over the lake.
“It is very desolate and gloomy,” said Laura. “Bit we can be more
alone here than anywhere else.”
We sat there in silence for some time. “It is late,” I heard her whisper.
“It will be dark in the park.” She shook my arm, and repeated: “Marian! It
will be dark in the park. We are far from the house. Let us go back.”
She stopped suddenly, and turned her face from me toward the
entrance of the boat-house.
“Marian!” she said, trembling violently. “Do you see nothing? Look!”
“Where?”
“Down there, below us.”
She pointed. My eyes followed her hand; and I saw it too.
A living figure was moving in the distance. It stopped far off, in front
of us—waited—and passed on.
We were both unnerved. Some minutes had elapsed before I could
make up my mind to lead her back to the house.
“Was it a man or a woman?” she asked, in a whisper.
“I am not certain.”
“Which do you think?”*
“It looked like a woman.”
“I was afraid it was a man in a long cloak.”
“It may be a man. In this dim light it is not possible to be certain.”
“Wait, Marian. I’m frightened—I don’t see the path.”
Before we were half-way through,* she stopped, and forced me to stop
with her. She was listening.
“Hush,” she whispered. “I hear something behind us.”
“Dead leaves”, I said, to cheer her, “or a twig blown off the trees.”
“It is summer-time, Marian; and there is no wind. Listen!”
I heard the sound too — a sound like a light footstep following us.
“No matter who it is, or what it is,” I said; “let us walk on.”
We went on quickly—so quickly that Laura was breathless.
I waited a moment, to give her breathing time. * Just as we started
again, she stopped me, and signed to me with her hand to listen once more.
We both heard distinctly a long heavy sigh behind us, in the black depths of
the trees.
“Who’s there?” I called out.
There was no answer.
“Who’s there?” I repeated.
An instant of silence followed; and then we heard the light fall of
footsteps again.
55
We hurried out from the trees to the open lawn; crossed it rapidly; and,
without another word passing between us,* reached the house.
In the light of the hall-lamp Laura looked at me, with white cheeks and
startled eyes.
“I am half dead with fear,” she said. “Who could it have been?”
“We will try to guess to-morrow,”* I replied. “In the meantime, say
nothing to any one of what we have heard and seen.”
“Why not?”
“Because silence is safe—and we have need of safety in this house.”
I sent Laura upstairs immediately—waited a minute to take off my hat
and put my hair smooth—and then went at once to make my first
investigations in the library, on pretence of searching for a book.
There sat the Count, filling out the largest easy-chair in the house;
smoking and reading calmly. And there sat Mme. Fosco, like a quiet child,
on a stool by his side, making cigarettes. Neither husband nor wife could by
any possibility have been out late* that evening.
Count Fosco rose in polite confusion. “Have you and Lady Glyde been
out this evening?” asked the Count, while I was taking a book from the
shelves.
“Yes; we went out to get a little air.”
“May I ask in what direction?”
“In the direction of the lake—as far as the boat-house.”
“Aha? As far as the boat-house? No adventures, I suppose, this
evening?” he went on.
“No,” I said, shortly; “No adventures—no discoveries.”
The figure we saw at the lake was not the figure of Mr. Fosco or Mme.
Fosco.
Who could it have been?
It seems useless to inquire. I cannot even decide whether the figure
was a man’s or a woman’s. I can only say that I think it was a woman’s.
XI
June 18th. Four o'clock. — Several hours that have passed since I
made my last entry,* have turned the whole march of events at Blackwater
Park in a new direction. Whether for good or for evil, * I cannot and dare not
decide.
I went out, as I had intended, to meet the messenger with my letter
from London. On my way I passed Mme. Fosco walking round and round
the great fish-pond. I at once began to walk more slowly, so as not to show
that I was in a hurry. She smiled at me in the friendliest manner, nodded
pleasantly—and reentered the hall.
In less than a quarter of an hour I was out on the road. For twenty
minutes, by my watch, I neither saw nor heard anything. At the end of that
time, the sound of a carriage caught my ear, and I was met by a fly from the
railway. I made a sign to the driver to stop. A respectable-looking man put
his head out of the window.
56
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “Are you going to Black-water Park?”
“Yes , ma’am.”
“With a letter for any one?”
“With a letter for Miss Halcombe, ma’am.”
“You may give me the letter. I am Miss Halcombe.”
The man touched his hat, got out of the fly immediately, and gave me
the letter.
I opened it at once, and read these lines.
“Dear Madam,—Your letter has caused me very great anxiety. I will
reply to it аs briefly and plainly as possible. My careful consideration of your
letter leads me, I regret to say,* to the conclusion that a loan of the money to
Sir Percival is contemplated.*
“In the event of Lady Clyde’s signing * such a document her trustees
would have the right to advance money to Sir Percival out of her twenty
thousand pounds. If the amount so lent should not be paid back, * and if Lady
Glyde should have children, their fortune will then be diminished by the
sum,* large or small, so advanced.
“Under these serious circumstances, I would recommend to Lady
Glyde not to sign the document until it is first submitted to myself, as her
family solicitor (in the absence of my partner, Mr. Gilmore). No reasonable
objection can be made to this.
“I beg to remain, madam, your faithful servant,
William Kyrle.”
I read this kind and sensible letter very thankfully. It supplied Laura
with a reason for objecting to the signature.
The messenger waited near me while I was reading, to receive his
directions.
“Please, say that I understand the letter, and that I am very much
obliged,”* I said. “There is no other reply necessary at present.”
Exactly at the moment when I was speaking those words, holding the
letter open in my hand, Count Fosco turned as if he had sprung up out of the
earth.
The suddenness of his appearance took me completely by surprise. *
The messenger wished me good-morning, and got into the fly again. I could
not say a word to him—I was not even able to return his bow. I saw clearly
that I was discovered.
“Are you going back to the house, Miss Halcombe?” the Count
inquired, without showing the least surprise on his side.
I collected myself sufficiently* to make a sign in the affirmative.*
“I am going back too,” he said. “Allow me the pleasure of
accompanying you. Will you take my arm? You look surprised at seeing
me?”
I took his arm.
“You look surprised at seeing me!” he repeated.
“I thought, Count, I heard you with your birds in the breakfast-room,”
I answered, as quietly and firmly as I could.
57
“Well, Miss Halcombe, the pleasure of accompanying you was too
great a temptation.”
On the drive in front of the house we met the dogcart. Sir Percival had
just returned. He came out to meet us at the house door.
“Oh! here are two of you come back,” he said. “But where is Lady
Glyde?”
I told him that Laura had gone to the park for a little walk.
“I recommend her,” he said, “not to forget her appointment in the
library, this afternoon. I shall expect to see her in half an hour.”
I took my hand from the Count’s arm, and slowly went up the steps.
Fosco addressed himself gaily to the master of the house.
“Tell me, Percival,” he said, “have you had a pleasant drive? I want
five minutes’ talk with you, Percival,—five minutes’ talk, my friend, here on
the grass.”
“What about?”
“About business that very much concerns you. Come out here and
speak to me,” repeated the Count.
Sir Percival descended the steps. The Count took him by the arm. The
“business”, I was sure, referred to the question of the signature. They were
speaking of Laura and of me. I felt heartsick and faint with anxiety. * I
walked about the house from room to room. There were no signs of Laura’s
return, and I thought of going out to look for her.
At this moment the door opened softly, and the Count looked in.
“A thousand pardons, Miss Halcombe,” he said; “I only disturb you
because I am the bearer of good news. Percival has changed his mind, at the
last moment, and the business of the signature is put off for the present. A
great relief to all of us, Miss Halcombe. Pray mention this pleasant change of
circumstances to Lady Glyde.”
He left me before I had recovered my astonishment.* There could be
no doubt that this extraordinary change in the matter of the signature was due
to his influence; he had discovered that I had written to London yesterday
and that I had received an answer: all this he had communicated to Sir
Percival and was now able to interfere in the matter. For some time I sat
thinking it all over. A hand was laid on my shoulder. It was Laura’s.
She had dropped on her knees by the side of the sofa. Her face was
flushed and agitated. I started the instant I saw her.*
“What has happened?” I asked. “What has frightened you?”
She looked round at the half-open door—put her lips close to my ear
—and answered in a whisper:
“Marian! — the figure at the lake—the footsteps last night —I’ve just
seen her! I’ve just spoken to her!”
“Who, for heaven’s sake?”
“Anne Catherick, I have seen Anne Catherick! I have spoken to Anne
Catherick!” she repeated, as if I had not heard her. “She talked to me so
strangely—she looked so ill—she left me so suddenly—!”
58
“Speak low,” I said. “The window is open, and the garden-path runs
beneath it. Begin at the beginning, Laura. Tell me, word for word, what
passed between that woman and you.
“Shall I close the window first?”
“No; only speak low; only remember that Anne Catherick is a
dangerous subject under your husband’s roof. Where did you first see her?”
“At the boat-house, Marian. I went out and I walked along the path
through the park. In that way I got on to the boat-house. And I heard a soft,
strange voice, behind me, say ‘Miss Fairlie’.”
“Miss Fairlie!”
“Yes—my old name—the dear, familiar name. I started up—not
frightened, the voice was too kind and gentle to frighten anybody—but very
much surprised. There, looking at me from the door-way, stood a woman.”
“How was she dressed?”
“She had a neat, pretty white gown on.* ‘You don’t remember a fine
spring day at Limmeridge, she said, ‘and your mother walking down the path
that led to the school, with a little girl on each side of her? I remember it.
You were one of the girls, and I was the other. Pretty, clever Miss Fairlie,
and poor little Anne Catherick were nearer to each other then than they are
now!”
“Did you remember her, Laura, when she told you her name?”
“Yes—I remembered her, and I also remembered your asking me
about Anne Catherick at Limmeridge, and your saying that she had once
been considered like me.”*
“
What reminded you of that, Laura?”
“She reminded me. While I was looking at her, while she was very
close to me, it came over my mind suddenly * that we were really like each
other! Her face was pale and thin and weary—but the sight of it startled me, *
as if it had been the sight of my own face in the glass after long illness. The
discovery—I don’t know why —gave me such a shock, that I was perfectly
incapable of speaking to her for the moment. * ‘I am here because you are
married,’ she said to me. ‘Did you see me at the lake last night? Did you hear
me following you in the wood? I have been waiting for days together * tо
speak to you alone. Why did I ever let you marry him! I ought to have
warned you and saved you* before it was too late. Why did I only have
courage enough to write you that letter? Why did I only do harm, when I
wanted only to do good?’ Then she asked me if I should not be afraid of a
man who had shut me up in a mad-house, and who would shut me up again if
he could? I said, ‘are you afraid still? Surely you would not be here, if you
were afraid now?’ ‘No,’ she said, ‘I am not afraid now.’ I asked why not.
She suddenly bent forward into the boat-house, and said: ‘Can’t you guess
why?’ I shook my head. ‘Look at me,’ she went on. I told her she looked
very ill. She smiled, for the first time. ‘Ill?’ she repeated; ‘I’m dying. You
know why I’m not afraid of him now. If you know his Secret, he will be
afraid of you; he won’t dare treat you as he treats me.’ ‘What is the most
important you have to tell me?’ I asked. ‘The Secret that your cruel husband
59
is afraid of,’ she answered. ‘I once threatened him with the Secret, and
frightened him. You shall threaten him with the Secret, and frighten him
too.’ Her face darkened. She began waving her hand at me. ‘My mother
knows the Secret,’ she said. ‘One day, when I was grown up, she said
something to me—‘ at this she stopped.”
“Yes, yes! Go on. What did she tell you about Sir Percival?”
“She stopped, Marian, at that point—“
“And said no more?”
“And listened eagerly. ‘Hush!’ she whispered, still waving her hand at
me. ‘Hush!’ She moved aside out of the doorway, moved slowly away, till I
lost sight of her.”
“Surely* you followed her?”
“Yes; my anxiety made me bold enough to rise and follow her. ‘The
Secret,’ I whispered to her—‘tell me the Secret!’ She caught hold of my arm,
and looked at me with wild, frightened eyes. ‘Not now,’ she said; ‘we are not
alone - we are watched. Come here to-morrow, at this time – by yourself—
mind*—by yourself.’ She pushed me into the boat-house again; and I saw
her no more.”
“Oh, Laura, Laura, another chance lost! But did she not speak about
the place in which she is living at the present time?”
“No.”
“Did she not mention a companion and friend—a woman named Mrs.
Clements?”
“Oh, yes! yes! I forgot that. She told me Mrs. Clements wanted to go
with her to the lake.”
“Was that all she said about Mrs. Clements?”
“Yes, that was all.”
“She told you nothing about the place in which she lived after leaving
Todd’s Corner?”
“Nothing—I am quite sure.”
“Nor where she has lived since? Nor what her illness had been?”
“No, Marian; not a word. Tell me, pray tell me, what you think about
it. I don’t know what to think, or what to do next.”
“You must do this, my love: You must carefully keep the appointment
at the boat-house to-morrow. You shall not be left to yourself a second time. *
I will follow you at a safe distance. Nobody shall see me; but I will be near if
anything happens.”
Notes:
Which do you think? — Что более вероятно (из двух)? Вопрос,
начинающийся с which, направлен на то, чтобы уточнить, что именно
из небольшого круга лиц или предметов имеется в виду.
before we went half-way through — не успели мы пройти и половину
пути
to give her breathing time — чтобы дать ей возможность отдышаться
60
without another word passing between us — не обменявшись ни
единым словом
We will try to guess to-morrow. — Мы постараемся разгадать это
завтра.
neither husband nor wife could by any possibility have been late — ни
муж, ни жена никак не могли предпринять позднюю прогулку
I made my last entry — я сделала свою последнюю запись в дневнике
whether for good or for evil — к лучшему это или к худшему
I regret to say — к сожалению
is contemplated — имеется в виду, предполагается
in the event of Lady Clyde’s signing —в случае, если леди Глайд
подпишет
if the amount so lent should not be paid back —- если одолженные
таким образом деньги не будут возвращены (should в придаточном
условном предложении с союзом if выражает предположение)
by the sum — на сумму
I am very much obliged — я очень благодарна
to take somebody by surprise — захватить кого-л. врасплох
I collected myself sufficiently — я достаточно овладела собой
to make a sign in the affirmative - чтобы утвердительно кивнуть
with anxiety — от тревоги
before I had recovered my astonishment — прежде чем я пришла в себя
от удивления
I started the instant I saw her. — Я вскочила, как только увидела ее.
she had... on — на ней было (одето)...
she had once been considered like me — про нее когда-то говорили, что
она похожа на меня
it came over my mind suddenly — мне внезапно пришло в голову
the sight of it startled me — вид ее лица потряс меня
for the moment — в данную минуту
for days together — на протяжении многих дней
I ought to have warned you and saved you — я должна была вас
предупредить и спасти вас (модальный глагол ought в сочетании с
перфектным инфинитивом выражает сожаление, что действие, которое
нужно было совершить, не совершилось)
surely — ну, конечно
mind — смотрите, запомните
You shall not be left to yourself a second time. — На этот раз (второй
раз) я тебя уж не оставлю одну.
Assignment 6
(Chapters 10, 11)

I Active vocabulary
to regret to shut up smb
to diminish dim light to guess
61
to have smth. on cruel
to threaten for the present
a bow for heaven’s sake
an appointment eagerly
a signature
II Exercises
desolate, depth, direction, anxiety, contemplate, reasonable, sufficiently,
dangerous, courage
4. Explain the same notion in one word:

in the distance; to make up one’s mind; instant of silence; in polite
confusion; I beg your pardon; to drop on one’s knees
5. Give synonyms and antonyms for the following words and word-
combinations:
gloomy, violently, sensible, to descend, agitated, anxiety
sentences:
to oppress smb.; to give smb breathing time; to make a sign to smb to do
smth; to be obliged; for heaven’s sake; the sight of it startled me; to keep the
appointment
own sentences:
лишиться присутствия духа; тем временем; внимательное
ознакомление; появиться словно из-под земли; тысяча извинений; быть
достаточно смелой
Working on the text

1. We hurried out from the trees to the open lawn; and without another
word between us, reached the house.
2. Because silence is safe - and we have need of safety in this house.
3. In the event of Lady Glyde’s signing such a document her trustees
would have the right to advance money to Sir Percival out of her
62
twenty thousand pounds. If the amount so lent should be paid back,
and if Lady Glyde should have children, their fortune will then be
diminished by the sum, large or small, so advanced.
4. I felt heartsick and faint with anxiety.
2. Insert the prepositions where necessary and then change the following
sentences into Indirect Speech:
1. “Dead leaves”, I said to cheer her, “or a twig blown…the trees.”
2. “I am half dead … fear,” she said.
3. “Oh! Here are two of you come … back,” he said. “But where is Lady
Glyde?”
4. “Speak low. The window is open, and the garden-path runs beneath it.
Begin … the beginning, Laura. Tell me, word …word, what passed
between that woman and you.”

The passage on page 59 from “She reminded me. While I was looking at her,
while she was very close to me, it came over my mind suddenly that we were
really like each other!..” up to ‘One day, when I was grown up, she said
something to me –‘ at this she stopped.”
Talking on the text

1. Marian and Laura were very frightened, being near the lake.
2. Mr. Kyrle recommended Laura not to sign anything without
consulting with him first.
3. Anne Catherick talked to Laura but said nothing about the secret of Sir
Percival.

