_April_ 5.--Another lovely day--strolling about Lord Holland's Park all the morning, and this evening some music in our own dear little drawing-room. How happy--how very happy--good Heaven, what is this? That old horrible leaden taste: and oh, so deadly sick.... _April_ 6.--Thank Heaven the attack seems to have passed away. Oh, how it frightened me. Thank Heaven, too, I was able to keep the worst from dear William, and he did not know how like it was to that other dreadful time. _April_ 20.--Again that horrible sickness, and worse--oh, far worse--still, that awful deadly leaden taste. Worse this time, too, than the last. In bed all day yesterday. Poor Willie terribly anxious. Pray Heaven it may not come again. _May_ 6.--Another attack. God help me! if this should go on, I do not know what will become of me. Already I am beginning to feel weaker and weaker. Poor Willie!--these last three days have been terrible ones for him. However, the doctor says it will all pass off. Pray Heaven it may! _May_ 25.--More sickness, more derangement, more of that horrible leaden taste. The doctor himself is beginning to look uncomfortable, and I can see that poor Willie's mind is reverting to that terrible suggestion a year ago. Thank Heaven I have as yet managed to conceal from him and from Dr. Dodsworth that horrid deadly taste which made such an impression on Dr. Watson. Oh, when will this end! _June_ 10.--A horrible suspicion is taking possession of me. What can this mean? I look back through my journal, and it is every fortnight that this fearful attack returns. The 5th and 18th of April--3rd and 21st of May--and now again the 7th of this month. And that terrible leaden taste which is now almost constantly in my mouth; and with every attack my strength failing--failing--O God, what can it be? _June_ 26.--Another fortnight--another attack. There _must_ be foul play somewhere. And yet who could--who would do such a thing? Thank Heaven I have still concealed from my poor William that worst symptom of all, the horrible leaden taste which is now never out of my mouth. My precious Willie, how kind, how good he is to me.... _July_ 12.--I cannot hold out much longer now. Each time the attack returns I lose something of the little, the very little strength that is left. God help me, I feel now that I must go.... The Baron came to-day, and for a moment my poor boy's face lighted up with hope again. They had a long discussion before the doctor would consent to consult with him, but after that, they seemed to change the medicines. But something must have gone wrong, for I have never seen Dr. Dodsworth look so grave. _Aug._ 1.--I think the end is drawing very near now. This last attack has weakened me more than ever, and I write this in my bed. I shall never rise from it again. My poor, poor Willie.... Three days I have been in bed now, but I have taken nothing from any hand but his.