Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  CHAPTER THE FORTY-SIXTH

  The Italian Steamer

  LUCILLA'S Journal has told you all that Lucilla can tell. Permit me toreappear in these pages. Shall I say, with your favorite English clown,reappearing every year in your barbarous English pantomime, "Here I amagain: how do you do?" No--I had better leave that out. Your clown is oneof your national institutions. With this mysterious source of Britishamusement let no foreign person presume to trifle.

  I arrived at Marseilles, as well as I can remember, on the fifteenth ofAugust.

  You cannot be expected to feel any interest in good Papa. I will passover this venerable victim of the amiable delusions of the heart, asrapidly as respect and affection will permit. The duel (I hope youremember the duel?) had been fought with pistols; and the bullet had notbeen extracted when I joined my sisters at the sufferer's bedside. He wasdelirious and did not know me. Two days later, the removal of the bulletwas accomplished by the surgeon in attendance. For a time, he improvedafter this. Then there was a relapse. It was only on the first ofSeptember that we were permitted to hope he might still be spared to us.

  On that date, I was composed enough to think again of Lucilla, and toremember Mrs. Finch's polite request to me that I would write to her fromMarseilles.

  I wrote briefly, telling the damp lady of the rectory (only at greaterlength) what I have told here. My main motive in doing this was, Iconfess, to obtain, through Mrs. Finch, some news of Lucilla. Afterposting the letter, I attended to another duty which I had neglectedwhile my father was in danger of death. I went to the person to whom mylawyer had recommended me, to institute that search for Oscar which I haddetermined to set on foot when I left London. The person was connectedwith the police, in the capacity (as nearly as I can express it inEnglish) of a sort of private superintendent--not officially recognized,but secretly trusted for all that.

  When he heard of the time that had elapsed without any discovery of theslightest trace of the fugitive, he looked grave; and declared, honestlyenough, that he doubted if he could reward my confidence in him byproving himself to be of the slightest service to me. Seeing, however,that I was earnestly bent on making some sort of effort, he put a lastquestion to me in these terms:--"You have not described the gentlemanyet. Is there, by lucky chance, anything remarkable in his personalappearance?"

  "There is something very remarkable, sir," I answered. "Describe itexactly, ma'am, if you please."

  I described Oscar's complexion. My excellent superintendent showedencouraging signs of interest as he listened. He was a mostelegantly-dressed gentleman, with the gracious manners of a prince. Itwas quite a privilege to be allowed to talk to him.

  "If the missing man has passed through France," he said, "with such aremarkable face as that, there is a fair chance of finding him. I willset preliminary inquiries going at the railway station, at thesteam-packet office, and at the port. You shall hear the resultto-morrow."

  I went back to good Papa's bedside--satisfied, so far.

  The next day, my superintendent honored me by a visit.

  "Any news, sir?" I asked.

  "News already, ma'am. The clerk at the steam-packet office perfectly wellremembers selling a ticket to a stranger with a terrible blue face.Unhappily, his memory is not equally good, as to other matters. He cannotaccurately call to mind, either the name of the stranger, or the placefor which the stranger embarked. We know that he must either have gone tosome port in Italy, or to some port in the East. And, thus far, we knowno more.

  "What are we to do next?" I inquired.

  "I propose--with your permission--sending personal descriptions of thegentleman, by telegraph, to the different ports in Italy first. Ifnothing is heard of him in reply, we will try the ports in the East next.That is the course which I have the honor of submitting to yourconsideration. Do you approve of it?"

  I cordially approved of it; and waited for the results with all thepatience that I could command.

  The next day passed, and nothing happened. My unhappy father got on veryslowly. The vile woman who had caused the disaster (and who had run offwith his antagonist) was perpetually in his mind; disturbing him andkeeping him back. Why is a destroying wretch of this sort, a pitiless,treacherous, devouring monster in female form, allowed to be out ofprison? You shut up in a cage a poor tigress, who only eats you when sheis hungry, and can't provide for her dear little children in any otherway--and you let the other and far more dangerous beast of the two rangeat large under protection of the law! Ah, it is easy to see that the menmake the laws. Never mind. The women are coming to the front. Wait alittle. The tigresses on two legs will have a bad time of it when we getinto Parliament.