1. Speak about a shadow in the park. Who was it, to your mind? Were
the sisters afraid of it? Why?
2. Who did Marian meet in the library after their return from their walk?
What did they talk about?
3. How did Marian manage to get the letter from Mr. Kyrle? What was
the the letter about?
4. Retell the dialogue between Marian and Count Fosco. How did it
influence the situation in the family?
5. Speak about the talk between Ann Catherick and Laura Glyde. What
was the result of the conversation?
63
XII
The next day Laura left the lunch table in good time for the meeting
with Anne. I was tempted to accompany her. But if we had both gone out
together, we could have excited suspicion.
I waited, therefore, some time as patiently as I could, until the servant
came to clear the table. Then I went out into the park. Once among the trees,
I walked rapidly, until I had advanced more than half-way through the park.
At that point I started walking more slowly, but I saw no one, and heard no
voices. When I came within view of the back of the boat-house I stopped and
listened. Then I came up to it and looked in. The place was empty.
I called “Laura!”—at first, softly—then louder and louder. No one
answered, and no one appeared.
My heart began to beat violently, but I searched, first the boat-house,
and then the ground in front of it, for any signs of Laura. No mark of her
presence appeared inside the building, but I found traces of her outside it, in
footsteps on the sand. I saw the footsteps of two persons—large footsteps,
like a man’s, and small footsteps, which, I felt certain, were Laura’s. I
quickly went back. The first person whom I met in crossing the servant’s hall
was Mrs. Michelson, the housekeeper.
“Do you know,” I asked, “whether Lady Glyde has come in from her
walk or not?”
“Lady Glyde came in a little while ago, with Sir Percival,” answered
the housekeeper. “I am afraid, Miss Halcombe, something very distressing
has happened. My lady ran up stairs to her own room in tears, and Sir
Percival has ordered me to give Fanny warning to leave in an hour’s time.”
Fanny was Laura’s maid; a good, affectionate girl, who had been with
her for years and who loved her dearly.
“Where is Fanny?” I inquired.
“In my room, Miss Halcombe. The young woman is all in tears and I
told her to sit down, and try to recover herself.”
I went to Mrs. Michelson’s room, and found Fanny in a corner, with
her box by her side, crying bitterly.
After soothing the poor girl by a few friendly words, I asked where she
intended to sleep that night. She replied that she thought of going to the little
inn in the village. The next morning she was going to her friends in
Cumberland without stopping in London.
I thought that we could avail ourselves of* this opportunity for
communication with London and Limmeridge House. I told her that she
would probably hear from her mistress or from me in the evening. Then I
shook hands with her and went upstairs.
When I tried the door which led to Laura’s room, it was bolted on the
inside.
I knocked, and the door was opened by a house-maid who was taken
into service not long ago. Her name was Margaret Porcher, and she was the
most obstinate servant in the house.
64
On opening the door* she instantly stepped out to the threshold, and
stood grinning at me in silence.
“Why do you stand there?” I said. “Don’t you see that I want to come
in?”
“Ah, but you mustn’t come in,” was the answer, with another and a
broader grin still.
“How dare you talk to me in that way? Stand back instantly!”
She stretched out a great red hand and arm on each side of her, so as to
bar the door-way.
“Master’s orders”, she said.
I turned my back on her, and instantly went downstairs to find Sir
Percival.
The drawing-room and the breakfast-room were both empty. I went on
to the library; and there I found Sir Percival, the Count, and Mme. Fosco.
They were all three standing close together, and Sir Percival had a little slip
of paper in his hand. As I opened the door, I heard the Count say to him, ‘No
—a thousand times, no.’
I walked straight up to him, and looked him full in the face.*
“Am I to understand, Sir Percival, that your wife’s room is a prison?” I
asked.
“Yes, that is what you are to understand,” he answered. “Take care
your room is not a prison too.”*
“You take care how you treat your wife, and how you threaten me,” I
broke out, in the heat of my anger. “There are laws in England to protect
women from cruelty and outrage. If you hurt a hair of Laura’s head, to those
laws I will appeal.”
Instead of answering me, he turned round to the Count.
“What did I tell you?” he asked. “What do you say now?”
“No,” replied the Count.
Mme. Fosco immediately moved close to my side, and, in that
position, now addressed Sir Percival.
“I want your attention for one moment,” she said, “I have to thank
you, Sir Percival, for your hospitality, and to decline taking advantage of it
any longer.* I remain in no house in which ladies are treated as your wife and
Miss Halcombe have been treated here to-day!”
Sir Percival drew back a step, and stared at her in dead silence. The
Count looked at his wife with admiration.
“She is sublime!” he said to himself. He approached her, while he
spoke, and drew her hand through his arm. “I am at your service, Eleanor,”
he went on, “and at Miss Halcombe’s service.”
“What do you mean?” cried Sir Percival, as the Count quietly moved
away, with his wife to the door.
“At other times I mean what I say, but at this time I mean what my
wife says,” replied the impenetrable Italian. “We have changed places,
Percival, for once,* and Madame Fosco’s opinion is—mine.”
65
Sir Percival crumpled up the paper in his hand, and stood between him
and the door.
“Have your own way,”* he said, angrily. — “Have your own way—
and see what comes of it.” With those words he left the room. For a few
moments we remained silent. Then the Count opened the door and went out.
At the same time I heard Sir Percival descend the stairs and come up to
Fosco. I heard them whispering together outside. Suddenly the whispering
ceased, the door opened, and the Count looked in.
“Miss Halcombe,” he said. “I am happy to inform you that Lady Glyde
is mistress again in her own house.”
I immediately rushed up to Laura. She was sitting alone at the far end
of the room, with her face hidden in her hands. She started up, with a cry of
delight, when she saw me.
“How did you get here?” she asked. “Who allowed you? Not Sir
Percival?”
“The Count, of course,” I answered. “His influence in the house—...”
She stopped me, with a gesture of disgust.
“Don’t speak of him,” she cried. “The Count is a vile creature! The
Count is a miserable spy—!”
Before we could either of us say another word * we were alarmed by a
soft knocking at the door of the bedroom.
I had not yet sat down, and I went to see who it was. When I opened
the door I saw Mme. Fosco with my handkerchief in her hand.
“You dropped this downstairs, Miss Halcombe,” she said, “and I
thought I could bring it to you.”
She had been listening before she knocked! I saw it in her white face; I
saw it in her trembling hands; I saw it in her look at Laura.
After waiting an instant, she turned from me in silence, and slowly
walked away.
I closed the door again. “Oh, Laura! Laura! Why you called the Count
a spy?”
“You would have called him so yourself, Marian, if you had known
what I know. Anne Catherick was right. There was a third person watching
us in the park yesterday, and that third person—”
“Are you sure it was the Count?”
“I am absolutely certain. He was Sir Percival’s spy—he was Sir
Percival’s informer—he set Sir Percival watching and waiting, all the
morning through,* for Anne Catherick and for me.”
“Is Anne found? Did you see her at the lake?”
“No. When I got to the boat-house, no one was there.”
“Yes? Yes?”
“I went in, and sat waiting for a few minutes. Then I passed out and
saw some marks on the sand, close under the front of the boat-house. I
stopped down to examine them, and discovered a word written in large
letters on the sand. The word was—‘L О О К’. I scraped away the sand on
the surface,* and in a little while I came to a strip of paper hidden in the sand,
66
which had writing on it. The writing was signed with Anne Catherick’s
initials.”
“Where is it?”
“Sir Percival has taken it from me.”
“Can you remember what the writing was? Do you think you can
repeat it to me?”
“I can, Marian. It was very short.”
“I was seen with you yesterday, by a tall stout old man, and I had to
run to save myself. He was not quick enough to follow me, and he lost me
among the trees. I dare not risk coming back here to-day, at the same time. I
write this and hide it in the sand, at six in the morning. When we speak next
of your wicked husband’s Secret we must speak safely or not at all.* Try to
have patience. I promise you shall see me again; and that soon.—A. C.”
“How did you lose the letter?” I asked. “What did you do with it, when
you found it in the sand?”
“After reading it once through,”* she replied, “I took it into the boat-
house with me, to sit down and look it over a second time. While I was
reading a shadow fell across the paper, I looked up, and saw Sir Percival
standing in the doorway watching me.”
“Did you try to hide the letter?”
“I tried; but he stopped me. ‘You needn’t trouble * to hide that,’ he
said. ‘I have read it.’ I could only look at him helplessly—I could say
nothing. ‘You understand?’ he went on: ‘I have read it. I dug it up out of the
sand two hours ago, and buried it again, and wrote the word above it again.
You saw Anne Catherick in secret yesterday, and you have got her letter in
your hands at this moment. I have not caught her yet, but I have caught you.
Give me the letter.’ He stepped close up to me—I was alone with him,
Marian – what could I do?—I gave him the letter.”
“What did he say when you gave it to him?”
“At first he said nothing. He took me by the arm, and led me out of the
boat-house, and looked about him, on all sides, as if he was afraid of our
being seen or heard. Than he clasped his hand fast round my arm, and
whispered to me, ‘What did Anne Catherick say to you yesterday?—I insist
on hearing every word, from first to last.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I was alone with him, Marian—his cruel hand was bruising my arm
—what could I do?”
“Is the mark on your arm still? Let me see it.”
“Why do you want to see it?”
“I want to see it, Laura. Let me see it now.”
“Oh, Marian, don’t look so! Don’t talk so! It doesn’t hurt me now!”
“Let me see it!”
She showed me the marks.
“Don’t think too seriously of it, Marian,” she said, simply as she
pulled her sleeve down again. “It doesn’t hurt me now.”
67
“I will try to think quietly of it, * my love, for your sake. Well! Well!
And you told him all that Anne Catherick had said to you—all that you told
me?”
“Yes, all. He insisted on it—I was alone with him—I could conceal
nothing.”
“Did he say anything when you had ended?”
“He looked at me, and laughed to himself in a mocking, bitter way.
Marian! He looked and spoke like a madman. You may hardly understand it
– he did indeed.”*
“I do understand it, Laura. He is mad—mad with the terrors of a guilty
conscience. Every word you have said makes me positively certain that when
Anne Catherick left you yesterday, you were on the eve of discovering a
secret of your husband’s. Sir Percival has already dismissed Fanny, because
she is a clever girl, and devotedly attached to you. It is impossible to say
what violent measures he may take.”
“What can we do, Marian? Oh, if we could only leave this house,
never to see it again!”
“Listen to me, my love, and try to think that you are not quite helpless
so long as I am with you.”
“I will think so, I do think so. Don’t forget poor Fanny. She wants help
and comfort too.”
“I will not forget her. I saw her before I came up here, and I will
communicate with her to-night. Letters are not safe in the post-bag at
Blackwater Park, and I shall have two to write to-day, in your interests, and
Fanny will take them.”
“What letters?”
“I mean to write first, Laura, to Mr. Gilmore’s partner, who has
offered to help us. The lawyer shall know of those bruises on your arm, and
of the violence offered to you in this room—he shall, before I rest to-night!”
She sighed bitterly, and asked me about the second letter. To whom
was it to be addressed?
“To Mr. Fairlie,” I said. “Your uncle is the head of the family. He
must and shall interfere.”
“If you could only persuade him to let me go back to Limmeridge for a
little while, and stay there quietly with you, Marian, I could be almost as
happy again as I was before I was married!”
Those words set me thinking* in a new direction. Would it be possible
to place Sir Percival between the two alternatives: either exposing himself to
the scandal of legal interference on his wife’s behalf, or of allowing her to be
quietly separated from him for a time, under pretext of a visit to her uncle’s
house?
“Your uncle shall know the wish you have just expressed,” I said;
“and I will ask the lawyer’s advice on the subject, as well.”
Saying that, I rose again, but Laura tried to make me stay.
“Don’t leave me,” she said, uneasily. “My desk is on that table. You
can write here.”
68
“I will come back again, love, in an hour or less,” I said.
“Is the key in the door, Marian? Can I lock on the inside?”
“Yes, here is the key. Lock the door, and open it to nobody until I
come upstairs again.”
I kissed her, and left her room.
Notes:
to avail oneself of — воспользоваться (случаем)
on opening the door — открыв дверь
full in the face — прямо в лицо
Take care your room is not a prison too. — Берегитесь, как бы ваша
комната не стала тюрьмой.
I have… to decline taking advantage of it any longer — я должна
отказаться от возможности пользоваться ею в дальнейшем
for once — на этот (один) раз
have your own way — ну, пусть будет по-вашему
before we could either of us say another word — прежде чем кто-нибудь
из нас смог вымолвить еще слово
all the morning through — все утро
scraped away the sand on the surface — сгребла песок сверху
or not at all —или же совсем не говорить
after reading it once through — после того, как я один раз прочитала
его
you needn’t trouble — не трудитесь
I will try to think quietly of it — я постараюсь думать об этом покойно
he did indeed — он в самом деле так говорил (глагол to do является
здесь глаголом-заместителем и употреблен вместо всей предыдущей
фразы — looked and spoke like a madman)
set me thinking — направили мою мысль
Assignment 7
(Chapter 12)

I Active vocabulary
to tempt a trace
to warn a spy
to crumple up a sleeve
to avail oneself of sublime
to recover oneself outrage
to conceal obstinate
hospitality distressing
69
II Exercises
suspicion, affectionate, impenetrable, miserable, initials, patience, persuade,
to tempt, to stare at smb., wicked, conscience, pretext
4. Explain the same notion in one word:

to be incapable of speaking; to crumple up; to laugh in a mocking, bitter way

to search, distressing, to discover, to disturb, gentle, threaten, rapidly
sentences:
to leave in an hour’s time; to recover oneself; full in the face; his cruel hand
was bruising my arm.
own sentences:
вызывать подозрения; воспользоваться случаем; обращаться к кому-
либо; закрыть лицо руками; сходить с ума от чего-либо; приблизиться к
развязке
Working on the text

1. No one answered, no one appeared.
2. I have to decline taking advantage of it [staying in your house] any
longer.
3. Those words set me thinking in a new direction.
4. I do understand it.
2. Change the following sentences into Indirect Speech:

1. “Do you know,” I asked, “whether Lady Glyde has come in from her
walk or not?”
2. “Where is Fanny?” I inquired.
3. “You take care how you treat your wife, and how you threaten me.” I
broke out.
4. “Don’ t speak of him!” she cried.
70
5. “Are you certain it was the Count?”

1. The passage on page 64 from “The next day Laura left the lunch in
good time for the meeting with Ann …” up to “The first person whom
I met in crossing the servant’s hall was Mrs. Michelson, the
housekeeper.”
2. The passage on page 64 from “After soothing the poor girl by a few
friendly words, I asked …” up to “On opening the door she instantly
stepped out to the threshold, and stood grinning at me in silence.”
Talking on the text

1. Marian was bold enough to oppose Percival Glyde.
2. The Count helped Marian in the library.
3. Sir Glyde was rather a cruel man.

1. Why did Sir Glyde shut his wife up in her room? What did Marian do
to release her? How does it characterize her? Who helped her in that
affair? Why?
2. What did Laura tell Marian about Anne Catherick? Was Anne afraid
of Laura’s husband?
3. What did the sisters decide to do afterwards?
71
XIII
th
June 19 .—Mme. Fosco was alone in the hall, looking at the
weatherglass.
“Still falling,” she said. “I am afraid we must expect more rain.”
Had she already told her husband that she heard Laura calling him a
“spy”?
“May I trust to your kindness to excuse me, Madame Fosco, if I speak
to you on a very painful subject?” I said to her.
She crossed her hands in front of her, and bowed her head, without
uttering a word.
“When you were so good as to bring me back my handkerchief,” I
went on, “I am very, very much afraid you accidentally heard Laura say
something which I am unwilling to repeat, and which I will not attempt to
defend. I hope that you have not mentioned it to the Count?”
“I think it of no importance,” said Mme. Fosco, sharply.
“But,” she added, “I have no secrets from my husband, even in trifles.
When he noticed, just now, that I looked distressed, it was my duty to tell
him why I was distressed; and frankly acknowledge to you, Miss Halcombe,
that I have told him.”
“Certainly,” said the Count’s quiet voice, behind me. He approached
us with his noiseless tread, and his book in his hand, from the library.
“When Lady Glyde said those hasty words”, he went on, “she did me
an injustice, which I forgive. Let us never return to the subject, Miss
Halcombe; let us all forget it, from this moment.”
“You are very kind,” I said, and immediately left the room. It was all
too much for me! I ran back up the stairs, to take refuge in my own room.
The letters to the lawyer and to Mr. Fairlie were to be written, and I sat down
at once to write them.
In my letter I said nothing to the lawyer about Anne Catherick,
because that topic was connected with a mystery which we could not yet
explain. I left him to attribute * Sir Percival’s cruelty to disputes about money
matters, and simply consulted him on the possibility of taking legal
proceedings for Laura’s protection, in the event of her husband’s refusal to
allow her to leave Blackwater Park for a time and return with me to
Limmeridge.
The letter to Mr. Fairlie occupied me next. I represented our removal
to Limmeridge as the only possibility for both of us.
When I had finished, and had sealed and addressed the two envelopes,
I went back with the letters to Laura’s room to show her that they were
written.
“Has anybody disturbed you?” I asked, when she opened the door to
me.
“Nobody has knocked,” she replied. “But I heard some one in the
passage.”
“Madame Fosco had evidently been watching outside,” thought I.
72
Laura saw me thinking. “More difficulties!” she said, wearily; “more
difficulties and more dangers!”
“No dangers,” I replied. “Some little difficulty, perhaps. I am thinking
of the safest way of putting my two letters into Fanny’s hands. She has gone
to the inn. I shall go there, and hand her the letters.”
I reached the inn without meeting Sir Percival, and was glad to find
that the landlady had received Fanny with possible kindness. The girl began
crying at the sight of me.
“Try to make the best of it,* Fanny,” I said. “Your mistress and I will
stand your friends. Now, listen to me. I wish you to take care of these two
letters. The one with the stamp on it you are to put into the post when you
reach London to-morrow. The other, directed to Mr. Fairlie, you are to
deliver to him yourself. Keep both letters about you * and give them to no
one.”
Fanny put the letters into the bosom of her dress. “I will do what you
tell me,” she said. “You may be sure of that.”
When I got back to the house, I had only a quarter of an hour to put
myself in order for dinner, and to say two words to Laura before I went
downstairs.
“The letters are in Fanny’s hands,” I whispered to her; “Do you mean
to join us at dinner?”
“Oh, no, no—not for the world!”*
“Has anything happened? Has any one disturbed you?”
“Yes—just now—Sir Percival—”
“Did he come in?”
“No; he frightened me by a thump on the door, outside. I said, “Who’s
there?’ ‘You know,’ he answered. ‘Will you tell me everything about Anne
Catherick? You shall! Sooner or later I’ll wring it out of you. You know
where Anne Catherick is at this moment!’ ‘Indeed, indeed,’ I said, ‘I don’t.’
‘You do!’ he shouted. He went away, with these words— went away,
Marian, five minutes ago. You are going down-stairs, Marian? Come up
again in the evening.”
“Yes, yes. Don’t be uneasy if I am a little late.”
The dinner-bell rang, and I hastened away. We spoke little at dinner.
When Mme. Fosco and I rose to leave the table, the Count rose also to
accompany us to the drawing-room.
“Why are you going away?” asked Sir Percival—“I mean you Fosco?”
“I am going away because I have had dinner enough, and wine
enough,” answered the Count.
“Nonsense! Another glass of claret won’t hurt you. Sit down again like
an Englishman.* I want half an hour’s quiet talk with you over our wine.”
“A quiet talk, Percival, with all my heart, but not now, and not over
the wine. Later in the evening, if you please— later in the evening.”
73
XIV
June 19 .—Once safely shut in my own room,* I opened a book, and
th
prepared to read.
For ten minutes or more I sat idle. I just could not read. I put out the
light, and looked out of the window.
It was dark and quiet. Neither moon nor stars were visible. There was
a smell like rain* in the still, heavy air, and then I smelled the odour of
tobacco smoke. The next moment I saw in the darkness a tiny red spark. I
heard no footsteps and I could see nothing but the spark.
Then I saw a second red spark, larger then the first. The two met
together in the darkness. Remembering who smoked cigarettes, and who
smoked cigars I guessed that the Count had come out first, to look and listen,
under my window, and that Sir Percival had afterwards joined him.
I waited quietly at the window, certain that they could neither of them
see me, in the darkness of the room.
“What’s the matter?” I heard Sir Percival say, in a low voice. “Why
don’t you come in and sit down?”
“I want to see if there is light in that window,” replied the Count,
softly. “She is bold enough to come down-stairs and listen, if she can get the
chance.”
I had heard enough. Before the red sparks were out of sight in the
darkness, I had already decided to listen when those two men sat down to
their talk. Laura’s honour, Laura’s happiness—Laura’s life itself—might
depend on my quick ears* and my faithful memory to-night.
The plan which had now occurred to me was to get out through my
sitting-room window on to the roof of the veranda; to creep along noiselessly
till I reached that part of it which was right over the library window; and to
crouch down between the flower-pots. If Sir Percival and the Count sat and
smoked there to-night, as I had seen them sitting and smoking many nights
before, with their chairs close at the open window, every word they said to
each other must inevitably reach my ears. This plan I carried out, and placed
myself over the library window on the roof, with flower-pots on either side
of me.
Sir Percival and the Count were there, near the open window. I heard
them talking together below, now and then dropping their voices a little
lower than usual. It was Count who began. “We are at a serious crisis in our
affairs, Percival,” he said; “and we must decide everything secretly to-night.”
“Crisis?” repeated Sir Percival. “It’s a worse crisis than you think it, I
can tell you.”
“Now listen, Percival. I will put our position plainly before you, as I
understand it; and you shall say if I am right or wrong. You and I both came
back to this house from the Continent with our affairs very seriously
embarrassed. What did I tell you about your wife on our way to England?
And what did I tell you again, when we had come here, and when I had seen
for myself the sort of a woman Miss Halcombe was?* ”
“I don’t remember what you said.”
74
“I said this: There are two ways in which a man can manage a woman.
One way is to knock her down. The other way is never to accept a
provocation at a woman’s hands.* It holds with animals,* it holds with
children, and it holds with women. I said to you, remember that plain truth,
when you want your wife to help you to the money. * I said, Remember it
doubly in the presence of your wife’s sister, Miss Halcombe. Have you
remembered it? Not once, in all the complications that have come to us in
this house. Your mad temper lost the signature* to the deed, lost the ready
money, set Miss Halcombe writing to the lawyer for the first time—”
“First time? Has she written again?”
“Yes; she has written again to-day.”
Had he followed me to the inn? — I thought. — Could he have
examined the letters, when they had gone straight from my hand to the girl?
“Thank your lucky star,” I heard the Count say next, “that you have
me in the house, to undo the harm as fast as you do it. Thank your lucky star
that I said No, when you were mad enough to talk of turning the key on Miss
Halcombe, as on your wife. Where are your eyes? Can you look at Miss
Halcombe, and not see that she has the resolution of a man? And this
magnificent woman, whom I admire with all my soul, though I oppose her in
your interests and in mine, you drive to extremities. This is what you must
do: You give up all direction in the business from to-night; you leave it, for
the future, in my hands only. I am talking to a Practical British man—ha?
Well, Practical, will that do for you?”*
“What do you propose, if I leave it all to you?”
“Answer me first. Is it to be in my hands or not?”
“Say it is in your hands—what then?”
“A few questions, Percival, to begin with. There is no time to lose.
Now, to refresh my memory about your affairs. The money has been raised,
in the absence of your wife’s signature, by means of bills at three months—
raised at a tremendous cost! When the bills are due, is there really no way of
paying them but by the help of your wife?”
“None.”
“What! You have no money at the banker’s?”
“A few hundreds, when I want as many thousands.”
“What have you actually got with your wife at the present moment?”
“Nothing but the interest of her twenty thousand pounds—barely
enough to pay our daily expenses.”
“What do you expect from your wife?”
“Three thousand a year, when her uncle dies.”
“A fine fortune, Percival. What sort of man is this uncle? Old?”
“No—neither old nor young.”
“A good-tempered, freely living man? Married? No – I think my wife
told me, not married.”
“Of course not. If he was married, and had a son, Lady Glyde would
not be the next heir to the property. I’ll tell you what he is. He’s a selfish
fool, and bores everybody who comes near him about the state of his health.”
75
“Men of that sort, Percival, live long, and marry suddenly, when you
least expect it. I don’t give you much, my friend, for your chance of three
thousand a year. Is there nothing more that comes to you from your wife?”
“Nothing.”
“Absolutely nothing?”
“Absolutely nothing—except in case of her death.”
“Aha! In the case of her death.”
There was a pause. “The rain has соmе at last,” the Count said. It had
come. The state of my cloak showed that it had been falling thickly for some
time. “Well, Percival,” he continued, “and in case of Lady Clyde’s death,
what do you get then?”
“If she leaves no children, then I get her twenty thousand pounds.”
“Paid down?”*
“Paid down.”
“Percival! Do you care about your wife?”*
“Fosco! That’s rather a downright question.”
“I am a downright man, and I repeat it.”
“Why the devil do you look at me in that way?”
“You won’t answer me?* Well, then let us say your wife dies before
the summer is out—”
“Drop it Fosco!”
“Let us say your wife dies—”
“Drop it, I tell you!”
“In that case, you would gain twenty thousand pounds, and you would
lose—”
“I should lose the chance of three thousand a year.”
“The remote chance, Percival—the remote chance only. And you want
money at once. In your position the gain is certain—the loss doubtful.”
“Speak for yourself as well as for me. Some of the money I want has
been borrowed for you. And if you come to gain,* my wife’s death would be
ten thousand pounds in your wife’s pocket. Don’t look at me in that way! I
won’t have it.* With your looks and your questions, upon my soul, you make
my flesh creep!”*
“Your flesh! Does flesh mean conscience in English? I speak of your
wife’s death as I speak of a possibility. Why not? It is my business to-night
to clear up your position and I have now done it. Here is your position. * If
your wife lives, you pay those bills with her signature to the parchment. If
your wife dies, you pay them with her death. You have left the matter in my
hands,” continued the Count after a little while, “and I have more than two
months before me. Now let’s speak about Anne Catherick. How do matters
stand here?”
“Well, I told you to-day that I had done my best to find Anne
Catherick, and failed?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Fosco! I’m a lost man if I don’t find her.”
“Ha! Is it so serious as that?”
76
“Yes!” he said.—“Serious, indeed—as serious as the money matters
themselves. I showed you the letter to my wife that Anne Catherick hid in
the sand,” Sir Percival continued. “There is no boasting in that letter, Fosco
—she does know the Secret.”
“Does she know it from you?”
“No; from her mother.”
“Two women in possession of your Secret—bad, bad, bad, my friend!
One question here, before we go any further. The motive of your shutting up
the daughter in the Asylum is now plain enough to me. Where is the danger
of your position at the present moment?”
“Anne Catherick is in this neighbourhood, and in communication with
Lady Glyde—there’s the danger, plain enough. I am sure she has already
told her the Secret, or she will do it very soon.”
“One moment, Percival. If Lady Glyde knows the Secret she must
know, also, that it is a compromising Secret for you. As your wife, surely it
is her interest to keep it.”
“Is it? It might be her interest if she cared two straws about me. * But
she is in love with a vagabond drawing-master, named Hartright.”
“My dear friend! What is there extraordinary in that? They are all in
love with some other man!”
“Wait! I haven’t finished yet. Who do you think helped Anne
Catherick to escape when the people from the mad-house were after her?
Hartright. Who do you think saw her again in Cumberland? Hartright. Both
times he spoke to her alone. Stop! Don’t interrupt me. He knows the Secret,
and my wife probably knows the Secret. When they both get together again,
it’s her interest and his interest to turn their information against me.”
“Gently, Percival—gently. Are you insensible to the virtue of Lady
Glyde?”
“The virtue of Lady Glyde! I believe in nothing about her but her
money. Don’t you see how the case stands? * She might be harmless enough
by herself; but if she and that vagabond Hartright—”
“Yes, yes, I see. Where is Mr. Hartright?”
“Out of the country. I had him watched * from the time he left
Cumberland to the time he sailed. Oh, I’ve been careful, I can tell you! Anne
Catherick lived with some people at a farm-house near Limmeridge. I went
there myself, but she had gone. Then I went to her mother and made her
write a letter to Miss Halcombe, clearing me from any suspicion as to my
actions. And, in spite of it all, she turns up here, and escapes me on my own
property! How do I know who else may see her here, who else may speak to
her? That scoundrel Hartright may come back without my knowing it, and
see her again”
“Not he,* Percival! While I am on the spot, and while that woman is in
the neighbourhood, I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr.
Hartright*—even if he does come back. I see! Yes, yes, I see! The finding of
Anne Catherick is the first necessity: make your mind easy about the rest. *
Your wife is here, under your thumb; Miss Halcombe is inseparable from
77
her, and is, therefore under your thumb also; and Mr. Hartright is out of the
country. This invisible Anne is all we have to think of for the present. You
have made your inquiries?”
“Yes. I have been to her mother, I have asked at the village —and all
with no result.”
“Can you rely on her mother?”
“Yes.”
“Are her own interests concerned in keeping your secret, as well as
yours?”
“Yes—deeply concerned.”
“ I am glad to hear it, Percival, for your sake. Don’t be discouraged,
my friend. Well, I may search for Anne Catherick to-morrow to better
purpose* than you. One last question before we go to bed.”
“What is it?”
“It is this. When I went to the boat-house, I saw a strange woman
parting from your wife. But I could not see this woman’s face plainly. I must
know how to recognize our invisible Anne. What is she like?”
“Like? Come!* I’ll tell you in two words. She’s a sickly likeness of my
wife.”
“What!!!” exclaimed the Count eagerly.
“Fancy my wife, very pale, after a bad illness—and there is Anne
Catherick for you,” answered Sir Percival.
“Well, well, well, I shall now know Anne Catherick when I see her—
and so enough for to-night. I have my projects and my plans, here in my big
head. You shall pay those bills and we shall find Anne Catherick—my word
of honour on it, you shall! Good-night.”
Not another word was spoken. I heard the Count close the library door.
It had been raining, raining all the time. I was chilled to the bones. The clock
struck the quarter after one when I came back into my own room.
Notes:
left him to attribute... —пусть он отнесет...
Try to make the best of it — постарайся не очень расстраиваться
about you — при себе
not for the world — ни за что на свете
like an Englishman — мужчины в Англии после обеда остаются выпить
вина, а женщины уходят в гостиную
once safely shut in my own room — как только я заперлась в своей
комнате и почувствовала себя в безопасности
there was a smell like rain — (в воздухе) пахло дождем
might depend on my quick ears — возможно, зависели от остроты
моего слуха (quick — «острый» —о слухе)
when I had seen for myself the sort of a woman Miss Halcombe was –
когда я сам увидел, что за женщина мисс Халкоум
to accept a provocation at a woman’s hands — зд. Отвечать на
раздражение женщины раздражением
78
it holds with animals — это верно в отношении животных
when you want your wife to help you to the money — когда ты
захочешь, чтобы твоя жена помогла тебе получить деньги
your mad temper lost the signature — из-за вашего бешеного характера
не удалось получить подпись
Well, Practical, will that do for you? — Ну, трезвый Практик, это вас
устраивает?
Paid down? — Наличными?
Do you care about your wife? — Любите ли вы вашу жену? (Вам не
безразлична ваша жена?)
You won’t answer me? — Вы не хотите мне отвечать?
If you come to gain — если говорить о выигрыше
I won't have it. — Я не согласен на это.
you make my flesh creep — у меня мурашки бегают по телу
Неге is your position. — Вот каково положение ваших дел.
to care two straws about somebody — хоть немного интересоваться
кем-л.
Don’t you see how the case stands? — Неужели вы не понимаете, в чем
тут дело?
I had him watched — я организовал слежку за ним
Not he…! — Только не он…! (Этого ему сделать не удастся!)
I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr. Hartright —
отвечаю за то, что мы захватим ее, прежде чем м-р Хартрайт ее увидит
(герундиальный оборот)
make your mind easy about the rest — насчет всего остального будьте
спокойны
to better purpose — с лучшими результатами
Come! — восклицание, означающее приглашение, побуждение, в
данном случае приглашение выслушать
Assignment 8
(Chapters 13, 14)
I Active vocabulary
to utter to be in possession
to attempt to make one’s flesh creep
to wring out a trifle
to be idle a crisis
to occur to smb. virtue
to creep not for the world
to do smb. an injustice downright
79
II Exercises
legal proceedings, embarrass, conscience, to be discouraged, eagerly,
honour, a refuge, idle, to oppose, a vagabond, a suspicion,
neighbourhood.

