I am working harder than ever
at my needle, to make up for the time that has been lost lately.
May 6th. To-day was Sunday, and Robert proposed that we should
go and look at Mary's grave. He, who forgets nothing where a
kindness is to be done, has found time to perform the promise he
made to me on the night when we first met. The grave is already,
by his orders, covered with turf, and planted round with shrubs.
Some flowers, and a low headstone, are to be added, to make the
place look worthier of my poor lost darling who is beneath it.
Oh, I hope I shall live long after I am married to Robert! I want
so much time to show him all my gratitude!
May 20th. A hard trial to my courage to-day. I have given
evidence at the police-office, and have seen the monster who
murdered her.
I could only look at him once. I could just see that he was a
giant in size, and that he kept his dull, lowering, bestial face
turned toward the witness-box, and his bloodshot, vacant eyes
staring on me. For an instant I tried to confront that look; for
an instant I kept my attention fixed on him--on his blotched
face--on the short, grizzled hair above it--on his knotty,
murderous right hand, hanging loose over the bar in front of him,
like the paw of a wild beast over the edge of its den.
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