  On the fourth of the month, the superintendent wrote to me. More news ofthe lost Oscar already!

  The blue man had disembarked at Genoa; and had been traced to the stationof the railway running to Turin. More inquiries had been, thereupon, sentby telegraph to Turin. In the meantime, and in the possible event of themissing person returning to England by way of Marseilles, experiencedmen, provided with a personal description of him, would be posted atvarious public places, to pass in review all travelers arriving either byland or sea--and to report to me if the right traveler appeared. Oncemore, my princely superintendent submitted this course to myconsideration--and waited for my approval--and got it, with my admirationthrown in as part of the bargain.

  The days passed--and good Papa still vacillated between better and worse.

  My sisters broke down, poor souls, under their anxieties. It all fell asusual on my shoulders. Day by day, my prospect of returning to Englandseemed to grow more and more remote. Not a line of reply reached me fromMrs. Finch. This in itself fidgeted and disturbed me. Lucilla was nowhardly ever out of my thoughts. Over and over again, my anxiety urged meto run the risk, and write to her. But the same obstacle always raiseditself in my way. After what had happened between us, it was impossiblefor me to write to her directly, without first restoring myself to myformer place in her estimation. And I could only do this, by enteringinto particulars which, for all I knew to the contrary, it might still becruel and dangerous to reveal.

  As for writing to Miss Batchford, I had already tried the old lady'spatience in that way, before leaving England. If I tried it again, withno better excuse for a second intrusion than my own anxieties mightsuggest, the chances were that this uncompromising royalist would throwmy letter in the fire, and treat her republican correspondent withcontemptuous silence. Grosse was the third, and last, person from whom Imight hope to obtain information. But--shall I confess it?--I did notknow what Lucilla might have told him of the estrangement between us, andmy pride (remember, if you please, that I am a poverty-strickenforeigner) revolted at the idea of exposing myself to a possible repulse.

  However, by the eleventh of the month, I began to feel my suspense sokeenly, and to suffer under such painful doubts of what Nugent might bedoing in my absence, that I resolved at all hazards on writing to Grosse.It was at least possible, as I calculated--and the Journal will show youI calculated right--that Lucilla had only told him of my melancholyerrand at Marseilles, and had mentioned nothing more. I had just openedmy desk--when our doctor in attendance entered the room, and announcedthe joyful intelligence that he could answer at last for the recovery ofgood Papa.

  "Can I go back to England?" I asked eagerly.

  "Not immediately. You are his favorite nurse--you must gradually accustomhim to the idea of your going away. If you do anything sudden you maycause a relapse."

  "I will do nothing sudden. Only tell me, when it will be safe--absolutelysafe--for me to go?"

  "Say, in a week."

  "On the eighteenth?"

  "On the eighteenth."

  I shut up my writing-desk. Within a few days, I might now hope to be inEngland as soon as I could receive Grosse's answer at Marseilles. Underthese circumstances, it would be better to wait until I could make myinquiries, safely and independently, in my own proper person. Comparisonof dates wi
ll show that if I _had_ written to the German oculist, itwould have been too late. It was now the eleventh; and Lucilla had leftRamsgate with Nugent on the fifth.

  All this time but one small morsel of news rewarded our inquiries afterOscar--and even that small morsel seemed to me to be unworthy of belief.

  It was said that he had been seen at a military hospital--the hospital ofAlessandria, in Piedmont, I think--acting, under the surgeons, asattendant on the badly-wounded men who had survived the famous campaignof France and Italy against Austria. (Bear in mind, if you please, that Iam writing of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, and that thepeace of Villafranca was only signed in the July of that year.)Occupation as hospital-man-nurse was, to my mind, occupation so utterlyat variance with Oscar's temperament and character, that I persisted inconsidering the intelligence thus received of him to be on the face of itfalse.

  On the seventeenth of the month, I had got my passport regulated, and hadpacked up the greater part of my baggage in anticipation of my journeyback to England on the next day.