to defend, to acknowledge, protect(ion), to crouch, tremendous.
sentences:
to be bold enough to do smth; to take refuge somewhere; not for the world;
to sit idle; to undo the harm; to make one’s flesh creep; to be under one’s
thumb.
own sentences:
своей бесшумной походкой; при виде кого-либо; быть достаточно
решительным человеком; ежедневные расходы; хоть немного
интересоваться кем-либо; промокнуть; продрогнуть
Working on the text

1. Make up your own sentences using the underlined part of the sentence
as the model:
1. The letters to the lawyer and to Mr. Fairlie were to be written, and I sat
down at once to write them.
2. I had him watched.

1. I said this: There are two ways in which a man can manage a woman.
One way is to knock her down. The other way is never to accept a
provocation at a woman’s hands.* It holds with animals,* it holds with
children, and it holds with women. I said to you, remember that plain
truth, when you want your wife to help you to the money.
2. Men of that sort, Percival, live long, and marry suddenly, when you
least expect it.
80
3. State whose utterances or thoughts these were. What preceded and
followed them:
1. “She did me an injustice, which I forgive (…) from this moment.”
2. “Sooner or later I’ll wring it out of you.”
3. “We are in serious crisis in our affairs (…) and we must decide
everything secretly tonight.”
4. “And if you come to gain (…) I won’t have it.”

1. The passage on page 74 from “I had heard enough ...” up to “This plan
I carried out, and placed myself over the library window on the roof,
with flower-pots on either side of me.”
2. The passage on page 74 from “’I said this: There are two ways in
which a man can manage a woman …” up to “Your mad temper lost
the signature to the deed, lost the ready money, set Miss Halcombe
writing to the lawyer for the first time –”
Talking on the text

1. Marian wrote to the lawyer and to Mr. Fairlie about the problems
Laura had in her married life with Sir Glyde.
2. Sir Glyde and the Count had a secret talk in the evening.
3. Sir Glyde was afraid of Anne Catherick.

1. How does the episode with Marian’s handkerchief characterize the
Foscos?
2. What did Marian write in her letters? How did she manage to post
them?
3. What plan did Marian have to overhear the conversation between Mr.
Glyde and the Count? Speak on that adventure in details. How does it
characterize Marian?
4. What did Sir Glyde and the Count speak about? What consequences
could that talk bring about?
3. Retell the chapters under discussion as if you were Laura.
81
XV
June 20th.—Eight o’clock.—The sun is shining in a clear sky. I hardly
know how I came back to the bedroom, and lighted the candle.
Oh, the rain, the rain—the cruel rain that chilled me last night.
Nine o’clock.—I am shivering again—shivering from head to foot, in
the summer air. Am I going to be ill?
Ill, at such a time as this!
My head—I am sadly afraid of my head. I can write, but the lines all
run together.
So cold, so cold—oh, that rain last night! and the strokes of the clock,
the strokes I can’t count; keep striking in my head —
Postscript by a sincere friend
The illness of our excellent Miss Halcombe has afforded me the

opportunity of an unexpected pleasure.
I refer to the reading (which I have just completed) of this interesting
Diary.
I can lay my hand on my heart, and declare that every page has
charmed me.
Admirable woman!
I speak of Miss Halcombe.
But—vast perspectives of success unroll themselves before my eyes. I
must act.
Of course I hope for her recovery.
I sign myself,
Fosco
XVI
THE STORY CONTINUED BY FREDERICK FAIRLIE,

ESQ., OF LIMMERIDGE HOUSE
At the end of June, or the beginning of July, I was reсlining,

surrounded by the various objects of Art which I have collected. Suddenly
my valet Louis came in. He informed me that a young person was outside
wanting to see me. He added that her name was Fanny.
“Who is Fanny?”
“Lady Clyde’s maid, sir.”
“What does Lady Clyde’s maid want?”
“A letter, sir—”
“Take it.”
“She refuses to give it to anybody but you, sir.”
“Who sends the letter?”
“Miss Halcombe, sir.”
“Let Lady Glyde’s maid come in, Louis.”
82
“You have a letter for me from Miss Halcombe?” I said when the girl
came in. “Put it down on the table, please, and don’t upset anything. How is
Miss Halcombe?”
“Very well, thank you, sir.”
“And Lady Glyde?”
Suddenly at that moment she began to cry. Then she told me that her
master had dismissed her from her mistress’s service. Between six o’clock
and seven, Miss Halcombe had come to say good-bye, and had given her two
letters, one for me, and one for a gentleman in London. Just as she was
preparing to take tea,* she was startled by the appearance, in the inn, of the
Countess Madame Fosco.
Her Ladyship, the Countess, explained her unexpected appearance at
the inn by telling Fanny that she had come to bring one or two little
messages which Miss Halcombe, in her hurry, had forgotten. Fanny waited
anxiously to hear what the messages were; but the Countess seemed
disinclined to mention them until Fanny had had her tea. Her Ladyship was
surprisingly kind and thoughtful about it and said, ‘I am sure, my poor girl,
you must want your tea. We can let the messages wait till afterward. Come,
come, I’ll myself make the tea for you, and have a cup with you.’ The girl
drank the tea, and, according to her own account, fainted for the first time in
her life. When she came to herself half an hour’s time, she was on the sofa,
and nobody was with her but the landlady. The countess, finding it too late to
remain any longer at the inn, had gone away as soon as girl showed signs of
recovering.
Left by herself,* she had felt in her bosom and had found the two
letters there, quite safe, but strangely crumpled. She had been giddy in the
night; but had got up well enough to travel in the morning.
She had put the letter addressed to the gentleman in London, into the
post, and had now delivered the other letter into my hands.
Then she told me that she was uneasy in her mind, because she had not
received those messages which Miss Halcombe had entrusted to the
Countess to deliver. She was afraid the messages might have been of great
importance to her mistress’s interests.* Her fear of Sir Percival had prevented
her from going to Blackwater Park late at night to inquire about them, and
Miss Halcombe’s own directions to her, on no account to miss the train * in
the morning, had prevented her from waiting at the inn the next day.
“I should feel very much obliged to you, sir, if you would kindly tell
me what I had better do now,” remarked Fanny at the end.
“Let things stop as they are,”* I said, adapting my language to my
listener. “I always let things stop as they are. Yes. Is that all? Good
morning!”
As soon as I was left by myself, I had a little nap— I really wanted it.
When I awoke again, I noticed dear Marian’s letter.
It is quite unnecessary to say that Marian’s letter threatened me.
Everybody threatens me. All sorts of horrors were tо fall on my head, if I
83
hesitated to turn Limmeridge House into an asylum for my niece and her
misfortunes.
Now, if I opened Limmeridge House as an asylum to Lady Glyde,
what would happen? Sir Percival Glyde would follow her here, come to me
and begin shouting at me and disturbing me in the most terrible manner! I
wrote, therefore to dear Marian, to ask her to come here by herself, first, and
talk the matter over with me. If she could answer my objections to my
satisfaction*, then I assured her that I would receive our sweet Laura with the
greatest pleasure —
The third day’s post brought me a letter from a person with whom I
was totally unacquainted. He described himself as the partner of our man of
business — our dear Gilmore — and he informed me that he had lately
received, by the post, a letter addressed to him in Miss Halcombe’s
handwriting. On opening the envelope he had discovered, to his
astonishment, that it contained nothing but а blank sheet of paper. This
circumstance appeared to him so suspicious that he had at once written to
Miss Halcombe, and had received no answer.
I answered that I had no idea about what it all meant.
All this made me feel very tired. But things did not stop at this. On the
sixth day after this Louis suddenly came in with a card in his hand.
“Another young person?” I said. “I won’t see her. In my state of
health, young persons disagree with me.* Not at home.”*
“It is a gentleman this time, sir.”
A gentleman, of course, made a difference.* I looked at the card.
Gracious Heaven!* my sister’s foreign husband. Count Fosco.
“Show him in,” I said.
“Allow me to present myself, Mr. Fairlie,” he said. “I come from
Blackwater Park, and I have the honour of being Madame Fosco’s husband.”
“You are very good,” I said. “But I am very sick and tired. I wish I
were strong enough to get up. Charmed to see you at Limmeridge. Please,
take a chair.”
“I am afraid you are suffering to-day,” said the Count.
“As usual,” I said. “I am nothing but a bundle of nerves.”*
“But, still” said the Count, “I am obliged to speak to you about some
business of a very melancholy kind.”
“Is it absolutely necessary?” I inquired.
The Count sighed and nodded his head.
“Please, break it gently,”* I said. “Anybody dead?”
“Dead! cried the Count. “Mr. Fairlie! what have I said to make you
think me the messenger of death?”
“Anybody ill?” I asked.
“That is part of my bad news, Mr. Fairlie. Yes. Somebody is ill.”
“Grieved, I am sure.* Which of them is it?”
“To my profound sorrow, Miss Halcombe.”
“Is it serious?” I asked.
“Serious—beyond a doubt,” he replied. “Dangerous—I hope not.”
84
What could I do with it all? I am not a doctor. I wanted to finish the
talk as soon as possible.
“You will kindly excuse an invalid,” I said—“but may I know exactly
what the object of your visit is?”
“The objects of my visit,” he said, “are numbered on my fingers. They
are two. First, I have come to tell you, with profound sorrow, about the very
bad relations between Sir Percival and Lady Glyde. I am Sir Percival’s oldest
friend; I am related to Lady Glyde by marriage; I am an eyewitness of all
that has happened at Blackwater Park. Sir, I inform you, that Miss Halcombe
has exaggerated nothing in the letter which she wrote to your address. A
temporary separation between husband and wife is the only solution of this
difficulty. No other house can receive Lady Glyde but yours. I invite you to
open it!
“My first object you have heard. My second object in coming to this
house is to do what Miss Halcombe’s illness has prevented her from doing—
bring Lady Glyde here. You must not think of waiting until Miss Halcombe
recovers, before you receive Lady Glyde. Miss Halcombe has the attendance
of a good doctor and of the housekeeper at Blackwater Park. I can tell you
also, that anxiety about her sister’s illness had already affected the health of
Lady Glyde, and so she can in no way help her sister. Her position with her
husband grows more and more deplorable and dangerous every day. If you
leave her any longer at Blackwater Park, you do nothing whatever to hasten
her sister’s recovery. With all my soul, I advise you to write to Lady Glyde
to come here at once. Is it accepted—Yes, or No?”
I said nothing. I just sat thinking what to do.
“You hesitate?” he continued. “Mr. Fairlie! I understand that
hesitation. You object that Lady Glyde is not in health to take the long
journey, from Hampshire to this place, by herself. Now listen to me. Lady
Glyde travels to London (a short journey)—I myself meet her at the station
—I take her to rest and sleep at my house, which is also the house of her aunt
—when she has rested, I escort her to the station again—she travels to this
place. I seriously advise you to write to her a letter, offering the hospitality
of your house (and heart), and the hospitality of my house (and heart), to the
unfortunate lady.”
An idea came to me—I determined to get rid of it all by writing the
letter at once. There was not the least chance that Laura would consent to
leave Blackwater Park while Marian was lying there ill. And I wrote at once:
“Dearest Laura, Please come, whenever you like. Break the journey by
sleeping in London* at your aunt’s house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian’s
illness. Ever affectionately yours.” I handed these lines to the Count and
said: “Excuse me; I am sick and so tired; I can do no more. Will you rest and
lunch down-stairs? Love to all, and sympathy,* and so on. Good-morning!”
85
XVII
THE STORY CONTINUED BY ELIZA MICHELSON —

HOUSEKEEPER AT BLACKWATER PARK
I am asked to state plainly what I know of the circumstances under

