Poor Miss Finch

by Wilkie Collins

  EPILOGUE

  Madame Pratolungo's Last Words

  TWELVE years have passed since the events occurred which it has been thebusiness of these pages to relate. I am at my desk; looking idly at allthe leaves of writing which my pen has filled, and asking myself if thereis more yet to add, before I have done.

  There is more--not much.

  Oscar and Lucilla claim me first. Two days after they were restored toeach other at Sydenham, they were married at the church in that place. Itwas a dull wedding. Nobody was in spirits but Mr. Finch. We parted inLondon. The bride and bridegroom returned to Browndown. The rectorremained in town for a day or two visiting some friends. I went back tomy father, to accompany him, as I had promised, on his journey fromMarseilles to Paris.

  As well as I remember, I remained a fortnight abroad. In the course ofthat time, I received kind letters from Browndown. One of them announcedthat Oscar had heard from his brother.

  Nugent's letter was not a long one. It was dated at Liverpool, and itannounced his embarkation for America in two hours' time. He had heard ofa new expedition to the Arctic regions--then fitting out in the UnitedStates--with the object of discovering the open Polar sea, supposed to besituated between Spitzbergen and Nova Zembla. It had instantly struck himthat this expedition offered an entirely new field of study to alandscape painter in search of the sublimest aspects of Nature. He haddecided on volunteering to join the Arctic explorers--and he had alreadyraised the necessary money for his outfit by the sale of the onlyvaluables he possessed--his jewelry and his books. If he wanted more, heengaged to apply to Oscar. In any case, he promised to write again,before the expedition sailed. And so, for the present only, he would bidhis brother and sister affectionately farewell.--When I afterwards lookedat the letter myself, I found nothing in it which referred in theslightest degree to the past, or which hinted at the state of thewriter's own health and spirits.

  I returned to our remote Southdown village; and occupied the room whichLucilla had herself prepared for me at Browndown.

  I found the married pair as tranquil and as happy in their union as a manand woman could be. The absent Nugent dwelt a little sadly in their mindsat times, I suspect, as well as in mine. It was perhaps on this account,that Lucilla appeared to me to be quieter than she used to be in hermaiden days. However, my presence did something towards restoring her toher old spirits--and Grosse's speedy arrival exerted its enliveninginfluence in support of mine.

  As soon as the gout would let him get on his feet, he presented himselfwith his instruments, at Browndown, eager for another experiment onLucilla's eyes.

  "If my operations had failed," he said, "I should not have plagued you nomore. But my operations has not failed: it is you who have failed to takecare of your nice new eyes when I gave them to you."

  In those terms he endeavored to persuade her to let him attempt anotheroperation. She steadily refused to submit to it--and the discussion thatfollowed roused her famously.

  More than once afterwards Grosse tried to make her change her mind. Hetried in vain. The disputes between the two made the house ring again.Lucilla found all her old gaiety, in refuting the grotesque arguments andpersuasions of our worthy German. To me--when I once or twice attemptedto shake her resolution--she replied in another way, merely repeating thewords she had said to me at Sydenham: "My life lives in my love. And mylove lives in my blindness." It is only right to add that Mr. Sebright,and another competent authority consulted with him, declaredunhesitatingly that she was right. Under the circumstances, Mr. Sebrightwas of opinion that the success of Grosse's operation could never havebeen more than temporary. His colleague, after examining Lucilla's eyes,at a later period, entirely agreed with him. Which was in theright--these two or Grosse--who can say? As blind Lucilla, you first knewher. As blind Lucilla, you see the last of her now. If you feel inclinedto regret this, remember that the one thing essential was the thing shepossessed. Her life was a happy one. Bear this in mind--and don't forgetthat your conditions of happiness need not necessarily be her conditionsalso.

  In the time I am now writing of, the second letter from Nugent arrived.It was written the evening before he sailed for the Polar seas. One linein it touched us deeply. "Who knows whether I shall ever see Englandagain! If a boy is born to you, Oscar, call him by my name--for my sake."