  Carefully as I had tried to accustom his mind to the idea, my poor fatherremained so immovably reluctant to let me leave him, that I was obligedto consent to a sort of compromise. I promised, when the business whichtook me to England was settled, to return again to Marseilles, and totravel back with him to his home in Paris, as soon as he was fit to bemoved. On this condition, I gained permission to go. Poor as I was, Iinfinitely preferred charging my slender purse with the expense of thedouble journey, to remaining any longer in ignorance of what was going onat Ramsgate--or at Dimchurch, as the case might be. Now that my mind wasfree from anxiety about my father, I don't know which tormented memost--my eagerness to set myself right with my sister-friend, or my vaguedread of the mischief which Nugent might have done while my back wasturned. Over, and over again I asked myself, whether Miss Batchford had,or had not, shown my letter to Lucilla. Over and over again, I wonderedwhether it had been my happy privilege to reveal Nugent under his trueaspect, and to preserve Lucilla for Oscar after all.

  Towards the afternoon, on the seventeenth, I went out alone to get abreath of fresh air, and a look at the shop-windows. I don't care who orwhat she may be--high or low; handsome or ugly; young or old--it alwaysrelieves a woman's mind to look at the shop-windows.

  I had not been five minutes out, before I met my princely superintendent.

  "Any news for me to-day?" I asked.

  "Not yet."

  "Not yet?" I repeated. "You expect news then?"

  "We expect an Italian steam-ship to arrive in port before the evening,"said the superintendent. "Who knows what may happen?"

  He bowed and left me. I felt no great elation on contemplating the barrenprospect which his last words had placed before me. So many steamers hadarrived at Marseilles, without bringing any news of the missing man, thatI attached very little importance to the arrival of the Italian ship.However, I had nothing to do--I wanted a walk--and I thought I might aswell stroll down to the port, and see the vessel come in.

  The vessel was just entering the harbor by the time I got to thelanding-stage.

  I found our man employed to investigate travelers arriving by sea,punctually at his post. His influence broke through the vexatious Frenchrules and regulations which forbid all freedom of public movement withinofficial limits, and procured me a place in the room at the custom-housethrough which the passengers by the steamer would be obliged to pass. Iaccepted his polite attention, simply because I was glad to sit down andrest in a quiet place after my walk--not even the shadow of an idea thatanything would come of my visit to the harbor being in my mind at thetime.

  After a long interval the passengers began to stream into the room.Looking languidly enough at the first half-dozen strangers who came in, Ifelt myself touched on the shoulder from behind. There was our man, in astate of indescribable excitement, entreating me to compose myself!

  Being perfectly composed already, I stared at him, and asked, "Why?"

  "He is here!" cried the man. "Look!"

  He pointed to the passengers still crowding into the room. I looked; and,instantly losing my head, started up with a cry that turned everybody'seyes on me. Yes! there was the poor dear discolored face--there was Oscarhimself, thunderstruck on his side at the sight of Me!

  I snatched the key of his portmanteau out of his hand, and gave it to ourman--who undertook to submit it to the customhouse examination, and tobring it to my lodging afterwards. Holding Oscar fast by the arm, Ipushed my way through the crowd in the room, got outside, and hailed acab at the dock gates. The people about, noticing my agitation, said toeach other compassionately, "It's the blue man's mother!" Idiots! Theymight have seen, I think, that I was only old enough to be his eldersister.

  Once sheltered in the vehicle, I could draw my breath again, and rewardhim for all the anxiety he had caused me by giving him a kiss. I mighthave given him a thousand kisses. Amazement made him a perfectly passivecreature in my hands. He only repeated faintly, over and over again,"What does it mean? what does it mean?"

  "It means that you have friends, you wretch, who are fools enough to betoo fond of you to give you up!" I said. "I am one of the fools. You willcome to England with me to-morrow--and see for yourself if Lucilla is notanother."

  That reference to Lucilla restored him to the possession of his senses.He began to ask the questions that naturally occurred to him under thecircumstances. Having plenty of questions in reserve, on my side, I toldhim briefly enough what had brought me to Marseilles, and what I haddone, during my residence in that city, towards discovering the place ofhis retreat.