which Lady Glyde left Blackwater Park for London. My testimony is wanted
in the interests of truth, and I therefore agreed to give it here.
When after two weeks of serious illness Miss Halcombe began to
recover slowly, a perplexing circumstance happened, which took me
completely by surprise.
I was sent for to see Sir Percival in the library. When I went in, Sir
Percival addressed me with the following words:
“I want to speak to you, Mrs. Michelson, about a matter which I
decided on some time ago. In plain words, I want to go away from this place
— leaving you in charge, of course, as usual. As soon as Lady Glyde and
Miss Halcombe can travel, they must both have change of air. My friends,
Count Fosco and the Countess, will leave us, before that time, to live in the
neighbourhood of London. In short, I shall sell the horses and get rid of all
the servants at once.”
I listened to him, greatly astonished.
“Do you mean, Sir Percival, that I am to dismiss all the servants?” I
asked.
“Certainly, I do. We may all be out of the house very soon, and I am
not going to leave the servants here in idleness.”
“Who is to do the cooking, Sir Percival, while you are still staying
here?”
“Margaret Porcher can do it — keep her.”
“I have nothing more to say, sir. I shall follow your directions.”
Pronouncing those words, I bowed my head, and went out of the room.
I must mention here that at that time Lady Glyde was very weak and
nervous from the anxiety for her sister’s health and Madame Fosco was
constantly sitting in my ladyship’s room.
A day or two after the servants all left, Sir Percival again sent for me. I
found Sir Percival and Count Fosco sitting together. Sir Percival said that he
wanted me to help them to find lodgings at Torquay, the watering-place
where he intended to send Lady Glyde and Miss Halcombe for a change of
air before they both went to Limmeridge House.
It was arranged that I should leave the next morning. I was given
instructions as to what kind of residence I was to engage, and on what terms.
On reading over these instructions I felt sure that my business was extremely
difficult and almost hopeless.
The result of my trip to Torquay was exactly what I had foreseen. No
such lodgings as I was instructed to take could be found in the whole place. I
returned to Blackwater Park, and informed Sir Percival, who met me at the
86
door, that my journey had been taken in vain. He seemed much occupied
with some other subject, perhaps with the fact that the Count and Countess
Fosco had left Blackwater Park for their new residence in St. John’s Wood.
I went to Lady Glyde’s room. I found that her ladyship had certainly
gained in health during the last few days. I remained with Lady Glyde, to
assist her to dress. When she was ready, we both left the room together to go
to Miss Halcombe.
We were stopped in the passage by Sir Percival. He looked as if he
had been waiting there to see us.
“Where are you going?” he said to Lady Glyde.
“To Marian’s room,” she answered.
“I can tell you at once,” remarked Sir Percival, “that you will not find
her there.”
“Not find her there!”
“No. She left the house yesterday morning with Fosco and his wife.”
Lady Glyde turned fearfully pale, and leaned back against the wall,
looking at her husband.
I was so astonished myself that I hardly knew what to say. I asked Sir
Percival if he really meant* that Miss Halcombe had left Blackwater Park.
“I certainly mean it,” he answered.
“In her state, Sir Percival! Without telling Lady Glyde?”
Before he could reply, her ladyship recovered herself a little, and
spoke.
“Impossible!” she cried out in a loud, frightened manner taking a step
or two forward from the wall.
“If you don’t believe she has gone, look for yourself,” said Sir
Percival. “Open her room door, and all the other room doors, if you like.”
“What does it mean, Sir Percival? I insist—I beg and pray you will
*
tell me what it means?”
“It means,” he answered, “that Miss Halcombe was strong enough to
take advantage of Fosco’s going to London, to go there too.”
“To London!”
“Yes—on her way to Limmeridge.”
Lady Glyde turned, and appealed to me.
“You saw Miss Halcombe last,” she said. “Tell me plainly, Mrs.
Michelson, did you think she looked fit to travel?”
“Not in my opinion, your ladyship.”
“Why did Marian go to Limmeridge, and leave me here by myself?”
said her ladyship.
“Because your uncle won’t receive you till he has seen your sister
first,” he replied. “Because she said you wanted to be back at Limmeridge,
and she has gone there to get your uncle’s leave* for you.
Poor Lady Glyde’s eyes filled with tears.
“Marian never left me before,” she said, “without bidding me good-
bye.”
87
“She would have bid you good-bye this time,” returned Sir Percival,
“if she had not been afraid of herself and of you. She knew you would try to
stop her; she knew you would distress her by crying.”
He left us suddenly.
I asked Lady Glyde to go back to her room; but it was useless. She
stopped in the passage terribly upset.
“Something has happened to my sister!” she said.
“Remember, my lady, what surprising energy there is in Miss
Halcombe,” I said. “I hope and believe there is nothing wrong - I do indeed.”
“I must follow Marian,” said her ladyship. “I must go where she has
gone; I must see that she is alive and well with my own eyes. Come! come
down with me to Sir Percival.”
Sir Percival was sitting at the table with a bottle of wine before him.
He filled himself a glass of wine, and asked Lady Glyde what she wanted of
him.
“If my sister is fit to travel, I am fit to travel,” said her ladyship, with
firmness. “I come to beg you let me follow her at once by the afternoon
train.”
“You must wait till to-morrow,” replied Sir Percival, “and then, you
can go. I shall write to Fosco by to-night’s post.”
“Why should you write to Count Fosco?” she asked, in surprise.
“To tell him to expect you by the midday train,” said Sir Percival. “He
will meet you at the station, when you get to London, and take you on to
sleep at your aunt’s,* in St. John’s Wood.”
Lady Clyde’s hand began to tremble violently.
“There is no necessity for Count Fosco to meet me,” she said. “I
would rather not stay in London to sleep.”
“You must. You can’t take the whole journey to Cumberland in one
day. Here! here is a letter from your uncle, addressed to yourself. I ought to
have given it to you this morning, but I forgot. Read it, and see what Mr.
Fairlie himself says to you.”
Lady Glyde looked at the letter for a moment, and then placed it in my
hands.
“Read it,” she said, faintly. “I don’t know what is the matter with me. I
can’t read it myself.”
It was a note of only four lines:
“Dearest Laura,—Please come whenever you like. Break the journey
by sleeping at your aunt’s house. Grieved to hear of dear Marian’s illness.
Affectionately yours,
Frederick Fairlie.”
“I would rather not go there—I would rather not stay even a night in
London,” said her ladyship. “Don’t write to Count Fosco! Pray, pray, don’t
write to him.”
“Why not, I should like to know?” cried Sir Percival, with a sudden
burst of anger that startled us both. “Where can you stay more properly in
88
London than at the place your uncle himself chooses for you— at your aunt’s
house? If you do not know what is best for yourself, other people must know
for you. The arrangement is made, and there is an end of it. You must only
do what Miss Halcombe has done before you.—”
“Marian?” repeated her ladyship, “Marian sleeping in Count Fosco’s
house!”
“Yes, in Count Fosco’s house. She slept there last night to break the
journey. And you must follow her example, and do what your uncle tells
you.”
He started to his feet, and suddenly walked out of the room.
“I am resolved I will not sleep to-morrow night under Count Fosco’s
roof,” said Lady Glyde. “My dearest friend in the world, next to my sister,
lives near London. You remember Mrs. Vesey? I mean to sleep at her house.
I don’t know how I shall get there— but I want to go there.”
I felt very sorry for her.
The next day I received directions from Sir Percival to accompany
Lady Glyde to the station, and to take special care that she was in time for
the train.
We arrived at the station just in time to buy the tickets. The whistle of
the train was sounding when I joined her ladyship on the platform. She
pressed her hand over her heart, as if some sudden pain had overcome her at
that moment.
“I wish you were going with me” she said, catching eagerly at my arm
when I gave her the ticket.
Notes:
to take tea — пить чай
left by herself — оставшись одна
might have been of great importance to her mistress’s interests —могли
бы быть очень важными для ее хозяйки
on no account to miss the train — ни в коем случае не опоздать на поезд
let things stop as they are — пусть будет так, как есть
if she could answer my objections to my satisfaction – если она сумеет
убедить меня
young persons disagree with me — молодые особы плохо на меня
действуют
Not at home. — Скажи, что меня нет дома.
made a difference — было совсем другое дело
Gracious Heaven! — Боже милостивый!
I am nothing but a bundle of nerves. — Я просто комок нервов.
please break it gently — пожалуйста, сообщите об этом осторожно
Grieved, I am sure. — Безусловно, я очень огорчен этим.
break the journey by sleeping in London — на ночь остановись в
Лондоне
love to all, and sympathy — передайте всем сердечный привет и
сочувствие
89
if he really meant... — действительно ли он хотел сказать
beg and pray you will tell — я умоляю и прошу, чтобы вы сказали (will
здесь употреблено для выражения настоятельной вежливой просьбы)
to get your uncle’s leave — получить разрешение дяди
at your aunt’s — у тетки (в доме тетки)
Assignment 9
(Chapters 15-17)
I Active vocabulary
to foresee a lodging
to join pale
to accompany perplexing
to take advantage of smth.\smb. fearfully
to take smb. by surprise faintly
a solution
II Exercises
a valet, appearance, giddy, to be acquainted, astonishment, to exaggerate,
deplorable, hospitality, an arrangement

to dismiss, anxiety, plainly, to distress
sentences:
to dismiss smb. from service; to have a nap; to be a bundle of nerves; to take
smb. by surprise; to take advantage of smth.; a sudden burst of anger
own sentences:
испытывать головокружение; избавиться от чего-либо; попросту
говоря; окрепнуть; получить чье-либо разрешение; решить что-либо
Working on the text
1. Change the following sentences from direct into indirect speech:

1. “What does Lady Glyde’s maid want?” he said.
90
2. “Very well, thank you, sir,” she said
3. “I am obliged to speak to you about some business of a very
melancholy kind,” said the Count.
4. “You hesitate?” he continued.
5. “Do you mean, Sir Percival, that I am to dismiss all the servants?” I
asked.

followed them:
1. “Let things stop as they are.”
2. “You are very good. But I am very sick and tired. I wish I was strong
enough to get up. Charmed to see you at Limmeridge.”
3. “Serious – beyond a doubt. Dangerous – I hope not.”
4. “…Miss Halcombe was strong enough to take advantage of Fosco’s
going to London, to go there too.”
5. “I would rather not stay in London to sleep.”

1. The passage on page 83 from “Her Ladyship, the Countess, explained
her unexpected appearance at the inn by telling Fanny that she had
com to bring one or two little messages which Miss Halcombe, in her
hurry, had forgotten…” up to “The countess, finding it too late to
remain any longer at the inn, had gone away as soon ass the girl
showed signs of recovering.”
2. The passage on page 86 from “A day or two after the servants all left,
Sir Percival sent for me…” up to “I felt sure that my business was
extremely difficult and almost helpless.”
3. The passage on pages 87-88 from “’I must follow Marian,’ said her
ladyship…” up to “’I come to beg you let me follow her at once by the
afternoon train.’”
Talking on the text

1. Mr. Fairlie didn’t care much about Laura.
2. The Count was rather a cunning and wise man.
3. Laura was forced to leave the place and stay at Fosco’s house.
2. Memorize the dialogue between Lady Glyde and her husband retold
by a housekeeper at Blackwater Park.
3. Retell the chapters under discussion as if you were a housekeeper at

Blackwater Park.
91
XVIII
THE STORY CONTINUED IN SEVERAL NARRATIVES
1. THE NARRATIVE OF HESTER PINHORN, COOK IN

THE SERVICE OF THE COUNT FOSCO
I am sorry to say I have never learned to read or write. All I know I

will tell; and I humbly beg the gentleman who takes this down to put my
language right as he is writing.
In this last summer I happened to be out of place, * and I heard of a
situation, as cook,* at Number Five Forest Road, St. John’s Wood. I took the
place. My master’s name was Fosco. My mistress was an English lady. He
was Count and she was Countess. There was an old girl to do house-maid’s
work. I and she were the only servants in the house.
My master and mistress soon came to the house. And soon as they
came, we were told, that my mistress’s niece was expected and the backroom
on the first floor was prepared for her. My mistress mentioned to me that
Lady Glyde (that was her name) was in poor health. I don’t know how
master brought her to the house, as I was hard at work at the time. * Suddenly
we heard the parlour bell ringing like mad, and my mistress’s voice calling
out for help.
We both ran up, and there we saw the lady, on the sofa, with her face
as white as paper. I ran out to fetch the nearest doctor. The nearest doctor
was Mr. Goodricke, and he came back with me directly.
We then got her to bed. Mr. Goodricke went away to his house for
medicine, and came back again in a quarter of an hour or less. After waiting
a little while, I hear he says to my mistress, who was in the room, “This is a
very serious case,” he says: “I recommend you to write to Lady Glyde’s
friend directly.” My mistress says to him, “Is it heart-disease?” And he says,
“Yes, heart-disease of a most dangerous kind.”
My mistress took this ill news more quietly than my master. He
seemed terribly cut up* by what had happened. My master asked the doctor a
good fifty questions at least.*
Toward night-time the lady felt a little better. Her rest was troubled at
*
night. I only went in once before going to bed, and then she was talking to
herself, in a confused manner.* She seemed to want sadly* to speak to
somebody who was absent. I couldn’t catch the name the first time, and the
second time master knocked at the door. He came in with several nosegays
for the patient.
When I went in, early the next morning, the lady was very weak and
lay in a kind of faint sleep. Mr. Goodricke brought his partner, Mr. Garth,
with him for consultation. They said that we should leave her to rest, and
Mistress said that the servants should not come in. They asked my mistress
many questions, at the other end of the room, about what the lady’s health
had been in past times.
92
Later the same morning, when she woke, the lady felt a great deal
better. Master was in wonderful good spirits about the change, and looked in
at the kitchen window from the garden.
“Good Mrs. Cook,” says he, “Lady Glyde is better. My mind is easy
now, and I am going out to stretch my big legs. ”*
The doctor came in the forenoon. He was however not in such good
spirits about her as master. He said nothing when he came down-stairs,
except that he would call again at five o’clock. About that time (which was
before master came home again) the bell rang from the bedroom, and my
mistress ran out into the landing, and called to me to go for Mr. Goodricke,
and tell him the lady had fainted.
Very soon the doctor came again. I went upstairs along with him. The
doctor went up to the bed, and stopped down over the sick lady. He looked
very serious at the sight of her, and put his hand on her heart.
My mistress stared hard* in Mr. Goodricke’s face. “Not dead!” she
said, trembling from head to foot.
“Yes,” said the doctor, very quiet and grave. “Dead. I was afraid it
would happen suddenly, when I examined her heart yesterday.” My mistress
stepped back from the bedside. “Dead!” she whispered to herself; “dead so
suddenly! Dead sо soon! What will the Count say?”
“Your master is a foreigner,” said Mr. Goodricke to me, “does he
understand about registering the death?” “I can’t exactly tell, sir,” said I, “but
I should think not.” The doctor thought a minute and then he said: “I don’t
usually do such things, but it may save the family trouble * in this case if I
register the death myself.”
How master bore the news, when he first heard it, is difficult to say.
He seemed not so much sorry as frightened by what had happened. My
mistress did all about the funeral. The dead Lady’s husband was away, as we
heard. But my mistress (being her aunt) settled it with her friends in the
country (Cumberland, I think) that she should be buried there, in the same
grave with her mother.
(Signed)
Hester Pinhorn
.
2. THE NARRATIVE OF THE DOCTOR
I hereby certify that I attended Lady Glyde, aged twenty-one; that I

last saw her on Thursday, the 25th of July, 1850; that she died on the same
day at No. 5 Forest Road, St. John’s Wood; and that the cause of her death
was, Aneurism. Duration of disease, not known.
(Signed) Alfred Goodricke.
3. THE NARRATIVE OF THE TOMBSTONE
Sacred to the Memory* of Laura, Lady Glyde, wife of Percival Glyde,

of Blackwater Park, Hampshire, and daughter of the late Philip Fairlie., Esq.,
93
of Limmeridge House, in this parish. Born, March 27th, 1829; married,
December 22nd, 1849; died, July 25th, 1850.
4. THE NARRATIVE OF WALTER HARTRIGHT
Early in the summer of 1850 I and my companions left the forests of

Central America for home. After we arrived at the coast, we took ship there
for England.
Laura Fairlie was in all my thoughts while the ship was carrying me
home.
On arriving in London I hurried to my mother and my sister.
When the joy of the first meeting was over, I saw something in my
mother’s face which told me that her heart was heavy with some trouble.
There was not only love, there was sorrow in the kind eyes that looked on
me so tenderly. She knew everything, she knew why I had left England. It
was on my lips to ask if any letter had come for me from Miss Halcombe—if
there was any news of her sister. But when I looked in my mother’s face I
could not put the question. I could only say:
“You have something to tell me.”
My sister, who had been sitting opposite to us, rose suddenly and left
the room.
My mother moved closer to me on the sofa, and put her arms round
my neck.
“Walter!” she whispered—“my own darling! My heart is heavy for
you. Oh, my son! My son! Try to remember that I am still left!*”
*
My head sunk on her bosom. She had said all, in saying these words.
I did not sleep the whole of that night. What to do now? I decided that
I should first of all go again to the place where we met—to Limmeridge.
On the next morning I opened my heart to both of them — my mother
and my sister.
“Let me go away alone for a little while,” I said. “I shall bear it better
when I have looked once more at the place where I first saw her.”
I departed on my journey—my journey to the grave of Laura Fairlie.
It was a quiet autumn afternoon when I stopped at the station, and set
forth alone, on foot, by the well-remembered road.
I reached the moor; I stood again on the hill; I looked on, along the
path—and there were the familiar garden trees in the distance, the high white
walls of Limmeridge House. Then I went to the graveyard, and approached
the grave.
I stopped before the pedestal from which the cross rose. On one side of
it the newly-cut inscription met my eyes – “Sacred to the Memory of Laura
—”
A second time I read the inscription. I saw at the end the date of her
death. Then I laid my head on the broad white stone, and closed my weary
eyes. Oh, my love! My love! My heart may speak to you now! It is only
94
yesterday since we parted—yesterday, since your dear hand lay in mine—
yesterday, since my eyes looked their last on you.* My love! My love!
Silence had fallen. Then a sound came—the sound of footsteps.
I looked up.
The sunset was near at hand.*
At some distance, in the burial-ground, standing together in the low
light, I saw two veiled women. They were looking toward the tomb—
looking toward me.
They came a little on, and stopped again. Their veils were down, and
hid their faces from me. When they stopped, one of them raised her veil. In
the evening light I saw the face of Marian Halcombe.
Changed, changed* as if years had passed over it!
I took one step toward her from the grave, and stopped.
Now the woman with the still veiled face moved away from her
companion, and came towards me slowly. She stopped on one side of the
grave. We stood face to face, with the tombstone between us. She was close
to the inscription on the side of the pedestal. Her gown touched the black
letters.
And then she lifted her veil.
Laura, Lady Glyde, was standing by the inscription, and was looking
at me over the grave. “Sacred to the Memory of Laura, Laura Glyde –”
THE THIRD EPOCH
XIX
THE STORY CONTINUED BY WALTER HARTRIGHT

