Fanny stood in the corridor, watching the maid, who was now the only one of them remaining, and who suddenly came to, gasped, and held on to her neck, swaying momentarily. She then took better hold of her basin, and with more difficulty and weakness than before, shaking lightly, was on her way.

Fanny remained, mouthing the Lord’s Prayer, and suddenly hoping she might never have to face Miss Crawford again.

She had to speak to Edmund, to warn him that he was in the greatest danger of his life.

The morrow came, the plan for the evening continued, and Fanny’s agitation did not lessen. She worked very diligently under her aunt’s directions, but concealed a very absent, anxious mind. About noon she made her escape with her work to the East room, that she might have no part in another most unnecessary rehearsal of the first act, which Henry Crawford was just proposing, and to avoid the sight and sound and saliva of Mr. Rushworth. A glimpse, as she passed the hall, of the two ladies walking up from the Parsonage made no change in her wish of retreat, and she worked and meditated in the East room, undisturbed, for a quarter of an hour, when a gentle tap at the door was followed by the entrance of . . . Miss Crawford.

Fanny’s heart skipped a beat.

“Am I right? Yes; this is the East room. My dear Miss Price, I beg your pardon, but I have made my way to you on purpose to entreat your help.” Miss Crawford’s face held no trace of her earlier horrific aspect.

Fanny, quite surprised, but with her wits about her, shewed herself mistress of the room by her civilities, and pretended ignorance of any danger. She looked at the bright bars of her empty fireplace grate with a careful display of concern.

“Thank you; I am quite warm, very warm,” said Miss Crawford. She indeed appeared peaches and roses, her cheeks blooming with vivacity. Fanny now imagined well the dire cause of that healthy glow. . . .

Miss Crawford continued: “Allow me to stay here a little while, and do have the goodness to hear me my third act. I have brought my book, and if you would but rehearse it with me, I should be so obliged! I came here to-day intending to rehearse it with Edmund—by ourselves—against the evening, but he is not in the way; and if he were, I do not think I could go through it with him, till I have hardened myself a little; for really there is a speech or two. You will be so good, won’t you?”

Fanny was most civil in her assurances, though she could not give them in a very steady voice. She also felt a great urge to touch the small hidden cross hanging underneath her gown. Would it be enough to protect her from this manner of evil?