  When he asked me next--after a momentary struggle with himself--what Icould tell him of Nugent and Lucilla, it is not to be denied that Ihesitated before I answered him. A moment's consideration, however, wasenough to decide me on speaking out--for this plain reason, that amoment's consideration reminded me of the troubles and annoyances whichhad already befallen us as the result of concealing the truth. I toldOscar honestly all that I have related here--starting from my nightinterview with Nugent at Browndown, and ending with my precautionarymeasures for the protection of Lucilla while she was living under thecare of her aunt.

  I was greatly interested in watching the effect which these disclosuresproduced on Oscar.

  My observation led me to form two conclusions. First conclusion, thattime and absence had not produced the slightest change in the love whichthe poor fellow bore to Lucilla. Second conclusion, that nothing butabsolute proof would induce him to agree in my unfavorable opinion of hisbrother's character. It was in vain I declared that Nugent had quittedEngland pledged to find him, and had left it to me (as the event nowproved) to make the discovery. He owned readily that he had seen nothing,and heard nothing, of Nugent. Nevertheless his confidence in his brotherremained unshaken. "Nugent is the soul of honor," he repeated again andagain--with a side-look at me which suggested that my frankly-avowedopinion of his brother had hurt and offended him.

  I had barely time to notice this, before we reached my lodgings. Heappeared to be unwilling to follow me into the house.

  "I suppose you have some proof to support what you have said of Nugent,"he resumed, stopping in the courtyard. "Have you written to England sinceyou have been here? and have you had a reply?"

  "I have written to Mrs. Finch," I answered; "and I have not had a word inreply."

  "Have you written to no one else?"

  I explained to him the position in which I stood towards Miss Batchford,and the hesitation which I had felt about writing to Grosse. Thesmoldering resentment against me that had been in him ever since I hadspoken of his brother and of Lucilla, flamed up at last.

  "I entirely disagree with you," he broke out angrily. "You are wrongingLucilla and wronging Nugent. Lucilla is incapable of saying anythingagainst you to Grosse; and Nugent is equally incapable of misleading heras you suppose. What horrible ingratitude you attribute to one ofthem--and what horrible baseness to the other! I have listene
d to you aspatiently as I can; and I feel sincerely obliged by the interest whichyou have shown in me--but I cannot remain in your company any longer.Madame Pratolungo, your suspicions are inhuman! You have not broughtforward a shadow of proof in support of them. I will send here for myluggage, if you will allow me--and I will start for England by the nexttrain. After what you have said, I can't rest till I have found out thetruth for myself."

  This was my reward for all the trouble that I had taken to discover OscarDubourg! Never mind the money I had spent--I am not rich enough to careabout money--only consider the trouble. If I had been a man, I do reallythink I should have knocked him down. Being only a woman, I dropped him alow curtsey, and stung him with my tongue.

  "As you please, sir," I said. "I have done my best to serve you--and youquarrel with me and leave me, in return. Go! You are not the first foolwho has quarreled with his best friend."

  Either the words or the curtsey--or both together--brought him to hissenses. He made me an apology--which I received. And he lookedexcessively foolish--which put me in an excellent humour again. "Youstupid boy," I said, taking his arm, and leading him to the stairs. "Whenwe first met at Dimchurch did you find me a suspicious woman or aninhuman woman? Answer me that!"

  He answered frankly enough.

  "I found you all that was kind and good. Still, it is surely only naturalto want _some_ confirmation----" He checked himself there, and revertedabruptly to my letter to Mrs. Finch. The silence of the rector's wifeevidently alarmed him. "How long is it since you wrote?" he inquired.

  "As long ago as the first of this month," I replied.

  He fell into thought. We ascended the next flight of stairs in silence.At the landing, he stopped me, and spoke again. My unanswered letter wasstill uppermost in his mind.

  "Mrs. Finch loses everything that _can_ be lost," he said. "Is it notlikely--with her habits--that when she had written her answer, and wantedyour letter to look at to put the address on it, your letter was like herhandkerchief or her novel, or anything else--not to be found?"