I open a new page. I left my narrative in the quiet of Limmeridge
church-yard: I resume it, one week later, in the stir of a London street.
I have taken two floors in an assumed name. On the lower floor,
under the same assumed name, two women live, who are described as my
sisters. I get my bread by drawing. Marian Halcombe is my eldest sister, and
Laura my youngest sister.
In the eye of reason and of law, Laura, Lady Glyde, lies buried with
her mother in Limmeridge church-yard. Dead to her uncle, dead to the
servants of the house, dead to the persons in authority* who had transmitted
her fortune to her husband and her aunt; dead to my mother and sister.
And yet alive! Alive in poverty and in hiding. * Alive, with the poor
drawing-master to fight her battle.*
Sadly changed; her beauty faded, her mind clouded; she was mine at
last! Mine to love and honour as father and brother both. Mine to save at all
risks and all sacrifices – through the hopeless struggle against Rank and
Success*, through the loss of my friends, through the hazard of my life.*
95
I have spoken about my present situation. The story of Marian and the
story of Laura must come next.
The story of Marian begins where the narrative of the housekeeper at
Blackwater Park left off. The scandalous fact is that she, Marian, had been
actually shut up in the uninhabited rooms of the house. She was removed
there from her room while she was in a deep sleep, whether naturally or
artificially produced she could not say. When she came to herself she was
informed by Mrs. Michelson that her sister Laura was dead. A letter had
arrived from Mme. Fosco announcing Lady Glyde’s sudden death in Count
Fosco’s house. The letter did not mention any dates, and left it to Mrs.
Michelson’s discretion* to break the news at once to Miss Halcombe, or to
do it later when that lady got stronger in health.
Having consulted the doctor, Mrs. Michelson communicated the news
to her, either on the day when the letter was received or on the day after. It is
not necessary to speak about the effect which Lady Clyde’s sudden death
produced on her sister. It is sufficient to say that she was not able to travel
for more than three weeks afterward. At the end of that time she went to
London.
She felt there was something strange about her sister’s death and
wanted to clear it all up.
Miss Halcombe went at once to the office of Messrs. Gilmore and
Kyrle, to consult with the latter gentleman, in Mr. Gilmore’s absence. She
mentioned to Mr. Kyrle that the circumstances under which Lady Glyde had
died were rather strange and suspicious. Mr. Kyrle at once undertook to
make inquiries about it. Count Fosco offered every facility * to Mr. Kyrle in
collecting the particulars of Lady Glyde’s decease. He was placed in
communication with the doctor*, Mr. Goodricke, and other people related to
the event. Mr. Kyrle could find nothing suspicious about Lady Glyde’s death
and wrote so to Miss Halcombe. Thus the investigation by Mr. Gilmore’s
partner began and ended.
Meanwhile Miss Halcombe had returned to Limmeridge House, and
had there collected all the additional information which she was able to
obtain.
Mr. Fairlie had received news of his niece’s death from his sister,
Mme. Fosco, this letter also not containing any exact reference to dates. * He
had sanctioned his sister’s proposal that the deceased lady should be laid in
her mother’s grave, in Limmeridge church-yard. Fosco had accompanied the
remains to Cumberland, and had attended the funeral at Limmeridge, which
took place on the 30th of July. It was followed, as a mark of respect, by all
the inhabitants of the village and the neighbourhood.
On the day of the funeral, and for one day after it, Count Fosco had
been received as a guest at Limmeridge House; but Mr. Fairlie had not seen
him. They had communicated by writing. Count Fosco acquainted Mr.
Fairlie with the details of his niece’s last illness and death. There was in the
letter one very remarkable paragraph in the postscript. It referred to Anne
96
Catherick. The facts concerning Lady Clyde’s acquaintance with that woman
were given in brief* there, and the Count informed Mr. Fairlie that Anne
Catherick had been found in the neighbourhood of Blackwater Park, and had
been, for the second time, placed in the Asylum.
This was the first part of the postscript. The second part warned Mr.
Fairlie that Anne Gatherick’s mental malady had been aggravated by a new
mania. The unfortunate woman’s last idea in connection with Sir Percival
was the idea of assuming the character of * his deceased wife. This had
evidently occurred to her after an interview with Lady Glyde, at which she
had observed the extraordinary accidental likeness between the deceased
lady and herself. It was improbable that she would succeed a second time in
escaping* from the Asylum; but it was possible she might find some means
of annoying the late Lady Glyde’s relatives with letters.
Miss Halcombe then determined to visit the Asylum. She had felt a
strong curiosity about the woman* in former days; and she was now
interested in why Anne Catherick wanted to deceive everybody by taking up
her sister’s name. She wanted to know — first, whether the report of Anne
Catherick’s impersonation of Lady Glyde was true; and, secondly, in
discovering for herself all the details of the case.
On reaching the Asylum she went immediately to the proprietor.
In the course of the conversation he informed Miss Halcombe, that
Anne Catherick had been brought back to him by Count Fosco, on the
twenty-seventh of July. The Сount also produced a letter of explanations and
instructions signed by Sir Percival Glyde. The proprietor of the Asylum
acknowledged that he had observed some curious personal changes in her.
He was perplexed, at times, by certain differences between his patient before
she had escaped and his patient since she had been brought back. Those were
little differences but he had noticed them.
After that Miss Halcombe asked the proprietor if she соuld see Anne.
To this he gave his full permission.
Anne Catherick, he said, was then taking exercise * in the park. She
would find her there. One of the nurses conducted Miss Halcombe to the
place where Anne was walking at the moment. Two women were slowly
approaching. The nurse pointed to them and said: “There is Anne Catherick,
ma’am, with the attendant who waits on her.”
Miss Halcombe advanced on her side, and the woman advanced on
theirs. When they were within a dozen рaces of each other, one of the
women stopped for an instant, and the next moment rushed into Miss
Halcombe’s arms. It was Laura! Miss Halcombe at once recognized her
sister—recognized the dead—alive.
She then obtained permission from the proprietor to speak alone with
the patient, on condition that they both remained well within the nurse’s
view.* There was no time for questions—there was only time for Miss
Halcombe to tell the unhappy lady that she would not leave her, but soon
help her to escape. Miss Halcombe next returned to the nurse, placed all the
gold she then had in her pocket in the nurse’s hands, and asked when and
97
where she could speak to her alone. Miss Halcombe at once determined to
effect Lady Glyde’s escape by means of the nurse.
The nurse said they should meet in the evening outside the Asylum
walls.
In the evening the nurse was there. Miss Halcombe came to the subject
cautiously, by many preliminary questions. She first asked the nurse about
her life and her plans. The nurse answered that she was engaged to be
married,* and she and her future husband were waiting till they could save
together between two and three hundred pounds.
Here Miss Halcombe saw her chance. She declared that the supposed
Anne Catherick was her relation; that she had been placed in the Asylum
under a fatal mistake; and that the nurse would be doing a good action in
helping her to go back to her relatives. Then Miss Halcombe took four bank-
notes of a hundred pounds each from her pocket and offered them to the
woman, as a compensation for the risk.
The nurse hesitated.
“You will be doing a good action,” Miss Halcombe repeated, “you
will be helping the most injured and unhappy woman alive.”*
“Will you give me a letter saying those words, which I can show to my
sweetheart when he asks how I got the money?” inquired the woman.
“I will bring the letter with me, ready written and signed,” answered
Miss Halcombe.
“Then I’ll risk it,” said the nurse.
“When?”
“To-morrow at ten.”
Miss Halcombe was at her place with the promised letter and the
promised bank-notes, before ten the next morning. She waited more than an
hour and a half. At the end of that time the nurse came quickly round the
corner of the wall, holding Lady Glyde by the arm. The moment they met,
Miss Halcombe put the bank-notes and the letter into her hand and the sisters
were united again. Miss Halcombe lost no time in taking her sister back with
her to London. They caught the afternoon train to Carlisle the same
afternoon. From here she decided she would take her sister straight to
Limmeridge and put her under her uncle’s care.
During the journey from the Asylum they were alone in the carriage,
and Laura told Miss Halcombe her remembrances of the past. Yet Marian
felt that her mind was troubled and her memory confused.
Lady Clyde’s recollection of the events which followed her departure
from Blackwater Park began with her arrival at the London terminus of the
South-western Railway.
On the arrival of the train at the platform, Lady Glyde found Count
Fosco waiting for her, so she could not escape.
Her first question, on leaving the terminus, * referred to Miss
Halcombe. The Count informed her that Miss Halcombe had not yet gone to
Cumberland. Lady Glyde next inquired whether her sister was staying in the
Count’s house. He answered that he was taking her to see Miss Halcombe.
98
The carriage stopped in a small street, behind a square. It seems quite clear
that Count Fosco did not take her to his own residence. They entered the
house, and went upstairs to a back room, either on the first or second floor.
In answer to Lady Glyde’s new inquiries, the Count assured her that Miss
Halcombe was in the house. He then went away and left her by herself in the
room. It was poorly furnished as a sitting-room, and it looked out on the
backs of houses.* Soon the Count returned, to explain that* Miss Halcombe
was taking a rest, and could not be disturbed. She asked anxiously how soon
the meeting between her sister and herself was to take place. At first he gave
an evasive answer, but then said that Miss Halcombe was not well and that
Laura could not see her. His tone and manner so alarmed Lady Glyde that a
sudden faintness overcame her, and she was obliged to ask for a glass of
water. The Count called from the door for water and for a bottle of smelling
salts. Both were brought in by a foreign-looking man with a dark beard. The
water, when Lady Glyde attempted to drink it, had so strange a taste that it
increased her faintness, and she hastily took the bottle of salts from Count
Fosco and smelled at it. Her head became giddy at once.
At this point in her sad story there was a total blank. * She had no idea
whether one day or more than one day had passed – until she came to herself
suddenly in a strange place, surrounded by women who were all unknown to
her.
This was the Asylum. Here they called her by Anne Catherick’s name,
although she told all the people in the Asylum who she really was. She also
saw that she had Anne Catherick’s clothes on. The nurse, on the first night in
the Asylum, had shown her the marks on each article of her underclothing.
—“Look,” she had said, “at your own name on your own clothes, and don’t
worry us all any more about being Lady Glyde. She’s dead and buried; and
you’re alive. You are Anne Catherick.”
That was about all Laura could tell Marian.
Arriving at Limmeridge late on the evening of the fifteenth, Miss
Halcombe resolved not to speak to Mr. Fairlie until the next day. The first
thing in the morning, she went to his room, and told him what had happened.
She hoped she would immediately get his support. But he angrily declared
that Hiss Halcombe had allowed herself to be duped * by Anne Catherick. He
referred her to Count Fosco’s letter, and said that since there was so much
personal resemblance between Anne and his deceased niece, he was sure
Anne had deceived her, and he positively declined to admit a madwoman
into his house.
Miss Halcombe left the room and waited till the first heat of her
indignation had passed away. Then she decided that Mr. Fairlie should see
his niece before he closed his doors on her, and without a word of warning
she came with Lady Glyde into his room.
The scene that followed, though it only lasted for a few minutes, was
too painful to be described. Mr. Fairlie declared, in the most positive terms *
that he did not recognize the woman who had been brought into his room,
99
and that he would call in the police to protect him if she was not removed
from the house at once.
Under the circumstances an immediate return to London was the first
and wisest measure of security, and on the same day the two turned their
backs forever on Limmeridge House.*
They had passed the hill above the church-yard, when Lady Glyde
insisted on turning back to look at her mother’s grave.
They retraced their steps* to the burial-ground, and by that act sealed
the future of our three lives.
Notes:
I happened to be out of place — вышло так, что я оказалась без места
situation, as cook — место кухарки
I was hard at work at the time — у меня в это время было много работы
he seemed terribly cut up — казалось, он был чрезвычайно расстроен
a good fifty questions at least — наверное, добрых пятьдесят вопросов
Her rest was troubled at night. —Сон у нее был прерывистый.
in a confused manner — бессвязно
she seemed to want sadly — казалось, она очень хотела
I am going out to stretch my big legs — я хочу пройтись, чтобы размять
(свои большие) ноги
to stare hard — пристально смотреть, уставиться
it may save the family trouble — это может избавить семью от лишних
забот и неприятностей
Sacred to the Memory — под сим камнем покоится тело (посвящается
памяти)
My heart is heavy for you. — Как у меня за тебя болит сердце.
Try to remember that I am still left! — Помни, что я у тебя все еще
осталась!
since my eyes looked their last on you — с тех пор, как мои глаза в
последний раз смотрели на тебя
The sunset was near at hand. — Приближался час заката.
changed, changed — да, она изменилась
dead to the persons in authority — мертвая с точки зрения властей
in poverty and in hiding — в бедности и вынужденная скрываться
with the poor drawing-master to fight her battle — имея лишь учителя
рисования, который может бороться за нее
through the hopeless struggle against Rank and Success — в
безнадежной борьбе с преуспевающими в жизни титулованными
особами
through the hazard of my life – невзирая на риск для самой моей жизни
left it to Mrs. Michelson’s discretion – предоставляло на усмотрение
миссис Майкелсон
offered every facility — не препятствовал ни в чем
he was placed in communication with the doctor — он получил
возможность связаться с доктором
100
this letter also not containing any exact reference to dates — причем это
письмо также не содержало точного указания дат (независимый
причастный оборот)
in brief — вкратце
to assume the character of — воображать себя кем-л.
that she would succeed… in escaping —что ей удастся убежать
about the woman — в отношении этой женщины.
to take exercise — прогуливаться
well within the nurse’s view — на виду у няни
she was engaged to be married — она собирается выходить замуж
the most injured and unhappy woman alive — самой обиженной и
несчастной женщине на свете
on leaving the terminus — по выходе с вокзала
it looked out on the backs of houses — окна комнаты выходили на
заднюю сторону домов
soon the Count returned, to explain that… —скоро граф вернулся и
объяснил, что… (Инфинитив после глагола не всегда выражает
обстоятельство цели; иногда, как в данном случае, он выражает
действие, происходящее после того действия, которое выражено
сказуемым)
there was a total blank – был полный пробел
had allowed herself to be duped — позволила себя обмануть
in the most positive terms — самым решительным образом
turned their backs forever on Limmeridge House – навсегда покинули
Лиммеридж
to retrace one’s steps — вернуться
Assignment 10
(Chapters 18, 19)
I Active vocabulary
to obtain an assumed name
to wait on smb. a poverty
to catch a train a sacrifice
to make inquiries about a mental malady
smth.\smb. funeral
a heart disease a terminus
a nosegay injured
a moor sufficient
a tomb in an assumed name
an inscription
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II Exercises
a language, a niece, a consultation, quiet, a grave, a journey, a sacrifice,
funeral, curiosity, terminus
combinations:
a mistress, to be in poor health, to stare hard, a sound, to fade, a disease
sentences:
to be hard at work; to save the trouble; to do smth. in an assumed name; to
do smth. on condition; under a fatal mistake; to be duped; to retrace one’s
steps
sentences:
пристально смотреть; оставлять на чье-либо усмотрение; позволить
что-либо; осуществить с чьей-либо помощью; почувствовать сильное
головокружение; самым решительным образом.
Working on the text

1. Make up your own sentences using the underlined part of the sentence
as the model:
Soon the Count returned to explain that* Miss Halcombe was taking a rest,
and could not be disturbed.
2. Insert the prepositions where necessary and change the following

sentences into Indirect Speech:
1. “Good, Mrs. Cook,” says he, “Lady Glyde is better. My mind is easy
now, and I am going … to stretch … my big legs.”
2. “Your master is a foreigner,” said Mr. Goodricke to me, “Does he
understand … registering the death?”
3. “Walter!” she whispered – “My own darling! My heart is heavy …
you.”
3. State whose utterances, thoughts, or inscriptions these were. What

preceded and followed them:
102
1. Suddenly we heard the parlour bell ringing like mad and my mistress’s
voice calling out for help.
2. Dead. I was afraid it would happen suddenly, when I examined her
heart yesterday.
3. Sacred to the memory of Laura, Lady Glyde, wife of Sir Percival
Glyde… 1850.
4. I didn’t sleep the whole of that night. What to do now?
5. You will be doing a good action. You will be helping the most injured
and unhappy woman alive.

1. The passage on page 95 from “The sunset was near at hand…” up to
“‘Sacred to the Memory of Laura, Lady Glyde –’”
2. The passage on page 97 from “Miss Halcombe then determined to
visit the Asylum...” up to “Those were little differences but he had
noticed them.”
Talking on the text

1. “Lady Glyde” suddenly felt terribly sick.
2. Laura’s death was rather quick and unexpected.
3. Walter Hartright was beside himself with grief because of Laura’s
death.
4. Marian helped Laura to escape from the Asylum.
5. Nobody believed in Laura’s story.

1. What did Hester Pinhorn say about a strange guest in the house where
she worked as a cook? How did the Foscos introduce that person?
Who was she in reality?
2. How did the people in the house take the news about Lady Glyde’s
disease? How does it characterize the situation?
3. Speak on “Laura’s” death.
4. How did Walter accept the news about Laura? Who told him that
Laura had died? What did he decide to do? What can you say about
his feelings at that time? Who did he meet at the grave?
5. Retell the story of Laura’s and the story of Marian’s in details. Speak
on the relationship between the sisters. How does Marian’s help to
Laura characterize her as a sister? Would you do the same in such a
situation?
6. Give the summary of the chapters under discussion in 10 sentences.
7. Retell the chapters under discussion as if you were:
103
1. a cook in the service of the Count Fosco
2. a doctor
3. Walter Hartright
104
XX
While all details were still a mystery to me, the vile manner in which
the personal resemblance between the woman in white and Lady Glyde had
been used by the Count and Sir Percival was clear beyond a doubt. It was
quite evident that Anne Catherick had been somehow introduced into Count
Fosco’s house as Lady Glyde; it was evident that Lady Glyde had taken the
dead woman’s place in the Asylum.
The second conclusion came as the necessary consequence of the first.
We three had no mercy to expect * from Count Fosco and Sir Percival Glyde.
They were capable of anything. The success of the conspiracy had brought
with it to those two men thirty thousand pounds—twenty thousand to one,
ten thousand to the other, through his wife. They would leave no stone
unturned* to discover the place in which their victim was concealed, and to
part her from the only friends she had in the world—Marian Halcombe and
myself. For the time it was necessary to hide.
The sense of this serious peril – a peril which every day and every
hour might bring nearer and nearer to us—was the one motive that guided
me in finding a place for our retreat. I chose it in the far East of London,
where there were fewest idle people walking about the streets. We would
live by the daily work of my hands. I arranged that neither Marian nor Laura
should go outside the floor when I was not with them; and that in my
absence from home they should let no one into there rooms.
The housework was taken on the first day by Marian Halcombe.
As early as the end of October* the daily course of our lives was well
established, and we three were completely isolated in our place of
concealment. I could think now calmly about my future plan of action.
My plan consisted in the following. It was by all means necessary to
restore Laura to actual life, to her true name, to the recognition of all, to the
possession of her fortune. To appeal to the recognition of those who had
known her before was useless; so changed was she* after all her sufferings.
The only means for the realization of my plan was to discover the true date
of Laura’s journey to London. If I could prove that Laura had left
Blackwater after she had been pronounced dead, * this would beyond a doubt
show that she was not dead, but alive; and the dead woman buried in
Limmeridge was Anne Catherick. “If only we could make that discovery!” I
said to Marian.
“You mean,” said Marian, “the discovery that Laura did not leave
Blackwater Park till after the date of her death on the doctor’s certificate?
“Certainly.”
“What makes you think it might have been after? * Laura can tell us
nothing of the time she was in London.”
“But the owner of the Asylum told you that she was received there on
the twenty-seventh of July. I doubt Count Fosco’s ability to keep her in
London more than one night. In that case she must have started on the
twenty-sixth, and must have come to London one day after the date of her
105
own death on the doctor’s certificate. If we can prove that date, we can prove
our case!”
“Yes, yes—I see! But how is the proof to be obtained?”
“There are two men who can help me, and shall help me, in London—
Sir Percival and the Count. Innocent people may forget the date; but they are
guilty, and they know it. I mean to force a confession out of one or both of
them.”
I made a little pause and then said: “Marian! There is a weak place we
both know of in Sir Percival’s life—”
“You mean the Secret!”
“Yes; the Secret. It is our only sure hold on him. * I can force him from
his position of security,* by no other means. You heard him say that he was a
lost man if the Secret of Anne Catherick was known?”
“Yes, yes! I did.”
“Well, Marian, I mean to know the Secret. I will go to Mrs. Clements.
This will be my first step towards finding the Secret!”
I inquired about the address of Mrs. Clements from Mrs. Todd in