  Enclosed in this letter was a private communication from Nugent,addressed to me. It was the confession to which I have alluded in mynotes attached to Lucilla's Journal. These words only were added at theend: "You now know everything. Forgive me--if you can. I have not escapedwithout suffering; remember that." After making use of the narrative, asyou already know, I have burnt it all, except those last lines.

  At distant intervals, we heard twice of the exploring ship, from whalingvessels. Then, there was a long dreary interval, without news of anysort. Then, a dreadful report that the expedition was lost. Then, theconfirmation of the report--a lapse of a whole year, and no tidings ofthe missing men.

  They were well provided with supplies of all kinds; and there was ageneral hope that they might be holding out. A new expedition wassent--and sent vainly--in search of them overland. Rewards were offeredto whaling vessels to find them, and were never earned. We wore mourningfor Nugent; we were a melancholy household. Two more years passed--beforethe fate of the expedition was discovered. A ship in the whale trade,driven out of her course, fell in with a wrecked and dismantled vessel,lost in the ice. Let the last sentences of the captain's report tell thestory.

  "The wreck was drifting along a channel of open water, when we firstsaw it. Before long, it was brought up by an iceberg. I got into my boatwith some of my sailors, and we rowed to the vessel.

  "Not a man was to be seen on the deck, which was covered with snow. Wehailed, and got no reply. I looked in through one of the circular glazedport-holes astern, and saw dimly the figure of a man seated at a table. Iknocked on the thick glass, but he never moved. We got on deck, andopened the cabin hatchway, and went below. The man I had seen was beforeus, at the end of the cabin. I led the way, and spoke to him. He made noanswer. I looked closer, and touched one of his hands which lay on thetable. To my horror and astonishment, he was a frozen corpse.

  "On the table before him was the last entry in the ship's log!

  "'Seventeen days since we have been shut up in the ice: Our fire wentout yesterday. The captain tried to light it again, and has failed. Thesurgeon and two seamen died of cold this morning. The rest of us mustsoon follow. If we are ever discovered, I beg the person who finds me tosend this----'

  "There the hand that held the pen had dropped into the writer's lap. Theleft hand still lay on the table. Between the frozen fingers, we found along lock of a woman's hair, tied at each end with a blue ribbon. Theopen eyes of the corpse were still fixed on the lock of hair.

  "The name of this man was found in his pocket-book. It was NugentDubourg. I publish the name in my report, in case it may meet the eyes ofhis friends.

  "Examination of the rest of the vessel, and comparison of dates with thedate of the log-book, showed that the officers and crew had been dead formore than two years. The positions in which we found the frozen men, andthe names, where it was possible to discover them, are here set forth asfollows."...

  That "lock of a woman's hair" is now in Lucilla's possession. It will beburied with her, at her own request, when she dies. Ah, poor Nugent! Arewe not all sinners? Remember the best of him, and forget the worst, as Ido.

  I still linger over my writing--reluctant to leave it, if the truth mustbe told. But what more is there to say? I hear Oscar hammering away athis chasing, and whistling blithely over his work. In another room,Lucilla is teaching the piano to her little girl. On my table is a letterfrom Mrs. Finch, dated from one of our distant colonies--over which Mr.Finch (who has risen gloriously in the world) presides pastorally asbishop. He harangues the "natives" to his heart's content: and thewonderful natives like it. "Jicks" is in her element among the aboriginalmembers of
her father's congregation: there are fears that the wanderingArab of the Finch family will end in marrying "a chief." Mrs. Finch--Idon't expect you to believe this--is anticipating another confinement.Lucilla's eldest boy--called Nugent--has just come in, and stands by mydesk. He lifts his bright blue eyes up to mine; his round rosy faceexpresses strong disapproval of what I am doing. "Aunty," he says, "youhave written enough. Come and play."

  The boy is right. I must put away my manuscript and leave you. Myexcellent spirits are a little dashed at parting. I wonder whether youare sorry too? I shall never know! Well, I have many blessings to comfortme, on closing my relations with you. I have kind souls who love me;and--observe this!--I stand on my political principles as firmly as ever.The world is getting converted to my way of thinking: the Pratolungoprogramme, my friends, is coming to the front with giant steps. Long livethe Republic! Farewell.

  THE END