  So far, no doubt, this was quite in Mrs. Finch's character. I could seethat--but my mind was too much pre-occupied to draw the inference thatfollowed. Oscar's next words enlightened me.

  "Have you tried the Poste-Restante?" he asked.

  What could I possibly have been thinking of! Of course, she had lost myletter. Of course, the whole house would be upset in looking for it, andthe rector would silence the uproar by ordering his wife to try thePoste-Restante. How strangely we had changed places! Instead of my clearhead thinking for Oscar, here was Oscar's clear head thinking for Me. Ismy stupidity quite incredible? Remember, if you please, what a weight oftrouble and anxiety had lain on my mind while I was at Marseilles. Canone think of everything while one is afflicted, as I was? Not even such aclever person as You can do that. If, as the saying is, "Homer sometimesnods"--why not Madame Pratolungo?

  "I never thought of the Poste-Restante," I said to Oscar. "If you don'tmind going back a little way, shall we inquire at once?"

  He was perfectly willing. We went downstairs again, and out into thestreet. On our way to the post-office, I seized my first opportunity ofmaking Oscar give me some account of himself.

  "I have satisfied your curiosity, to the best of my ability," I said, aswe walked arm-in-arm through the streets. "Now suppose you satisfy mine.A report of your having been seen in a military hospital in Italy, is theonly report of you which has reached me here. Of course, it is not true?"

  "It is perfectly true."

  "You, in a hospital, nursing wounded soldiers?"

  "That is exactly what I have been doing."

  No words could express my astonishment. I could only stop, and look athim.

  "Was that the occupation which you had in view when you left England?" Iasked.

  "I had no object in leaving England," he answered, "but the object whichI avowed to you. After what had happened, I owed it to Lucilla and I owedit to Nugent to go. I left England without caring where I went. The trainto Lyons happened to be the first train that started on my arrival atParis. I took the first train. At Lyons, I saw by chance an account in aFrench newspaper of the sufferings of some of the badly-wounded men, leftstill uncured after the battle of Solferino. I felt an impulse, in my ownwretchedness, to help these other sufferers in _their_ misery. On everyother side of it, my life was wasted. The one worthy use to which I couldput it was to employ myself in doing good; and here was good to be done,I managed to get the necessary letters of introduction at Turin. With thehelp of these, I made myself of some use (under the regular surgeons anddressers) in nursing the poor mutilated, crippled men; and I have helpeda little afterwards, from my own resources, in starting them comfortablyin new ways of life."

  In those manly and simple words, he told me his story.

  Once more I felt, what I had felt already, that there were hiddenreserves of strength in the character of this innocent young fellow,which had utterly escaped my superficial observation of him. In choosinghis vocation, he was, no doubt, only following the conventional moderncourse in such cases. Despair has its fashions, as well as dress. Ancientdespair (especially of Oscar's sort) used to turn soldier, or go into amonastery. Modern despair turns nurse; binds up wounds, gives physic, andgets cured or not in that useful but nasty way. Oscar had certainlystruck out nothing new for himself: he had only followed the fashion.Still, it implied, as I thought, both courage and resolution to haveconquered the obstacles which he must have overcome, and to have heldsteadily on his course after he had once entered it. Having begun byquarreling with him, I was in a fair way to end by respecting him. Surelythis man was worth preserving for Lucilla, after all!

  "May I ask where you were going, when we met at the port?" I continued."Have you left Italy because there were no more wounded soldiers to becured?"

  "There was no more work for me at the hospital to which I was attached,"he said. "And there were certain obstacles in my way, as a stranger and aProtestant, among the poor and afflicted population outside the hospital.I might have overcome those obstacles, with little trouble, among apeople so essentially good-tempered and courteous as the Italians, if Ihad tried. But it occurred to me that my first duty was to my owncountrymen. The misery crying for relief in London, is misery notparalleled in any city of Italy. When you met me, I was on my way toLondon, to place my services at the disposal of any clergyman, in a poorneighborhood, who would accept such help as I can offer him." He paused alittle--hesitated--and added in lower tones:--"That was one of my objectsin returning to England. It is only honest to own to you that I hadanother motive besides."