Todd’s Corner. The address communicated by Mrs. Todd took me to a house
situated near the Gray’s Inn Road.
When I knocked, the door was opened by Mrs. Сlements herself. She
remembered me and asked me into the parlour in the greatest anxiety to
know if I had brought her any news of Anne. Not to frighten the poor woman
with the news of Anne’s death I only explained that the object of my visit
was to discover the persons responsible for Anne’s disappearance, and asked
her to tell me all that had happened after she had left Limmeridge.
The information which I obtained was as follows:
On leaving the farm at Todd’s Corner, Mrs. Clements and Anne had
gone to London and had lived there for a month or more. Anne’s terror of
being discovered* in London or its neighbourhood, had gradually
communicated itself to Mrs. Cements, and she had determined to go to one
of the most out-of-the-way places in England – to the town of Grymsby in
Lincolnshire, where her deceased husband had passed all his early life. His
relatives were respectable people, they had always treated Mrs. Clements
with great kindness, and she thought it impossible to do better than go there.
At Grymsby the first serious symptoms of illness had shown themselves in
Anne. They appeared soon after the news of Lady Clyde’s marriage had been
made public in the newspapers.
The doctor who was sent for to attend the sick woman discovered at
once that she was suffering from a serious affection of the heart. They
remained at Grymsby during the first half of the new year, and might
probably have stayed there much longer, but for * the sudden resolution of
Anne, who decided to go back to Hampshire for the purpose of seeing Lady
Glyde. Anne believed that the day оf her death was not far off* and that she
had something which must be communicated to Lady Glyde, at any risk, in
106
secret. Mrs. Clements complied with Anne’s wish, and they set out for their
journey.
On the way from London to Hampshire, Mrs. Clements discovered
that one of their fellow-passengers was well acquainted with the
neighbourhood of Blackwater, and could give her all the information about
the locality. In this way she found out that the only place they could go to
which was not dangerously near to Sir Percival’s residence was a large
village called Sandon. The distance from here to Blackwater Park was
between three and four miles, and that distance, to the park at Blackwater
and back again, Anne had walked several times alone. Mrs. Clements
followed her and watched her from afar secretly. When Anne returned for
the last time from the dangerous neighbourhood, she felt exhausted and ill.
And the next day, this good woman, Mrs. Clements, went to the lake herself,
with the intention of finding Lady Glyde and asking her to come privately to
their cottage at Sandon. On reaching the park Mrs. Clements met, not Lady
Glyde, but a stout, elderly gentleman with a book in his hand—in other
words Count Fosco.
The Count, after looking at her very attentively for a moment, asked if
she expected to see any one in that place; and added, before she could reply,
that he was himself waiting there with a message from Lady Glyde.
Mrs. Clements said that he could trust his message to her. The Count
explained that the message was a very important one. He said that Lady
Glyde entreated Anne and her good friend to return immediately to London,
as she felt certain that Sir Percival would discover them if they remained any
longer in the neighbourhood of Blackwater.
To this Mrs. Clements replied that she wanted nothing better than to
take Anne safely to London, but that she lay ill in her bed at that moment and
could not travel. The Count inquired if Mrs. Clements had sent for the
doctor, and hearing that she had not done so, informed her that he was
himself a medical man and that he would go back with her if she pleased and
see what could be done for Anne.
Anne was asleep when they got to the house. The Count started at the
sight of her (evidently from astonishment at her resemblance to Lady Glyde).
Poor Mr. Clements supposed that he was only shocked to see how ill she
was. The Count himself went to the druggist’s shop and got some medicine,
which had an extraordinary effect on Anne. Soon she was well enough to
travel. At the appointed day and time they arrived at the station. The Count
was waiting there for them, and was talking to an elderly lady, who was
going to travel by the train to London too. In London Mrs. Clements found
respectable lodgings in a quiet neighbourhood.
A fortnight passed. At the end of that time the same elderly lady whom
they had seen at the station called in a cab, and said that she came from Lady
Glyde, who was then at a hotel in London, and who wished to see Mrs.
Clements for the purpose of arranging a future interview with Anne. She and
the elderly lady (clearly, Mme. Fosco) then left in the cab. The lady stopped
the cab, after it had driven some distance, at a shop, and begged Mrs.
107
Clements to wait for her for a few minutes while she made some purchases.
She never appeared again.
After waiting some time, Mrs. Clements became alarmed, and ordered
the cabman to drive back to her lodgings. When she got there, after an
absence of more than half an hour, Anne was gone. The servant told her that
a boy had come with a letter for “the young woman who lived on the second
floor”, and the young woman had gone away with him.
As soon as Mrs. Clements could collect her thoughts, the first idea that
naturally came to her was to go and make inquiries at the Asylum, to which
she dreaded that Anne had been taken back. She went there the next day. The
answer she received was that no such person had been brought back there.
From that time to this Mrs. Clements had heard nothing of Anne.
“Do you know, Mrs. Clements,” I asked, “why Sir Percival Glyde shut
her up?”
“I only know what Anne herself told me, sir. She said her mother had
got some Secret of Sir Percival’s to keep, and had let it out to Anne.—And
when Sir Percival found she knew it, he shut her up. But do you yourself
know anything about Anne?” she asked in her turn.
“I am afraid she is dead,” I said, “I cannot tell you now why I think it
is so; perhaps I will tell you later.”
The poor woman dropped into her chair, and hid her face from me.
“Have you known Anne long?” I asked gently.
“I have known her from her early childhood. In fact, it was I who
brought her up. Her mother never cared for her. She was a woman who did
not care for anybody, nor for her husband either. And he was a very kind
man, Mr. Catherick. He served as sexton in the church at Welmingham, and
was a good friend of my late husband. Mr. Catherick came to our house one
night very much depressed, and told my husband that he had found his wife
and Sir Percival whispering together in the church vestry. And later Sir
Percival made her many valuable presents. My husband thought it was a
great shame. Poor Mr. Catherick soon went away from that shame to live in
another town, and died there.”
I felt at once that the meeting of Sir Percival with Mrs. Catherick in
the vestry was somehow connected with his Secret. But who could tell me
more about it? Only Mrs. Catherick herself. And to her I decided then to go.
I asked Mrs. Clements to give me Mrs. Catherick’s address, and she
readily gave it to me, saying, however, that Mrs. Catherick would probably
not receive me kindly. Then I took leave of Mrs. Clements and went to
Welmingham—the village where Mrs. Catherick lived.
I soon found the house and knocked at the door. It was opened by a
middle-aged woman-sevant. I gave her my card, and asked if I could see
Mrs. Catherick on business related to Mrs. Catherick’s daughter. The servant
retired to the parlour, and then returned begging me to walk in. I entered a
little room with a flaring paper on the walls. At the side of the table near the
window, with a little knitting-basket before her, there sat an elderly woman,
wearing a black cap and a black silk gown. This was Mrs. Catherick.
108
“You have come to speak to me about my daughter,” she said, before I
could utter a word. “Be so good as to mention what you have to say.”
“You are aware,” I said, “that your daughter has been lost?”
“I am perfectly aware of it.”
“Have you felt that this might be followed by her death?”
“Yes. Have you come here to tell me she is dead?”
“I have.”
Not a muscle moved in her face.
“Have you come only for that? Have you no other motive in coming
here?”
“I have another motive in coming here,” I said.
“Ah! I thought so,” remarked Mrs. Catherick.
“Your daughter’s death is connected with a terrible wrong on a person *
who is very dear to me. Two men have done that wrong. One of them is Sir
Percival Glyde.”
“Indeed!”
“There are certain events,” I sad, “in Sir Percival’s past life which it is
necessary for me to know. You know them, and for that reason I came to
you.”
“No,” she said slowly. “I will not say anything. I am not interested in
your affairs.”*
“Can’t you help me?” I said.
“No,” she answered dryly. “I am no help to you. Go—and never come
back.”
I walked to the door, waited a moment before I opened it, and turned
round to look at her again.
“I may have news to bring you of Sir Percival,” I said; “and, in that
case, I shall come back.”
“There is no news of Sir Percival that I don’t expect; except—”
She stopped; her pale face darkened.
“Except the news of his death,” she said.
I left the house, and, since Mrs. Catherick refused to help me, and I
had now to discover Sir Percival’s secret myself, I resolved to go to the
church vestry and to look through the church books. That meeting of Sir
Percival and Mrs. Catherick in the vestry, I felt, was not a love affair and
was most probably connected with the church books.
So in that direction I turned my steps. Suddenly I saw a man in black
watching me on the doorstep of a house which stood next to Mrs.
Catherick’s cottage. The man advanced rapidly toward the turning at which I
had stopped, and, without looking up in my face, went by. I walked after
him. He never looked back, and he led me straight to the railway station.
Here I heard him ask for a ticket to Blackwater Station.
There was only one interpretation of what I had just seen. I had
observed the man leaving a house which closely adjoined Mrs. Catherick’s
cottage. He had been probably placed there, by Sir Percival’s directions, as a
lodger, in anticipation of my inquiries which would lead me, sooner or later
109
to communicate with Mrs. Catherick. He had doubtless seen me go in and
come out, and he had hurried away by the first train to make his report to Sir
Percival.
Whatever results would come,* I resolved to pursue my own course.* It
was growing dark when I left the station, so I postponed my inquiries till the
next day, and made my way to the nearest hotel.
XXI
The morning was cloudy, but no rain fell, when I set forth on foot for
the Welmingham church. It was a walk of more than three miles.
When I looked back, I saw two men following me. I was sure they
were spies set on me by Sir Percival. I could not guess exactly what their
design might be, but I felt they would try to prevent me somehow from
attaining my purpose. My apprehensions came true. The men quickened their
pace, passed rapidly on my left side, and one of them hustled me with his
shoulder. I was greatly irritated by his impudence and pushed the fellow
away with my open hand. He instantly shouted for help. His companion
sprang to my right side, and the next moment the two scoundrels held me by
the hands. They brought me before the magistrate and accused me of the
assault. The whole object of the stratagem was now disclosed to me. Sir
Percival was gaining time by this base action.
It was getting dark when I was a free man again, and set out for my
journey once more.
I started from the town at a brisk pace, and kept to the middle of the
road. A light, misty rain was falling. At the last half of my journey, when I
supposed myself to be about two miles from the church, I saw a man run by
me in the rain. Before I had advanced a hundred yards, there was a rustling
in the hedge on my right, and three men sprang out into the road.
I drew aside at once to the foot-path. Two of the men ran past me,
before they could check themselves. The third was as quick as lightning. He
stopped—half turned—and struck me with his stick. The blow was not a
severe one. It fell on my left shoulder. I returned it heavily on his head. He
fell down, and I took to the middle of the road again at the top of my speed.
His two companions pursued me. They were both good runners; the
road was smooth and level; but I gained on them. * I made for* the first break
in the hedge that I could see. Before me was a closed gate. I jumped over,
and finding myself in a field, ran across it. I heard the men pass the gate, still
running—then, in a minute more, heard one of them call to the other to come
back. But now they could not either hear or see me. I ran straight across the
field in the direction of the church.
The dark mass of the church-tower was the first object I saw dimly
against* the night sky as I mounted the hill. When I turned aside to get round
to the vestry, I heard heavy footsteps close to me.
“I don’t mean any harm,”* said the man, when I turned round on him.
“I’m only looking for my master.” The tones in which he spoke showed
unmistakable fear.* I took no notice of him, and went on.
110
The instant I turned the corner and came in view of * the vestry, I saw
the sky-light on the roof brilliantly lighted up from within. It shone out
brightly against the starless sky.
I hurried to the door of the church.
As I got near, there was a strange smell in the damp night air. I saw the
light above grow brighter and brighter. The church was on fire!
Before I could move, I heard a heavy thump against the door from the
inside, I heard the key worked violently in the lock*—I heard a man’s voice
behind the door, screaming for help.”
The man, who had followed me (he turned out to be Sir Pelrival’s
servant), dropped to his knees, and said, “Oh, my God! It’s Sir Percival!
As the words passed his lips the church clerk joined us, and at the
same moment there was another, and a last, grating turn of the key in the
lock.
“He has hampered the lock!”* exclaimed the clerk.
“Try the other door!” I shouted to Sir Percival. “Try the door into the
church! The lock’s hampered. You’re a dead man if you waste another
moment on it!” My two companions stood struck with terror, and were quite
helpless.
Hardly knowing what I did, I seized the servant and pushed him
against the wall. “Stoop!” I said. “I am going to climb over you to the roof—
I am going to break the sky-light, and give him some air!”
The man trembled from head to foot, but he held firm. * I got on his
back, and was instantly on the roof. I struck at the sky-light. The fire leaped
out like a wild beast from its lair. And the man beneath my feet!—the man,
suffocating, burning, dying, so near us all, so utterly beyond our reach!
The thought half maddened me. I lowered myself from the roof by my
hands, and dropped to the ground.
“The key of the church!” I shouted to the clerk. “We must try it that
way—we may save him yet if we can burst open* the inner door.”
“No, no, no!” cried the man. “No hope! The church and the vestry key
are on the same ring—both inside there. He has taken both with him.”
Some people had gathered near the church by this time.
“They’ll see the fire from the town,” said a voice from among the men
behind me. “There’s an engine in the town: they’ll save the church.”
And he was right: soon the firemen came.
I saw the fire slowly conquered.* The brightness of the glare faded and
the steam rose in white clouds. The door fell with a crash.
Some people went into the church.
I heard shouts from the crowd: “Have they found him?”—“Yes.” –
“Where?” “Against the door; on his face.”
So one of the men who had wronged Laura was dead. But the other
remained—and my resolution—to restore Laura to her rights—remained too.
I was unsuccessful with Sir Percival who had obviously traced me with the
help of his spies, had hurried to the church before me, and had himself
become the victim of a terrible tragedy. I’ll try my chance with Fosco then,
111
and be more cautious this time. These were my thoughts as I left the place
and went back to the hotel. Some hours later, while I was resting in the
coffee-room, a letter was placed in my hands by the waiter. The address on
the envelope was written in an unknown hand.* I opened the letter. It was
from Mrs. Catherick. I sat down to read it immediately. The letter ran as
follows: “I know the news. The man who wrecked my life is dead now. And
now I can tell you all, because now he can do nothing to me. I can tell you
his Secret. His Secret is just this: he is no baronet at all. His father had not
been married to his mother, and he died unexpectedly leaving no will. The
son could in no way claim to be the lawful heir of Sir Percival Glyde, his
father. Then he did a very simple thing: in the absence of my husband, he
asked me to go with him to the vestry, open it for him and let him do what he
liked there with the church books. Oh! I got quite a sum for that!* and there
in the books he registered his parents’ marriage, and thus became Sir Clyde’s
lawful son and heir. My husband never learnt the truth, but I let out a few
words about the Secret to my daughter. He knew it, and that is why he shut
her up in the Asylum. And I? What could I do? He deceived me about the
risk I ran in helping him * and when I helped him, he owned coolly that I was
his accomplice and would be put in prison if anybody learned the truth. Do
you understand now how I hated him? Well, he is dead now. And the Secret
has gone with him. You know it, but what can you do? The books are burnt.
That is all I can tell you. If you want to see me – come. But is there any need
of that now?”
I put the letter carefully away in mу note-book. The next day I
returned to London and hurried home to Laura and Marian. I told them the
news of Sir Percival’s death. It produced a terrible impression upon them
both. Laura’s face turned deadly pale, and she left the room. “Now Fosco is
our last chance,” I said to Marian. “Through him I shall find out the lost date
of Laura’s journey to London. There is a discrepancy between the date of
that journey and the date of the certificate of death. I am sure of that! Here is
the weak point of the whole conspiracy. If I succeed in getting what I want
from Fosco, the object of your life and mine is fulfilled! But we must wait. I
ought to be well prepared for such a man as the Count, and my position
toward you and toward Laura ought to be a stronger one than it is now.”
Marian’s eyes met mine affectionately—she understood what I was thinking
about.
Some weeks passed. One day in the morning Marian came up to me,
and looked into my eyes.
“Walter!” she said, “I once parted you both, for your good * and for
hers. Wait here, my Brother!—wait, my dearest, best friend, till Laura comes
and tells you something!”
I sat down alone at the window. The door opened, and Laura came
into the room. She came with the light of happiness radiant in her face. * The
dear arms clasped themselves round me; the sweet lips came to meet mine.
“My darling!” she whispered, “we may own we love each other now? Oh, I
am so happy at last!”
112
Ten days later we were happier still. We were married. A fortnight of
my new happiness passed, and my resolution to force the Count to a
confession called me to act. The first necessity was to know something of the
man. Thus far the true story of his life was a mystery to me.
It came to my mind that a countryman of his own * might be the fittest
person to help me. The first man whom I thought of, under these
circumstances, was Professor Pesca, the only Italian with whom I was
intimately acquainted.
Before I called Pesca to my assistance, it was necessary to see for
myself what sort of a man Fosco was. Up to this time I had never set eyes on
him.
So I set forth alone for Fosco’s residence: Forest Road, St. John’s
Wood, between ten and eleven o’clock in the morning.
No one could be seen at the windows of the house. I waited a little
while, and then I heard the opening of the house door. The Count had come
out. He crossed the road and walked toward the Regent’s Park. I followed a
little behind him. He stopped at a pastry-cook’s, went in, and came out again
immediately with a tart in his hand.
We soon reached the streets with fine shops between the New Road
and Oxford Street. The Count stopped again, and entered a small optician’s
shop. He came out again with an opera-glass in his hand, walked a few paces
on, and stopped to look at a bill of the Opera. Then he hailed an empty cab as
it passed him. “Opera box-office,” he said to the man, and was driven away.
I crossed the road, and looked at the bill in my turn. The performance
announced was “Lucrezia Borgia,” and it was to take place that evening.
I decided to get tickets for me and Professor Pesca, leaving a note at
the Professor’s lodgings on the way. At a quarter to eight I called to take him
with me to the theatre. My little friend was in a state of the highest
excitement, with a flower in his button-hole, and the largest opera-glass I
ever saw under his arm.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“Quite ready,” said Pesca.
We started for the theatre.
XXII
The last notes of the introduction to the opera were being played, and
the seats in the pit were all filled, when Pesca and I reached the theatre.
Looking about me attentively I discovered Fosco in the pit.
When the curtain fell on the first act, and the audience rose, I pointed
out the Count to Pesca.
“Do you know that man?” I asked him.
“Which man, my friend?”
“The tall fat man standing there, with his face toward us.”
Pesca raised himself on tiptoe, and looked at the Count.
“No,” said the Professor. “The big fat man is a stranger to me.”
113
“Look again; look carefully. I will tell you why I am so anxious about
it.”
“No,” he said: “I have never set my eyes on that big fat man before in
all my life.”
As he spoke the Count looked in our direction.
The eyes of the two Italians met.
The instant before, I had been perfectly sure that Pesca did not know
the Count. The instant afterward, I was equally certain that the Count knew
Pesca!
Knew Pesca; and—more surprisingly still—-feared him as well!
There was a moment of silence and then Pesca spoke:
“How the fat man stares!” he exclaimed. “How can he know me if I
don’t know him!”
I kept my eyes still on the Count, who turned round, slipped past the
persons who occupied seats near him, and disappeared in the passage. I
caught Pesca by the arm.
“Come home,” I said; “come home, Pesca, to your lodgings. I must
speak to you in private.”*
“What on earth is the matter?”* cried the Professor in astonishment.
The speed with which the Count had left the theatre suggested to me
that his anxiety to escape Pesca might carry him yet further. He might escape
me, too, by leaving London. I doubted the future, if I allowed him even a
day’s freedom to act as he pleased.
As soon as we were alone in Pesca’s room, I told him about the cruel
wrong my wife had suffered at Count Fosco’s hands *, and entreated him to
help me.
Pesca was greatly agitated.
“My friend, what can I do?” cried the Professor.
“Не knows you—he is afraid of you, Pesca! He has left the theatre to
escape you. There must be some reason for this.
“Look back into your own life* before you came to England. You left
Italy, as you once told me yourself, for political reasons.”*
To my unutterable surprise these words produced an astounding effect
on Pesca. His rosy face turned white.
“Walter!” he said. “You don’t know what you ask! You know nothing
of my motive for leaving Italy, except that it was for political reasons.”
“You have heard,” he continued, “of the political Societies that are
hidden in every great city on the continent of Europe? To one of those
Societies I belonged in Italy – and belong still, in England. The object of the
Society is the destruction of tyranny, and the assertion of the rights of the
people.”
“Well,” he resumed, “you think the Society is like other Societies. But
the laws of our Society, let us call it the Brotherhood, are the laws of no
other political society on the face of the earth. The members are not known
to one another. There is a President in Italy: there are Presidents abroad.
Each of these has his Secretary. The Presidents and the Secretaries know the
114
members. We are warned that if we betray the Brotherhood, we die by the
hand of a member of the Brotherhood sooner or later. While I was still in
Italy, I was chosen Secretary; and all the members of that time, who were
brought face to face with* my President, were brought face to face also with
me.”
I began to understand him. He waited a moment, watching me
earnestly.
“You have drawn your own conclusions already,” he said. “I see it in
your face. I must tell you one more thing: the Brotherhood identifies its
members by a mark that lasts for life. * See the place, and the mark on it, for
yourself.”
He raised his bare arm, and showed me, high on the upper part of it, a
brand deeply burned in the flesh.
“A man who has this mark,” he said covering his arm again, “is a
member of the Brotherhood. A man who has betrayed the Brotherhood is
discovered sooner or later, by the Chiefs who know him—Presidents or
Secretaries, as the case may be.* And a man discovered by the Chiefs is dead.
No human laws can protect him. Remember what you have seen and heard;
draw what conclusions you like; act as you please. But as to the man you
pointed out to me at the theatre—I never saw him. If he knows me, he is so
altered, or so disguised, that I do not know him. I say no more.* I am shaken
by what I have said. If some member of the Brotherhood happens to know*
what I told you about the Society, I am a dead man.”
“I will keep the memory of to-night in my heart,” I said, “You shall
never repent the trust you have shown me. May I come to you to-morrow?
May I come as early as nine o’clock?”
“Yes, Walter,” he replied, looking up at me kindly.
“Good-night, Pesca.”
“Good-night, my friend.”
Notes:
we three had no mercy to expect — нам троим нечего было ждать
пощады
they would leave no stone unturned — они камня на камне не оставят
as early as the end of October — к концу октября
so changed was she — так она изменилась (обратный порядок слов
здесь вызван постановкой наречия so на первое место в предложении)
after she had been pronounced dead — после того, как была
засвидетельствована ее смерть
What makes you think it might have been after? — Что заставляет вас
думать, что это могло произойти после?
It is our only sure hold on him. — Это единственное, чем мы можем
воздействовать на него.
I can force him from his position of security — я могу выбить его из его
позиции самоуспокоенности
115
Anne’s terror of being discovered — боязнь Анны, что ее найдут being
discovered — герундий страдательного залога)
to make public — сделать достоянием общественности
might probably have stayed there much longer, but for.. — возможно,
могли бы остаться там гораздо дольше, если бы не…
was not far off — был недалек
terrible wrong on a person... —страшное зло, причиненное человеку...
I am not interested in your affairs. — Меня не интересуют ваши дела.
whatever results would come — что бы ни случилось
to pursue my own course — действовать по намеченному плану
I gained on them — я опередил их
to make for — направляться
the first object I saw dimly against… — первое, что я смутно различил
на фоне…
I don’t mean any harm — я не собираюсь причинить никакого зла
showed unmistakable fear — несомненно выдавали страх
to come in view of — увидеть
I heard the key worked violently in the lock — я услышал, как кто-то с
усилием старается повернуть ключ в замке
He has hampered the lock! — У него заело замок!
held firm — держался твердо, крепко
to burst open — взломать
I saw the fire slowly conquered. — Я видел, как пожар постепенно
потушили.
in an unknown hand — незнакомым почерком
I got quite a sum for that! — Я получила за это порядочную сумму!
He deceived me about the risk I ran in helping him. – Он обманул меня,
ничего не сказав о том, чем я рискую, помогая ему.
I once parted you both, for your good — однажды я вас обоих
разлучила для вашего блага
with the light of happiness radiant in her face — с сияющим от счастья
лицом
a countryman of his own — его соотечественник
I must speak to you in private. — Мне надо поговорить с вами
конфиденциально.
What on earth is the matter? — Что, собственно, случилось? Сочетание
on earth служит для эмфазы.
about the cruel wrong my wife had suffered at Count Fosco’s hands — о
том страшном зле, которое причинил моей жене граф Фоско
look back into your own life — вспомните свою прошлую жизнь
who were brought face to face with — которых лично познакомили
lasts for life — сохраняется на всю жизнь
as the case may be — в зависимости от обстоятельств
I say no more. — Я больше ничего не скажу.
116
Assignment 11
(Chapters 20-22)
I Active vocabulary
to conquer lodger
to betray apprehension
to draw conclusions a lair
to set eyes on assertion
to keep one’s eyes on sexton
to be on fire vile
to make one’s way determine
to come true exhausted
to make public evident
consequence by the hand
suffering for political reasons
trust beyond one’s reach
druggist’s shop beyond a doubt
vestry by smb’s directions
affair
II Exercises
to be alarmed, peril, betray, to restore, to be acquainted
combinations:
victim, peril, innocent, to communicate, alarmed, valuable, rapidly, dimly,
cautious
sentences:
to give smth. in brief; beyond a doubt; the success of the conspiracy; to be
interested in smth.; at the top of one’s speed; to force a confession out of
smb; to be on fire; to make public; to set eyes on smb.; to trust smth to smb.;
to raise oneself on tiptoe; to take leave of smb.
6. Find in the chapters under discussion English equivalents for the

own sentences:
117
произнести что-либо; сделать все возможное; действовать по
намеченному плану; непременно, обязательно; увидеть что-либо;
позиция самоуспокоенности; взломать; сделать что-либо с какой-либо
целью; нанимать экипаж; делать покупки; умолять о помощи
Working on the text

1. In that case she must have started on the twenty-sixth and must have
come to London on day after the date of her own death on the doctor’s
certificate.
2. But how is the proof to be obtained?
3. Have you felt that this might be followed by her death?”
4. They remained at Grymsby during the first half of the new year, and
might probably have stayed there much longer…
5. There is a weak place we both know of in Sir Percival’s life.
6. If some member of the Brotherhood happens to know what I told you
about the society, I’m a dead man.

1. …where there were fewer people walking about the streets.
2. Not a muscle moved on her face.
3. I started from the town at a brisk pace, and I kept to the middle of the
road.
4. Now Fosco is our last chance.

1. The doctor who was sent … to attend the sick woman discovered …
once that she was suffering … a serious affection … the heart.
2. Suddenly I saw a man … black watching me … the doorstep … a
house which stood … to Mrs. Catherick’s cottage.
3. I decided to get tickets … me and Professor Pesca, leaving a note …
the Professor’s lodgings … the way.