  "A motive connected with your brother and with Lucilla?" I suggested.

  "Yes. Don't misinterpret me! I am not returning to England to retractwhat I said to Nugent. I still leave him free to plead his own cause withLucilla in his own person. I am still resolved not to distress myself anddistress them, by returning to Dimchurch. But I have a longing thatnothing can subdue, to know how it has ended between them. Don't ask meto say more than that! In spite of the time that has passed, it breaks myheart to talk of Lucilla. I had looked forward to a meeting with you inLondon, and to hearing what I longed to hear, from your lips. Judge foryourself what my hopes were when I first saw your face; and forgive me ifI felt my disappointment bitterly, when I found that you had really nonews to tell, and when you spoke of Nugent as you did." He stopped, andpressed my arm earnestly. "Suppose I am right about Miss Finch's letter?"he added. "Suppose it should really be waiting for you at the post?"

  "Well?"

  "The letter may contain the news which I most want to hear."

  I checked him there. "I am not sure of that," I answered. "I don't knowwhat it is that you most want to hear."

  I said those words with a purpose. What was the news he was longing for?In spite of all that he had told me, my instincts answered: News thatLucilla is still a single woman. My object in speaking as I had justspoken, was to tempt him into a reply which might confirm m
e in thisopinion. He evaded the reply. Was that confirmation in itself? Yes--as_I_ think!

  "Will you tell me what there is in the letter?" he asked--passing, as yousee, entirely over what I had just said to him.

  "Yes--if you wish it," I answered: not over well pleased with his want ofconfidence in me.

  "No matter what the letter contains?" he went on, evidently doubting me.

  I said Yes, again--that one word, and no more.

  "I suppose it would be asking too much," he persisted, "to ask you to letme read the letter myself?"

  My temper, as you are well aware by this time, is not the temper of asaint. I drew my arm smartly out of his arm; and I surveyed him with,what poor Pratolungo used to call, "my Roman look."

  "Mr. Oscar Dubourg! say, in plain words, that you distrust me."

  He protested of course that he did nothing of the kind--without producingthe slightest effect on me. Just run over in your mind the insults,worries, and anxieties which had assailed me, as the reward for myfriendly interest in this man's welfare. Or, if that is too great aneffort, be so good as to remember that Lucilla's farewell letter to me atDimchurch, was now followed by the equally ungracious expression ofOscar's distrust--and this at a time when I had had serious trials of myown to sustain at my father's bedside. I think you will admit that asweeter temper than mine might have not unnaturally turned a little sourunder present circumstances.

  I answered not a word to Oscar's protestations--I only searchedvehemently in the pocket of my dress.

  "Here," I said, opening my card-case, "is my address in this place; andhere," I went on, producing the document, "is my passport, if they wantit."

  I forced the card and the passport into his hands. He took them inhelpless astonishment.

  "What am I to do with these?" he asked.

  "Take them to the Poste-Restante. If there is a letter for me with theDimchurch post-mark, I authorize you to open it. Read it before it comesinto my hands--and then perhaps you will be satisfied?"

  He declared that he would do nothing of the sort--and tried to force mydocuments back into my own possession.

  "Please yourself," I said. "I have done with you and your affairs. Mrs.Finch's letter is of no earthly consequence to me. If it _is_ at thePoste-Restante, I shall not trouble myself to ask for it. What concernhave I with news about Lucilla? What does it matter to _me_ whether sheis married or not? I am going back to my father and my sisters. Decidefor yourself whether you want Mrs. Finch's letter or not."

  That settled it. He went his way with my documents to the post-office;and I went mine back to the lodging.

  Arrived in my room, I still held to the resolution which I had expressedto Oscar in the street. Why should I leave my poor old father to go backto England, and mix myself up in Lucilla's affairs? After the manner inwhich she had taken her leave of me, had I any reasonable prospect ofbeing civilly received? Oscar was on his way to England--let Oscar managehis own affairs; let them all three (Oscar, Nugent, Lucilla) fight it outtogether among themselves. What had I, Pratolungo's widow, to do withthis trumpery family entanglement? Nothing! It was a warm day for thetime of year--Pratolungo's widow, like a wise woman, determined to makeherself comfortable. She unlocked her packed box; she removed hertraveling costume, and put on her dressing-gown; she took a turn in theroom--and, if you had come across her at that moment, I wouldn't havestood in your shoes for something, I can tell you!

  (What do you think of my consistency by this time? How often have Ichanged my mind about Lucilla and Oscar? Reckon it up, from the time whenI left Dimchurch. What a picture of perpetual self-contradiction Ipresent--and how improbable it is that I should act in this illogicalway! _You_ never alter your mind under the influence of your temper oryour circumstances. No: you are, what they call, a consistent character.And I? Oh, I am only a human being--and I feel painfully conscious that Ihave no business to be in a book.)

  In about half an hour's time, the servant appeared with a little paperparcel for me. It had been left by a stranger with an English accent anda terrible face. He had announced his intention of calling a littlelater. The servant, a bouncing fat wench, trembled as she repeated themessage, and asked if there was anything amiss between me and the manwith the terrible face.

  I opened the parcel. It contained my passport, and, sure enough, theletter from Mrs. Finch. Had he opened it? Yes! He had not been able toresist the temptation to read it. And more, he had written a line or twoon it in pencil, thus:--"As soon as I am fit to see you, I will imploreyour pardon. I dare not trust myself in your presence yet. Read theletter, and you will understand why."

  I opened the letter.

  It was dated the fifth of September. I ran over the first few sentencescarelessly enough. Thanks for my letter--congratulations on my father'sprospect of recovery--information about baby's gums and the rector's lastsermon--more information about somebody else, which Mrs. Finch felt quitesure would interest and delight me. What!!! "Mr. Oscar Dubourg has comeback, and is now with Lucilla at Ramsgate."

  I crumpled the letter up in my hand. Nugent had justified my worstanticipations of what he would do in my absence. What did the true Mr.Oscar Dubourg, reading that sentence at Marseilles, think of his brothernow? We are all mortal--we are all wicked. It is monstrous, but it istrue. I had a moment's triumph.

  The wicked moment gone, I was good again--that is to say, I was ashamedof myself.

  I smoothed out the letter, and looked eagerly for news of Lucilla'shealth. If the news was favorable, my letter committed to MissBatchford's care must have been shown to Lucilla by this time; must haveexposed Nugent's abominable personation of his brother; and must havethus preserved her for Oscar. In that case, all would be well again (andmy darling herself would own it)--thanks to Me!

  After telling me the news from Ramsgate, Mrs. Finch began to drift into,what you call, Twaddle. She had just discovered (exactly as Oscar hadsupposed) that she had lost my letter. She would keep her own letter backuntil the next day, on the chance of finding it. If she failed she musttry Poste-Restante, at the suggestion (not of Mr. Finch--there I waswrong)--at the suggestion of Zillah, who had relatives in foreign parts,and had tried Poste-Restante in her case too. So Mrs. Finch driveledmildly on, in her large loose untidy handwriting, to the bottom of thethird page.

  I turned over. The handwriting suddenly grew untidier than ever; twogreat blots defaced the paper; the style became feebly hysterical. GoodHeavens! what did I read when I made it out at last! See for yourselves;here are the words: "Some hours have passed--it is just tea-time---oh, mydear friend, I can hardly hold the pen, I tremble so--would you believeit, Miss Batchford has arrived at the rectory--she brings the dreadfulnews that Lucilla has eloped with Oscar--we don't know why--we don't knowwhere, except that they have gone away together privately--a letter fromOscar tells Miss Batchford as much as that, and no more--oh, pray comeback as soon as you can--Mr. Finch washes his hands of it--and MissBatchford has left the house again in a fury with him--I am in dreadfulagitation, and I have given it Mr. Finch says to baby, who is screamingblack in the face. Yours affectionately,

  "AMELIA FINCH."