1. The passage on page 104 from “My plan consisted in the following ...”
up to “‘If only we could make that discovery!’ I said to Marian”.
2. The passage on page 108 from “I left the house, and, since Mrs.
Catherick refused to help me…” up to “He had doubtless seen me go
in and come out, and he had hurried away by the first train to make his
report to Sir Percival.”
Talking on the text
118
1. What conclusions did Mr. Hartright and his friends arrive at? What did
they decide to do?
2. Why did Mr. Hartright go to Mrs. Clements? Was his visit successful?
3. How did Mrs. Catherick receive him? How does it characterize her?
4. Who did Walter meet on his way to the church? Why did they try to
stop him?
5. Describe the fire in the church. How did it influence the lives of the
main characters?
6. Speak on Percival’s Secret in details.
7. Comment on the Count’s behaviour in the theatre.
8. What did Walter and Pesca discuss at Pesca’s lodgings? What was the
result of their meeting?
119
XXIII
I had not the shadow of a doubt now that the Count had the mark of
the Brotherhood on his arm. I felt as certain that the betrayal of the
Brotherhood was on his conscience. I had seen it in his recognition of Pesca.
It was easy to understand why this recognition was not mutual. The shaven
face which I had pointed out at the Opera might have been covered by a
beard in Pesca’s time; his dark brown hair might be а wig; his name was
evidently a false one. Now I had a sure means in my hands for extorting his
confession! But I had to hurry because, after he had seen Pesca, the Count
could leave London immediately. It was a very dangerous affair: the Count
would make no scruples* to kill me if he discovered that the direct way to his
safety lay through my life. It was therefore necessary to take measures of
self-protection.
A letter addressed to Pesca represented the surest measure of
precaution which it was now possible for me to take. I wrote as follows:
“The man whom I pointed out to you at the Opera is a member of the
Brotherhood, and he has betrayed the Society. You know the name he goes
by in England. His address is No. 5 Forest Road, St. John’s Wood. Act as the
interests of the Brotherhood demand.”
I signed and dated these lines, put the letter in an envelope, and sealed
it up. On the outside I wrote this direction: “If you do not hear from me, or
see me, before nine o’clock, break the seal when the clock strikes, and read
the contents.” I added my initials, enclosed it in a second sealed envelope,
and addressed to Pesca at his lodgings.
Then I went down to the ground-floor of the house, and spoke to the
landlord about finding me a messenger. His son, a quick lad, was the
messenger he proposed to me, on hearing what I wanted. I asked the boy
upstairs, and gave him his directions. He was to take the letter in a cab, to put
it into Professor Pesca’s own hands, and to bring me back a line of
acknowledgement* from that gentleman.
In half an hour Marian came up to me with a folded slip of paper in
her hand.
“The landlord’s son has brought this for you,” she said. “He has got a
cab at the door — he says you ordered him to keep it at your disposal.”
“Quite right, Marian. I want the cab. I am going оut again.”
Pesca’s note contained these two sentences:
“Your letter is received. If I don’t see you before the time you
mention, I will break the seal when the clock strikes.”
I placed the paper in my pocket-book, and left the house.
“Forest Road, St. John’s Wood,” I called to the cabman through the
front window. “Double fare,* if you get there in a quarter of an hour.”
In a quarter of an hour I was at the Count’s house. I rang the bell, and
a servant let me in. I entered the hall.
There was no lamp in the hall; but by the dim light of a candle I saw
an elderly lady come noiselessly in. She said nothing, and went slowly
120
upstairs, without returning my bow. The elderly lady, I was certain, was
Mme. Fosco.
The servant led me to the room which the Countess had just left. I
entered it; and found myself face to face with the Count.
He was still in his evening-dress. Books, papers, and articles of
clothing were scattered about the room. His face still showed traces of the
shock that had overwhelmed him at the Opera.
“You’ve come here on business, sir?” he said.
“I am fortunate in finding you here to-night,” I said. “I am here on a
matter of life and death—this I can tell you at once. I am Hartright, about
whom you have heard.”
“You are Hartright? And you have come here on a matter of life and
death? Those words are more serious, perhaps, than you think. What do you
mean?”
“What I say. I know that you are leaving London, and why you are
leaving it.”
The perspiration broke out on his forehead. His left hand ran over the
edge of the table. There was a drawer in it, with a lock, and the key was in
the lock. He put his fingers on the key, but did not turn it.
“So you know why I am leaving London?” he said. “Tell me the
reason, if you please.” He turned the key, and unlocked the drawer as he
spoke.
“I can do better than that,” I replied: “I can show yоu the reason, if you
like.”
“How can you show it?”
“You have got your coat off,”* I said. “Roll up the shirtsleeve on your
left arm, and you will see it there.”
He said nothing. But his left hand slowly opened the drawer and softly
slipped into it.
My life hung by a thread, and I knew it.
“Wait a little,” I said. “You have got the door locked – you see I don’t
move—you see my hands are empty. Wait a little. I have something more to
say.”
“You have said enough,” he replied. “I want one moment for my own
thoughts, if you please. Do you guess what I am thinking about?”
“Perhaps, I do.”
“I am thinking,” he remarked, quietly, “whether I shall add to the
disorder in this room by scattering you brains about the fire-place.”
If I had moved at that moment, I saw in his face that he would have
done it.
“I advise you to read two lines of writing which I have about me,” I
said, “before you finally decide that question.”
I gave him Pesca’s note, and he read the lines aloud: “Your letter is
received. If I don’t hear from you before the time you mention, I will break
the seal when the clock strikes.” He was clever enough to understand what it
meant for him. His hand came out of the drawer empty.
121
“I am a just man, even to my enemy, and I acknowledge that my
enemies are cleverer than I thought them,” he said. “Come to the point, sir! *
You want something of me? How long do you give me?”
“Time enough for you to come to my terms,”* I replied.
“Give me a plainer answer, Mr. Hartright. What hour is the clock to
strike?”
“Nine to-morrow morning.”
“Nine to-morrow morning? Well, be so good, next, as to mention your
terms.”
“You shall hear them. They are simple. You know whose interests I
represent in coming here?”
“A lady’s interests, of course!”
“My wife’s interests.”
He looked at me with an expression of blank amazement.*
“Well, and what then do you want in the interests of your wife?”
“In the first place, I demand a full confession of the conspiracy,
written and signed in my presence, by yourself.”
He raised his finger. “One!” he said calmly.
“In the second place, I demand a plain proof of the date at which my
wife left Blackwater Park and travelled to London.”
“So! So! You can lay your finger, I see, on the weak place,” * he
remarked. “Any more?”
“At present, no more.”
“Good! You have mentioned your terms; now listen to mine. The
statement you demand of me shall be written; and the plain proof shall be
produced. You call a letter from my lamented friend, informing me of the
day and hour of his wife’s arrival in London, written, signed, and dated by
himself, a proof, I suppose? I can give you this. I can also send you to the
man of whom I hired the carriage to fetch my visitor from the railway on the
day when she arrived—his order-book may help you to your date. * These
things I can do, and will do, on two conditions. First condition! Mme. Fosco
and I leave this house when and how we please. Second condition! You wait
here, in company with me, to see my agent, who is coming at seven o’clock
in the morning to regulate my affairs. You give my agent a written order to
the man who has got your letter to resign his possession of it. * You wait here
till my agent places that letter unopened in my hands: and you then give me
half an hour to leave the house.”
“I accept your conditions,” I said. And then he sat down and wrote his
confession.
XXIV
THE COUNT’S NARRATIVE
In the summer of eighteen hundred and fifty I arrived in England with

a delicate political mission from abroad.
122
I arranged to pass some period of time in the mansion of my late
lamented friend Sir Percival Glyde.
The situation at this period was a serious one. Large sums of money,
due at a certain time,* were wanted by Percival (I say nothing of the money
equally necessary to myself), and the only source from which we could get
them was the fortune of his wife, of which not one farthing was at his
disposal until her death. Bad, so far;* and worse still further on. My lamented
friend had private troubles of his own. I knew nothing but that a woman, *
named Anne Catherick, had run away from a madhouse and was hidden in
the neighbourhood, that she was in communication with Lady Glyde, and
that the disclosure of a secret, which would be the certain ruin of Percival,
might be the result. He had told me himself that he was a lost man, * if Anne
Catherick was not found. If he was a lost man, what would become of our
pecuniary interests?
The whole force of my intelligence was now directed to the finding of
Anne Catherick. I knew that by a strange coincidence she was very much
like Lady Glyde. This curious fact and the information that Anne Catherick
had escaped from a madhouse, started an immense plan in my mind. The
plan was simple. Lady Glyde and Anne Catherick were to change names,
places of residence and destinies, the one with the other.
My instincts told me that our invisible Anne would, sooner or later,
come to Blackwater Lake. There I decided to wait for her.
I soon saw not Anne Catherick herself, but her friend Mrs. Clements,
who told me Anne was ill and brought me to their cottage. When I first saw
Anne Catherick she was asleep. I was struck by the likeness between this
unhappy woman and Lady Glyde.
I suggested to Mrs. Clements that the best method of keeping Anne
out of Percival’s reach was to bring her to London. My proposal was eagerly
received by her. Then I promised to help them and appointed a day to meet
the travelers at the station and to see them off. This, too, was thankfully
accepted.
Now I thought: who could travel to London by the same train as Mrs.
Clements and Anne, and find out their London address? I asked myself this
question and answered — Mme. Fosco, of course.
On the appointed day Mrs. Clements and Anne Catherick met me at
the station. I politely saw them off. Mme. Fosсо was there too. She took
place in another compartment of the same train and carried out all my
instructions most faithfully.
Then I proceeded to the second part of my plan.
We cleared the house of all the servants but one, who was kept for
domestic purposes. When they had gone, nothing remained but to send away
Mrs. Michelson, the housekeeper. We sent this lady to find lodgings for her
mistress at the seaside.
The circumstances greatly helped me. Both sisters were ill. Lady
Glyde was confined to her room* by nervous illness; Marian, though fast
recovering, still kept her bed. No other living creatures but my wife, myself,
123
and Percival were in the house. With all the chances thus in our favour, I
played the second move in the game.*
The object of the second move was to induce Lady Glyde to leave
Blackwater, unaccompanied by her sister. Unless we could persuade her that
Marian had gone* on to Cumberland there was no chance of removing her, of
her own free-will, from the house. So it was necessary to conceal Marian.
We hid our interesting invalid in one of the uninhabited bedrooms at
Blackwater. Under the cover of the night I and my wife carried her over –
she was asleep and there was no need to use any special sleeping powders.
The next morning my wife and I started for London. I gave Percival
Mr. Fairlie’s letter of invitation to his niece (instructing her to sleep on the
journey to Cumberland at her aunt’s house), with directions to show it to
Lady Glyde on hearing from me. I also took from Sir Percival the address of
the Asylum in which Anne Catherick had been confined, and a letter to the
proprietor, announcing to that gentleman the return of his runaway patient.
Now we were enabled* to play the third move in the game – the getting
possession of Anne Catherick.
On Wednesday, the 24th of July, 1850, I send my wife, in a cab, to get
Mrs. Clements out of the way in the first place. A supposed message from
Lady Clyde in London was sufficient to obtain this result.
In the meanwhile I had followed in another cab, with a note for Anne
Catherick mentioning that Lady Glyde intended to keep Mrs. Clements to
spend the day with her, and that she was to join them under care of the
gentleman who had brought the note. I sent in that note by a street boy and
waited for results a door or two further on. At the moment when Anne
appeared at the house door I had the cab door open ready for her, got her into
the vehicle – and drove off to St. John’s Wood.
When I took her into the drawing-room she, to my unspeakable horror,
was seized with convulsions, which, in her condition, might lead to her death
at any moment.
The nearest doctor was sent for, and was told that “Lady Glyde”
required his immediate services. The one fear I had* was that the false Lady
Glyde might die before the true Lady Glyde arrived in London. And so it did
happen indeed! She was dead on the 25 th; and Lady Glyde did not arrive in
London till the 26th!
I was stunned. My grand scheme had its weak place now – no efforts
on my part could alter the fatal event of the 25th.
On the morning of the 26th Percival’s letter reached me, announcing
his wife’s arrival by the midday train. I started in a fly, leaving the false
Lady Glyde dead in the house, to receive the true Lady Glyde. Hidden under
the seat of the carriage, I carried with me all the clothes Anne Catherick had
worn on coming in my house.
Lady Glyde was at the station. Her first question, as we drove off,
implored me to tell her news of her sister. I invented news of the most
pacifying kind;* assuring her that she would soon see her sister at my house.
124
I brought my visitor to the house of a person whom I could trust and
took her upstairs into a back room. Then I told her alarming news about her
sister’s state of health.
Results followed as I had anticipated. Lady Glyde became frightened,
and turned faint.* А medicated glass of water * and a medicated bottle of
smelling-salts, relieved her of all further alarm. Her own clothes were taken
away from her at night, and Anne Catherick’s were put on her in the
morning. That evening (the evening of the 27th) I took our revived “Anne
Catherick” to the Asylum. She was received with great surprise—but without
suspicion, thanks to the clothes, and to the patient’s own confused mental
condition at the time. I returned at once to assist Mme. Fosco in the
preparations for the burial of the false “Lady Glyde”
Now a question arises.
If Anne Catherick had not died when she did, what should I have
*
done? I should, in that case, have assisted Nature. I should have opened the
doors of the Prison of Life.
I announced, on beginning it, that this narrative would be a remarkable
document. So, I think, it is.
Fosco
XXV
THE STORY CONCLUDED BY WALTER HARTRIGHT
As soon as Fosco had finished writing his confession, I attentively

read it from beginning to end, and put this document and Sir Percival’s dated
letter that the Count gave me in my pocket. Nothing remained now but to
wait.
At seven o’clock in the morning Fosco’s agent came. I wrote two lines
to Pesca instructing him to deliver my sealed letter “to the Bearer,”* and the
agent went away. A little before eight o’clock he came back, with an
unopened letter in his hand. The Count took it, lighted a candle, and burned
the letter.
In half an hour more I left Fosco’s house and hurried home, calling on
the way at Pesca’s lodgings to tell him I was safe and sound.
Few words were sufficient to tell Laura and Marian how my venture
had ended. I left all details to be described later in the day, and hastened back
to St. John’s Wood, to see the person of whom Count Fosco had ordered the
fly when he went to meet Laura at the station.
The proprietor proved to be* a civil and respectable man. When I
explained that an important family matter obliged me to ask him to refer to
his books,* he offered no objection to it. The book was produced; and there,
under the date of “July 26, 1850,” the order was entered, in these words:
“Brougham to Count Fosco, 5 Forest Road. Two o’clock. (John Owen
—driver).”
I went to John Owen. He was then at work in the stable-yard.
125
“Do you remember driving a gentleman, in the month of July last,
from Number Five Forest Road to the Waterloo Bridge station?” I asked.
“Well, sir,” said the man; “I can’t exactly say I do.”*
“Perhaps you remember the gentleman himself? Can you call to mind *
driving a foreigner last summer—a tall gentleman, and remarkably fat?”
The man’s face brightened at once. “I remember him, sir! The fattest
gentleman I ever saw – and the heaviest customer I ever drove.”
“Did you see the lady?” I asked. “What did she look like? Was she
young or old?”
“Well, sir, what with the hurry and the crowd of people pushing
*
about, I can’t rightly say what the lady looked like. I can’t call anything to
mind about her excepting her name.”
“You remember her name?”
“Yes, sir. Her name was Lady Glyde.”
“How do you remember that, when you have forgotten what she
looked like?”
The man smiled, and shifted his feet in some little embarrassment.*
“Why, to tell you the truth, sir,” he said, “I hadn’t been long married *
at that time; and my wife’s name, before she changed it for mine, was the
same as the lady’s – I mean – the name of Glyde, sir. The lady mentioned it
herself.”
I felt that the means were now in my power of striking down the whole
conspiracy at a blow* with the irresistible weapon of plain facts. I took a
copy of the entry in the book, certified as true * by the master’s own
signature, and added it to the documents obtained by me from Fosco.
With all this material in my hands I next turned my steps in the
direction of Mr. Kyrle’s office. My object was to tell him of my resolution to
take my wife to Limmeridge the next morning, and to have her publicly
received and recognized* in her uncle’s house.
I will say nothing of Mr. Kyrle’s amazement. It is only necessary to
mention that he at once decided on accompanying us to Cumberland.
We started the next morning by the early train. Laura, Marian, Mr.
Kyrle, and myself in one carriage and John Owen, whom I asked to go with
us for the purpose of giving evidence, with a clerk from Mr. Kyrle’s office
occupying places in another.
On reaching the Limmeridge station, we went first to the farmhouse at
Todd’s Corner. Laura and Marian were left at the farm, while Mr. Kyrle and
I set forth together for Limmeridge House to arrange everything for Laura’s
reception. When all was arranged and the people were prepared to receive
Laura, both she and Marian were brought to Blackwater Park.
The day came—the day when Laura once more entered the familiar
breakfast-room at Limmeridge House. All the persons assembled * rose from
their seats as Marian and I led her in. Mr. Fairlie was present, with Mr. Kyrle
by his side.
I gave my explanations in the fewest and the plainest words. I
informed my hearers, that Laura now sitting among them was the daughter of
126
the late Mr. Philip Fairlie, and then proved by positive facts that the funeral
which they had attended in Limmeridge church-yard was the funeral of
another woman. I gave them a plain account* of how it had all happened. I
read Fosco’s narrative of the conspiracy and the doctor’s certificate, as well
as Sir Percival’s letter. I next showed that it was Laura who had taken that
journey, by the personal testimony of the driver of the fly. Marian then added
her own statement of the meeting between Laura and herself at the mad-
house, and of her sister’s escape. After this I informed the persons present of
Sir Percival’s death and of my marriage.
Mr. Kyrle rose and declared, as the legal adviser of the family, that my
case was proved by the plainest evidence he had ever heard in his life. The
next morning we returned to London.
My task was completed. Oh! How happy we three were now!

The summer and autumn passed, and brought no changes with them.
We lived so simply and quietly, that the income which I was now steadily
earning sufficed for all our wants.
Twice during this period I paid visits to Pesca. On my last visit to him
I met a stranger in his room who immediately left us. “I did not know you
had a friend with you,” I said to the Professor.
“No friend,* said Pesca very seriously; “I see him to-day for the first
time, and the last.”
“I am afraid he has brought you bad news?”
“Yes, news of Fosco,” said Pesca. “His body was taken out of the
Seine in Paris. The wound had been struck with a knife or dagger exactly
over his heart.” So ended the life of that heartless and unscrupulous man.
In the February of the new year our first child was born – a son. My
mother and sister and Mrs. Vesey were our guests at the little christening-
party; and Mrs. Clements was present too. Marian was our boy’s godmother,
and Pesca was his godfather.
Soon I was sent to Ireland to make sketches for the newspaper to
which I was attached.* I was away for nearly a fortnight, and when I returned
home, to my utter astonishment, there was no one to receive me.
A note from my wife informed me that they had gone to Limmeridge
House, and I was entreated to follow them the moment I came back.
It was still early enough to catch the morning train. I reached
Limmeridge House the same afternoon.
My wife and Marian were both upstairs.
“What in the name of Heaven has brought you here?”* I asked. “Does
Mr. Fairlie know —?”
Marian interrupted me saying that Mr. Fairlie was dead. He had been
struck by paralysis, and had never recovered after the shock. Mr. Kyrle had
informed them of his death, and had advised them to go immediately to
Limmeridge House.
127
She rose, and held up the child, kicking and crying in her arms. “Do
you know who this is, Walter?” asked Marian.
I was bewildered. “I think it is my own child,” I uttered.
“Child!” she exclaimed. “This illustrious baby whom you see in my
arms is the Heir of Limmeridge.”
So she spoke. I have written all. Marian was the good angel * of our
lives — let Marian end our story.
Notes:
to make no scruples to do something — сделать что-л. без колебаний
line of acknowledgement — несколько строк, удостоверяющих
получение моего письма
double fare — уплачу вдвойне; fare — плата за проезд
You have got your coat off. — На вас нет пиджака.
Come to the point, sir! — Прямо к делу, сэр!
Time enough for you to come to my terms — Достаточно времени,
чтобы вы успели принять мои условия
with an expression of blank amazement — с выражением крайнего
изумления на лице
you can lay your finger... on the weak place — вы нашли yязвимое
место
his order-book may help you to your date —его регистрационная книга
поможет вам установить нужную вам дату
to resign his possession of it — чтобы он отдал его (отказался от
владения им)
due at a certain time — которые в определенный срок надо было
выплатить
bad, so far — пока что утешительного мало
I knew nothing but that a woman – я ничего не знал, кроме того, что
какая-то женщина
he was a lost man — он погиб
to be confined to one's room — не выходить по болезни из комнаты
I played the second move in the game — я сделал второй ход в игре
unless we could persuade her that Marian had gone – если только мы не
сумели бы ее убедить, что Мариан уехала
we were enabled – мы получили возможность
the one fear I had — единственное, чего я боялся
news of the most pacifying kind — известия самого успокоительного
характера
to turn faint — быть близким к обмороку
medicated glass of water — стакан воды, в котором подмешано какое-
либо лекарство, снадобье
What should I have done? — Что бы я сделал?
to the Bearer — подателю этой записки
128
proved to be — оказался
to refer to his books — навести кое-какие справки по его книгам
Can’t exactly say I do. — Я не могу сказать точно, чтобы я сейчас это
припоминал.
to call to mind — припоминать
what with the hurry and the crowd of people pushing about — при всей
той спешке и толчее (разговорный оборот)
shifted his feet in some little embarrassment — переступал с ноги на
ногу в некотором смущении
I hadn’t been long married — я только недавно женился
of striking down... at a blow — разрушить одним ударом
certified as true — заверенный
to have her publicly received and recognized —добиться, чтобы ее
приняли и признали
the persons assembled – собравшиеся
I gave them a plain account – я ясно им рассказал
no friend — это не друг
to which I was attached — с которой я был связан по работе
What in the name of Heaven has brought you here? — Зачем вы сюда
приехали? Сочетание in the name of Heaven служит для эмфазы.
the good angel — добрый ангел
Assignment 12
(Chapters 23-25)
I Active vocabulary
to proceed a confession
to go by some name powder
to keep one’s bed a weapon
to get possession (of) an evidence
to see smb. off a fortnight
to be out of (smb’s) reach a matter of life and death
to get smb. out of the way of one’s own free-will
conscience under care of smb.
a wig by one’s testimony
a candle safe and sound
perspiration lamented
amazement
II Exercises
129
noise, an enemy, in the first place, to ruin, pacifying
4. Give the derivatives of the following words:

to betray, conscience, an address, an invent, to inform
sentences:
to have not the shadow of a doubt; to be confined to one’s room; to make no
scruples to do smth; a line of acknowledgement; news of the most pacifying
kind; a matter of life and death; to call to mind; to come to one’s terms; the
persons assembled; to give a plain account; due at a certain time; to be a
good angel of one’s life; to be a lost man; my life hung by a thread
own sentences:
вне досягаемости; быть на чьей-либо совести; крепко спать; оказаться
лицом к лицу с кем-либо; быть целым и невредимым; быть на волоске
от смерти; в некотором смущении; найти уязвимое место
Working on the text

1. When they had gone, nothing remained but to send away Mrs.
Michelson, the housekeeper.
2. The proprietor proved to be a civil and respectable man.
3. My object was to tell him of my resolution to take my wife to
Limmeridge the next morning, and to have her publicly received and
recognized in her uncle’s house.

followed them:
1. “I’m thinking whether I’ll add to the disorder in this room by
scattering your brains about a fire-place.”
2. “The fattest gentleman I ever saw - and the heaviest customer I ever
drove.”
3. “I felt that the means were now in my power of striking down the
whole conspiracy at a blow with the irresistible weapon of plain
facts.”
4. “His body was taken out of the Seine in Paris. The wound had been
struck with a knife or dagger exactly over his heart.”

1. Double fare, if you get there… a quarter … an hour.
2. Books, papers and articles of clothing were scattered … the room.
130
3. In the summer of eighteen hundred and fifty I arrived …England with
a delicate political mission from abroad.
4. The nearest doctor was sent … , and was told that “Lady Glyde”
required his immediate services.

The passage on page 128 from “In the February of the new year our first
child was born – a son ...” up to “Marian was the good angel of our lives - let
Marian end our story.”
Talking on the text

1. Why was the Count so frightened when he saw Pesca? What did
Walter think about it? What did he intend to do?
2. How did Fosco meet Walter? Did Walter manage to get Count’s
confession?
3. Speak in details about Fosco’s narrative. Dwell upon the steps he
made organizing Lady Glyde’s death.
4. What did Walter do after getting the Count’s confession? How did
people at Limmeridge admit Laura?
5. What was the end of the story?
131
Assignment 13
Discussion of the Novel
1. Revise the active vocabulary.

2. Enumerate the personages of the novel. Group them into the major
ones and the minor ones. Describe each one in short.
3. Make up 3 problematic questions which you think were touched upon
by the author in the book under discussion and which you would like
to discuss with your group-mates.
4. Give the plot of the book “The Woman in White” in short. Speak on
your impressions.
5. What do you know about W. Collins? What other Collins’s novels and
characters do you know?
132
Follow-up Activities:
The Writer - Wilkie (William) Collins (1824-1889)
Born in London, son of the landscape painter William Collins, W.Collins
was named after his father’s friend Sir David Wilkie. Educated privately,
with generous interruptions of travel abroad, he entered Lincoln’s Inn in
1846 but quickly showed the real direction of his interest by publishing three
books: a memoir of his father (1848); Antonina, or, The Fall of Rome (1850),
a historical novel; and he charming Rambles Beyond Railways (1851), about
a walking tour of Cornwall.
W.Collins first met Dickens in 1851, joining the older novelist in amateur
theatricals; the two men also collaborated in writing, among other pieces,
The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices (1857), and two melodramas, The
Lighthouse (1855) and The Frozen Deep (1857). By himself, Collins
produced a succession of short stories and several novels: Basil: A Story of
Modern Life (1852), Hide and Seek (1854) and The Dead Secret (!857).
They were the prelude to his work of the 1860s, when he emerged as the
most skillful writer of sensation fiction, with The Woman in White (1860),
No Name (1862), Armadale (1866) and The Moonstone (1868). Vigorously
observing his own advice to the novelist – ‘Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry,
,ake ‘em wait’ – these books made him one of the most popular writers of
the day.
His triumph ended with the decade. Various reasons have been suggested for
Collins’s subsequent decline in power and the near-escape of his former
popularity: the death of Dickens in 1870 robbed him of a powerful mentor;
his recurrent ill health was aggravated by addiction to laudanum; and his
unconventional private life became further entangled, with two mistresses,
Caroline Graves and Martha Rudd, apparently sharing his house. Above all,
his determination to tackle social issues disconcerted his audience and, at
times, dispersed his narrative powers. A.Swinburn, an British poet, novelist
and critic, commented in a famous doggerel: “What brought good Wilkie’s
genius nigh perdition?/ Some devil whispered – “Wilkie, have a mission.”
Collins attacked athleticism in Man and Wife (1970), attitudes to fallen
women in The New Magdalen (1973), the Jesuits in The Black Robe (1881);
expressed his opinion on adultery and divorce in The Evil Genius (!886) and
on heredity and environment in The Legacy of Cain (1889). Not all his later
works were failures – though Swinburne thought The Fallen Leaves (1879)
‘something too absurdly repulsive for comment and endurance’ – and
Collins periodically returned to mystery and suspense, with varying success,
in Poor Miss Finch (1872), The Law and The Lady (1875), My Lady’s
Money (1878) and I Say No (1884). His last novel, Blind Love (1890), was
completed by Walter Besant, a British novelist and Historian.
(From “Companion to Literature in English”, 1998).
133
1. Read the information on Collins’s life and comment on his advice
(in bold type) to the novelist. Did he follow that advice in “The
Woman in White”?
2. Read the beginning of Collins’s novel “My Lady’s Money”. Can you
explain the title of the first part of the book “The Disappearance”?
Who are the characters described in the chapter? How can the plot
develop further?
Part the First - The Disappearance
Chapter 1
OLD Lady Lydiard sat meditating by the fireside, with three letters lying
open on her lap.
Time had discolored the paper, and had turned the ink to a brownish hue.
The letters were all addressed to the same person--"THE RT. HON. LORD
LYDIARD"--and were all signed in the same way--"Your affectionate
cousin, James Tollmidge." Judged by these specimens of his correspondence,
Mr. Tollmidge must have possessed one great merit as a letter-writer--the
merit of brevity. He will weary nobody's patience, if he is allowed to have a
hearing. Let him, therefore, be permitted, in his own high-flown way, to
speak for himself.
First Letter.--"My statement, as your Lordship requests, shall be short and to

the point. I was doing very well as a portrait-painter in the country; and I had
a wife and children to consider. Under the circumstances, if I had been left to
decide for myself, I should certainly have waited until I had saved a little
money before I ventured on the serious expense of taking a house and studio
at the west end of London. Your Lordship, I positively declare, encouraged
me to try the experiment without waiting. And here I am, unknown and
unemployed, a helpless artist lost in London--with a sick wife and hungry
children, and bankruptcy staring me in the face. On whose shoulders does
this dreadful responsibility rest? On your Lordship's!"
Second Letter.--"After a week's delay, you favor me, my Lord, with a curt
reply. I can be equally curt on my side. I indignantly deny that I or my wife
ever presumed to see your Lordship's name as a means of recommendation
to sitters without your permission. Some enemy has slandered us. I claim as
my right to know the name of that enemy."
Third (and last) Letter. --"Another week has passed--and not a word of
answer has reached me from your Lordship. It matters little. I have employed
the interval in making inquiries, and I have at last discovered the hostile
influence which has estranged you from me. I have been, it seems, so
unfortunate as to offend Lady Lydiard (how, I cannot imagine); and the all-
powerful influence of this noble lady is now used against the struggling artist
who is united to you by the sacred ties of kindred. Be it so. I can fight my
way upwards, my Lord, as other men have done before me. A day may yet
134
come when the throng of carriages waiting at the door of the fashionable
portrait-painter will include her Ladyship's vehicle, and bring me the tardy
expression of her Ladyship's regret. I refer you, my Lord Lydiard, to that
day!"
Having read Mr. Tollmidge's formidable assertions relating to herself for the
second time, Lady Lydiard's meditations came to an abrupt end. She rose,
took the letters in both hands to tear them up, hesitated, and threw them back
in the cabinet drawer in which she had discovered them, among other papers
that had not been arranged since Lord Lydiard's death.
"The idiot!" said her Ladyship, thinking of Mr. Tollmidge, "I never even
heard of him, in my husband's lifetime; I never even knew that he was really
related to Lord Lydiard, till I found his letters. What is to be done next?"
She looked, as she put that question to herself, at an open newspaper thrown
on the table, which announced the death of "that accomplished artist Mr.
Tollmidge, related, it is said, to the late well-known connoisseur, Lord
Lydiard." In the next sentence the writer of the obituary notice deplored the
destitute condition of Mrs. Tollmidge and her children, "thrown helpless on
the mercy of the world." Lady Lydiard stood by the table with her eyes on
those lines, and saw but too plainly the direction in which they pointed--the
direction of her check-book.
Turning towards the fireplace, she rang the bell. "I can do nothing in this
matter," she thought to herself, "until I know whether the report about Mrs.
Tollmidge and her family is to be depended on. Has Moody come back?" she
asked, when the servant appeared at the door. "Moody" (otherwise her
Ladyship's steward) had not come back. Lady Lydiard dismissed the subject
of the artist's widow from further consideration until the steward returned,
and gave her mind to a question of domestic interest which lay nearer to her
heart. Her favorite dog had been ailing for some time past, and no report of
him had reached her that morning. She opened a door near the fireplace,
which led, through a little corridor hung with rare prints, to her own boudoir.
"Isabel!" she called out, "how is Tommie?"
A fresh young voice answered from behind the curtain which closed the
further end of the corridor, "No better, my Lady."
A low growl followed the fresh young voice, and added (in dog's language),
"Much worse, my Lady--much worse!"
Lady Lydiard closed the door again, with a compassionate sigh for Tommie,
and walked slowly to and fro in her spacious drawing-room, waiting for the
steward's return.
135
Accurately described, Lord Lydiard's widow was short and fat, and, in the
matter of age, perilously near her sixtieth birthday. But it may be said,
without paying a compliment, that she looked younger than her age by ten
years at least. Her complexion was of that delicate pink tinge which is
sometimes seen in old women with well-preserved constitutions. Her eyes
(equally well preserved) were of that hard light blue color which wears well,
and does not wash out when tried by the test of tears. Add to this her short
nose, her plump cheeks that set wrinkles at defiance, her white hair dressed
in stiff little curls; and, if a doll could grow old, Lady Lydiard, at sixty,
would have been the living image of that doll, taking life easily on its
journey downwards to the prettiest of tombs, in a burial-ground where the
myrtles and roses grew all the year round.
These being her Ladyship's personal merits, impartial history must

acknowledge, on the list of her defects, a total want of tact and taste in her
attire. The lapse of time since Lord Lydiard's death had left her at liberty to
dress as she pleased. She arrayed her short, clumsy figure in colors that were
far too bright for a woman of her ages. Her dresses, badly chosen as to their
hues, were perhaps not badly made, but were certainly badly worn. Morally,
as well as physically, it must be said of Lady Lydiard that her outward side
was her worst side. The anomalies of her dress were matched by the
anomalies of her character. There were moments when she felt and spoke as
became a lady of rank; and there were other moments when she felt and
spoke as might have become the cook in the kitchen. Beneath these
superficial inconsistencies, the great heart, the essentially true and generous
nature of the woman, only waited the sufficient occasion to assert
themselves. In the trivial intercourse of society she was open to ridicule on
every side of her. But when a serious emergency tried the metal of which she
was really made, the people who were loudest in laughing at her stood
aghast, and wondered what had become of the familiar companion of their
everyday lives.
Her Ladyship's promenade had lasted but a little while, when a man in black
clothing presented himself noiselessly at the great door which opened on the
staircase. Lady Lydiard signed to him impatiently to enter the room.
"I have been expecting you for some time, Moody," she said. "You look
tired. Take a chair."
The man in black bowed respectfully, and took his seat.
3. You might have noticed quite a peculiar way in which W.Collins

punctuated his work, with many comas, dashes and exclamation
points. Do you know any rules of the English punctuation? Read
some ideas on using commas taken from the book by Lynne Truss
“Eats, Shoots and Leaves” and try to apply the suggested rules to
Collins’s novel.
136
More than any other mark, the comma draws our attention to the mixed
origins of modern punctuation, and its consequent mingling of two quite
distinct functions:
I To illuminate the grammar of a sentence
II To point up – rather in the manner of musical notation – such literary
qualities as rhythm, direction, pitch, tone and flow
[…] Commas, if you don’t whistle at them to calm down, are unstoppably
enthusiastic at this job. Luckily the trend in the 20 th century (starting with
H. W. Fowler’s The King’s English in 1906) has been towards ever-
simpler punctuation, with fewer and fewer commas; but take any passage
from a non-contemporary writer and you can’t help seeing the constituent
words as so many defeated sheep that have been successfully corralled
with the gate slammed shut by good old Comma the Sheepdog […]
Sharpen a pencil, line up your favourite stimulants, furrow the brow, and
attempt to concentrate on the following.
1. Commas for lists
The rule here is that the comma is correct if it can be replaced by the
word and or or. […]
‘The flag is red, white, and blue.” So what do you think of it? (It’s the
comma after ‘white”.) Are you for it or against it? Do you hover in
between? In Britain, where standard usage is to leave it out, there are
those who put it in … In America, conversely, where standard usage
is to leave it in, there are those who make a point of removing it
(especially journalists). […]
In a list of adjectives, again the rule is that you use a soma where an
and would be appropriate – where the modifying words are all
modifying the same thing to the same degree:
It was a dark, stormy night.
(The night was dark and stormy.)
But you do NOT use a comma for:

It was an endangered white rhino.
2. Commas for joining

Commas are used when two complete sentences are joined together,
using such conjunctions as and, or, but, while and yet.
3. Commas filling gaps

…this one is quite simple, involving missing words cunningly implied
by a comma:
Annie had dark hair; Sally, fair.
This doesn’t arise very much these days, though, does it? I wonder
why?
4. Commas before direct speech
137
This usage is likely to lapse. Many writers prefer to use colons; others
just open the inverted commas – a pretty unambiguous sign that direct
speech is coming.
5. Commas setting off interjections

Blimey, what would we do without it?
Stop, or I’ll scream.
6. Commas that come in pairs
Kohn Keats, who never did any harm to anyone, is often invoked by
grammarians.
I am, of course, going steadily nuts.
Nicholas Nickleby, published in 1839, uses a great many commas.
In all these case, the bits between the commas can be removed, leaving
the sentence arguably less interesting, but grammatically entire.
[…] The big final rule for the comma is one that you won’t find in any
books by grammarians. It is quite easy to remember, however. The
rule is: don’t use commas like a stupid person. I mean it. More than
any mark, the comma requires the writer to use intelligent discretion
and to be simply alert to potential ambiguity.
(from ‘Eats, Shoots and Leaves’ by L.Truss, Profile Books, 2003)
138
Grammar exercises
Define the underlined non-finite forms of the verb in these sentences,
explain their use and translate them into Russian:
1. You don't suspect me of doing anything wrong, do you?
2. The night was so dark that I could hardly see my way to the pony-
chaise which Mr. Fairlie had ordered to be waiting for me.
3. You will be tired of hearing about my school.
4. She was so absorbed over her work that she did not hear me
5. And then, suddenly, I saw a woman all in white approach the grave,
and stand looking at it for a little while.
6. She then glanced all round her, and, taking a white linen cloth or
handkerchief began cleaning the monument.
7. Don’t you remember my telling you, when we last met, that I was
going to Cumberland?
8. The money to which Miss Fairlie would become entitled on reaching
the age of twenty-one years is the next point to consider.
9. The only way of overcoming this difficulty was to have the answer
brought to us from the lawyer’s office by a special messenger.
10. Laura would have left the room without noticing him; but I stopped
her.
11. Some minutes had elapsed before I could make up my mind to lead
her back to the house.
12. I remembered her, and I also remembered your asking me about Anne
Catherick at Limmeridge, and your saying that she had once been
considered like me.”
13. I was perfectly incapable of speaking to her for the moment.
14.We hurried out from the trees to the open lawn; crossed it rapidly; and,
without another word passing between us, reached the house.
15. I went to Mrs. Michelson’s room, and found Fanny in a corner, with
her box by her side, crying bitterly.
16. After soothing the poor girl by a few friendly words, I asked where
she intended to sleep that night. She replied that she thought of going
to the little inn in the village. The next morning she was going to her
friends in Cumberland without stopping in London.
17. On opening the door* she instantly stepped out to the threshold, and
stood grinning at me in silence.
18. I had him watched.
19. I will answer for our laying hands on her before Mr. Hartright.
20. Her fear of Sir Percival had prevented her from going to Blackwater
Park late at night to inquire about them, and Miss Halcombe’s own
directions to her, on no account to miss the train* in the morning, had
prevented her from waiting at the inn the next day.
21. Let things stop as they are,” I said, adapting my language to my
listener.
139
22. On opening the envelope he had discovered, to his astonishment, that
it contained nothing but а blank sheet of paper.
23. When after two weeks of serious illness Miss Halcombe began to
recover slowly, a perplexing circumstance happened, which took me
completely by surprise.
24. On reading over these instructions I felt sure that my business was
extremely difficult and almost hopeless.
25.“In her state, Sir Percival! Without telling Lady Glyde?”
26. It means,” he answered, “that Miss Halcombe was strong enough to
take advantage of Fosco’s going to London, to go there too.”
27. “Impossible!” she cried out in a loud, frightened manner taking a step
or two forward from the wall.
28. On reaching the Asylum she went immediately to the proprietor.
29. Her first question, on leaving the terminus, referred to Miss
Halcombe.
might probably have stayed there much longer, but for the sudden
resolution of Anne, who decided to go back to Hampshire for the
purpose of seeing Lady Glyde.
31. On leaving the farm at Todd’s Corner, Mrs. Clements and Anne had
gone to London and had lived there for a month or more.
32. He deceived me about the risk I ran in helping him and when I helped
him, he owned coolly that I was his accomplice and would be put in
prison if anybody learned the truth.
33. She said nothing, and went slowly upstairs, without returning my
bow.
34.“I am fortunate in finding you here to-night,” I said.
35. I suggested to Mrs. Clements that the best method of keeping Anne
out of Percival’s reach was to bring her to London.
36. On the appointed day Mrs. Clements and Anne Catherick met me at
the station.
37. The next morning my wife and I started for London. I gave Percival
Mr. Fairlie’s letter of invitation to his niece (instructing her to sleep on
the journey to Cumberland at her aunt’s house), with directions to
show it to Lady Glyde on hearing from me.
38. On the morning of the 26th Percival’s letter reached me, announcing
his wife’s arrival by the midday train.
39. Then I told her alarming news about her sister’s state of health.
40. I invented news of the most pacifying kind; assuring her that she
would soon see her sister at my house.
41.“Well, sir, what with the hurry and the crowd of people pushing
about,* I can’t rightly say what the lady looked like.
140
2. Explain the use of modals in the sentences and translate them into
Russian:
1. But that consideration, as you may have noticed, has no influence with
Lady Glyde.”
2. “Answer my plain question plainly. Can the business of the signature
be put off till to-morrow—Yes or No?”
3. “How are we to get the answer in time?” she asked.
might probably have stayed there much longer, but for the sudden
resolution of Anne, who decided to go back to Hampshire for the
purpose of seeing Lady Glyde.
5. “Have you felt that this might be followed by her death?”
6. “How can he know me if I don’t know him!”
7. The speed with which the Count had left the theatre suggested to me
that his anxiety to escape Pesca might carry him yet further.
8. In this way she found out that the only place she could go to which was
not dangerously near to Sir Percival’s residence was a large village
called Sandon.
9. The shaven face which I had pointed out at the Opera might have been
covered by a beard in Pesca’s time; his dark brown hair might be а wig;
his name was evidently a false one.
10. I can lay my hand on my heart, and declare that every page has
charmed me.
11. Vast perspectives of success unroll themselves before my eyes. I must
act.
141
Пособие по домашнему чтению. На английском языке. Часть 2.
О.В. Серкина, Т.Н. Тимофеева
Учебное пособие
ЛР № 040327
Подписано в печать 27.12.2001. Формат 60Х84 1/16
Бумага офсетная. Гарнитура Times New Roman.
Усл.п.л. 8,5. Заказ № ____. Тираж 100 экз.
Оригинал-макет подготовлен в
Белгородском государственном университете
308007 г. Белгород, ул. Студенческая, 14
142

Let's Read and Talk On The Story The Woman in White

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Let's Read and Talk On The Story The Woman in White

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Белгородский государственный университет

Кафедра делового иностранного языка

Пособие по домашнему чтению

Для студентов, изучающих английский язык

Печатается по решению Редакционно-издательского совета

Авторы составители: О.В. Серкина, к.ф.н., доцент кафедры делового

Рецензенты: И.Г. Серова, к.ф.н., доцент кафедры английской

Пособие для развития навыков чтения художественного текста

ББК 81.2 Англ. я73

© Серкина О.В., Тимофеева Т.Н., 2005

Данное пособие подготовлено на кафедре делового иностранного

THE STORY BEGUN BY WALTER HARTRIGHT OF

It was the last day of July.

Pesca’s face and manner informed me that something extraordinary

My travelling instructions directed me to go to Carlisle, and then to

At two o'clock, I descended again to the breakfast-room. When I

The days passed on, the weeks passed on.

Working with words and word-combinations

4. Practice the pronunciation of the following proper names:

5. Give synonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

6. Give antonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

8. Find in the chapters under discussion English equivalents for the

Working on the text

1. Paraphrase or explain the sentences in your own words:

2. Make up your own sentences using the underlined parts of the

3. Insert prepositions where necessary:

Talking on the text

1. Introduce the main characters of the chapters. Give a brief

3. Answer the following questions:

4. Give a brief summary of the chapters under discussion.

Working with words and word-combinations

5. Give synonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

Working on the text

1. Make up your own sentences using the underlined parts of the

2. Insert prepositions where necessary:

Talking on the text

1. Find facts from the text to support these statements:

2. Answer the following questions:

4. Give a brief summary of the chapters under discussion.

The end comes fast.

THE STORY CONTINUED BY VINCENT GILMORE OF

I write these lines at the request of my friend, Mr. Walter Hartright.

The Wednesday’s post brought with it an event—the reply from Mrs.

Working with words and word-combinations

4. Give synonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

5. Give antonyms for the following words and word-combinations:

Working on the text

1. Paraphrase or explain the sentences in your own words:

2. Make up your own sentences using the underlined parts of the

3. Insert prepositions where necessary:

5. Translate into Russian:

Talking on the text

1. Find facts from the text to support these statements:

2. Answer the following questions and do the assignments:

3. Give a brief summary of the chapters under discussion.

THE STORY CONTINUED BY MARIAN HALCOMBE, IN

Limmeridge House, Nov. 8th.

15th. —A letter from Walter has come for me today. A private

19th. —Today I spoke to Mr. Percival about my living under his

THE SECOND EPOCH

STORY CONTINUED BY MARIAN HALCOMBE, IN EXTRACTS

Working with words and word-combinations

4. Give synonyms for the following words and word-combinations: