LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 CALIFORNIA 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 L 31822016024556 
 
 Central University Library 
 
 University of California, San Diego 
 Note: This item is subject to recall after two weeks. 
 
 Date Due 
 
 JUL 29 1993 
 
 Cl 39 (1/91) 
 
 UCSD Lib.
 
 C/ 
 
 H TRovel 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 'MAN AND WIFE" "TUB WOMAN IN WHITE" " THE MOONSTONE" 
 "ARMADALE" "NO NAME" ETC. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 HARPER k BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON 
 
 1899
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIRST. 
 
 MADAME PRATOLUNGO PRESENTS HERSELF. 
 
 You are here invited to read the story of an Event which 
 occurred some years since in an out-of-the-way corner of En- 
 gland. 
 
 The persons principally concerned in the Event are a 
 blind girl, two (twin) brothers, a skilled surgeon, and a curious 
 foreign Avoman. I am the curious foreign woman. And I 
 take it on myself for reasons which will presently appear 
 to tell the story. 
 
 So far we understand each other. Good. I may make 
 myself known to you as briefly as I can. 
 
 I am Madame Pratolungo widow of that celebrated South 
 American patriot, Doctor Pratolungo. I am French by birth. 
 Before I married the Doctor I went through many vicissi- 
 tudes in my own country. They ended in leaving me (at 
 an age which is of no consequence to any body) with some 
 experience of the world, with a cultivated musical talent on 
 the piano-forte, and with a comfortable little fortune unex- 
 pectedly bequeathed to me by a relative of my dear dead 
 mother (which fortune I shared with good Papa and with 
 my younger sisters). To these qualifications I added another, 
 the most precious of all, when I married the Doctor namely, 
 a strong infusion of ultra-liberal principles. Vice la Jtt- 
 publiqne ! 
 
 Some people do one thing, and some do another, in the 
 way of celebrating the event of their marriage. Having be- 
 come man and wife, Doctor Pratolungo and I took ship to
 
 8 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Central America, and devoted our honey-moon, in those dis- 
 turbed districts, to the sacred duty of destroying tyrants. 
 
 Ah ! the vital air of my noble husband was the air of 
 revolutions. From his youth upward he had followed the 
 glorious profession of Patriot. Wherever the people of the 
 Southern New World rose and declared their independence 
 and, in my time, that fervent population did nothing else 
 there was the Doctor self-devoted on the altar of his 
 adopted country. He had been fifteen times exiled, and 
 condemned to death in his absence, when I met with him in 
 Paris the picture of heroic poverty, with a brown complex- 
 ion and one lame leg. Who could avoid falling in love with 
 
 Zj O 
 
 such a man? I was proud when he proposed to devote me 
 on the altar of his adopted country, as well as himself me 
 and my money. For, alas! every thing is expensive in this 
 world, including the destruction of tyrants and the saving 
 of Freedom. All my money went in helping the sacred 
 cause of the people. Dictators and filibusters flourished in 
 spite of us. Before we had been a year married the Doctor 
 had to fly (for the sixteenth time) to escape being tried for 
 his life. My husband condemned to death in his absence; 
 and I with my pockets empty. This is how the Republic 
 rewarded us. And yet I love the Republic. Ah, you mon- 
 archy people, sitting fat and contented under tyrants, respect 
 that ! 
 
 This time we took refuge in England. The affairs of Cen- 
 tral America went on without us. 
 
 I thought of giving lessons in music. But my glorious 
 husband could not spare me away from him. I suppose we 
 should have starved, and made a sad little paragraph in the 
 English newspapers, if the end had not come in another way. 
 My poor Pratolungo was, in truth, worn out. He sank under 
 his sixteenth exile. I was left a widow with nothing but 
 the inheritance of my husband's noble sentiments to con- 
 sole me. 
 
 I went back for a while to good Papa and my sisters in 
 Paris. But it was not in my nature to remain and be a bur- 
 den on them at home. I returned again to London, with 
 recommendations, and encountered inconceivable disasters 
 in the effort to earn a living honorably. Of all the wealth 
 ubout me the prodigal) insolent, ostentatious wealth none
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 9 
 
 fell to my share. What right has any body to be rich ? I 
 defy you, whoever you may be, to prove that any body lias 
 a right to be rich. 
 
 Without dwelling on my disasters, let it be enough to say 
 that I got up one, morning with three pounds, seven shillings, 
 and fourpence in my purse, with my excellent temper, and 
 my republican principles, and with absolutely nothing in 
 prospect that is to say, with not a halt-penny more to come 
 to me, unless I could earn it for myself. 
 
 In this sad case what does an honest woman, who is bent 
 on winning her own independence by her own work, do? 
 She takes three and sixpence out of her little humble store, 
 and she advertises herself in a newspaper. 
 
 One always advertises the best side of one's self. (Ah, 
 poor humanity !) My best side was my musical side. In 
 the days of my vicissitudes (before my marriage) I had at 
 one time had a share in a millinery establishment in Lyons. 
 At another time I had been bed-chamber woman to a great 
 lady in Paris. But in my present situation these sides of 
 myself were, for various reasons, not so presentable as the 
 piano-forte side. I was not a great player far from it ; but 
 I had been soundly instructed, and I had what you call a 
 competent skill on the instrument. Brief, I made the best 
 of myself, I promise you, in my advertisement. 
 
 The next day I borrowed the newspaper to enjoy the pride 
 of seeing my composition in print. 
 
 Ah, Heaven ! what did I discover? I discovered what 
 other wretched advertising people have found out before me. 
 Above my own advertisement the very thing I wanted was 
 advertised for by somebody else. Look in any newspaper 
 and you will see strangers who (if I may so express myself) 
 exactly fit each other advertising for each other without 
 knowing it. I had advertised myself as "accomplished mu- 
 sical companion for a lady. With cheerful temper to match." 
 And there, above me, was my unknown necessitous fellow- 
 creature crying out in printers' types: "Wanted, a compan- 
 ion for a lady. Must be an accomplished musician, and have 
 a cheerful temper. Testimonials to capacity and first-rate 
 references required." Exactly what I had ottered. " Apply 
 by letter only in the first instance." Exactly what I had 
 euid. Fie upon me! I had spent three and sixpence for 
 
 A 2
 
 10 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 nothing. I threw down the newspaper in a transport of ark 
 ger (like a fool), and then took it up again (like a sensible 
 woman), and applied by letter for the offered place. 
 
 My letter brought me into contact with a lawyer. The 
 lawyer enveloped himself in mystery. It seemed to be a 
 professional habit with him to tell nobody any thing if he 
 could possibly help it. 
 
 Drop by drop this wearisome man let the circumstances 
 out. The lady was a young lady. She was the daughter 
 of a clergyman. She lived in a retired part of the country. 
 More even than that, she lived in a retired part of the house. 
 Her father had married a second time. Having only the 
 young lady as child by his first marriage, he had (I suppose 
 by way of a change) a large family by his second marriage. 
 Circumstances rendered it necessary for the young lady to 
 live as much apart as she could from the tumult of a houseful 
 of children. So he went on, until there was no keeping it in 
 any longer, and then he let it out the young lady was blind! 
 
 Young lonely blind. I had a sudden inspiration. I felt 
 I should love her. 
 
 The question of my musical capacity was in this sad case 
 a serious one. The poor young lady had one great pleasure 
 to illumine her dark life music. Her companion was wanted 
 to play from the book, and play worthily, the works of the 
 great masters (whom this young creature adored) ; and she, 
 listening, would take her place next at the piano and repro- 
 duce the music, morsel by morsel, by ear. A professor was 
 appointed to pronounce sentence on me, and declare if I could 
 be trusted not to misinterpret Mozart, Beethoven, and the 
 other masters who have written for the piano. Through this 
 ordeal I passed with success. As for my references, they 
 spoke for themselves. Not even the lawyer (though he tried 
 hard) could pick holes in them. It was arranged on both 
 sides that I should, in the first instance, go on a month's visit 
 to the young lady. If we both wished it at the end of that 
 time, I was to stay, on terms arranged to my perfect satis- 
 faction. There was our treaty ! 
 
 The next day I started for my visit by the railway. 
 
 My instructions directed me to travel to the town of 
 Lewes, in Sussex. Arrived there, I was to ask for the pony- 
 chaise of my young lady's father described on his card as
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 1 1 
 
 Reverend Tertius Finch. The chaise was to take me to the 
 rectory house in the village of Dimchureh. And the village 
 of Dimchureh was situated among the South Down Hills, 
 three or four miles from the coast. 
 
 When I stepped into the railway carriage this was all I 
 knew. After my adventurous life after the voicai Jc agita- 
 tions of my republican career in the Doctor's time was I 
 about to bury myself in a remote English village, and live a 
 life as monotonous as the life of a sheep on a hill? Ah ! with 
 all my experience, I had yet to learn that the narrowest hu- 
 man limits are wide enough to contain the grandest human 
 emotions. I had seen the Drama of Life amidst the turmoil 
 of tropical revolutions. I was to see it again, with all its 
 palpitating interest, in the breezy solitudes of the South 
 Down Hills. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SECOND. 
 
 MADAME PRATOLUNGO MAKES A VOYAGE ON LAND. 
 
 A WELL-FED boy, with yellow Saxon hair, a little shabby 
 green chaise, and a rough brown pony these objects con- 
 fronted me at the Lewes station. I said to the boy, "Are 
 you Reverend Finch's servant?" And the boy answered, 
 "I be he." 
 
 We drove through the town a hilly town of desolate, 
 clean houses. No living creatures visible behind the jeal- 
 ously shut windows. No living creatures entering or de- 
 parting through the sad-colored closed doors. No theatre ; 
 no place of amusement, except an empty town-hall, with a 
 sad policeman meditating on its spruce white steps. No 
 customers in the shops, and nobody to serve them behind the 
 counter, even if they had turned up. Here and there on the 
 pavement an inhabitant with a capacity for staring, and 
 (apparently) a capacity for nothing else. I said to Reverend 
 Finch's boy, "Is this a rich place?" Reverend Finch's boy 
 brightened, and answered, "That it be!" Good. At any 
 rate, they don't enjoy themselves here the infamous rich ! 
 
 Leaving this town of unamused citizens immured in do- 
 mestic tombs, we got on a fine high-road still ascending 
 with a spacious open country on either side of it.
 
 12 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 A spacious open country is a country soon exhausted by 
 a sight-seer's eyes. I have learned from my poor Prato- 
 lungo the habit of searching for the political convictions of 
 my fellow-creatures when I find myself in contact with 
 them in strange places. Having nothing else to do, I search- 
 ed Finch's boy. His political programme I found to be: 
 As much meat and beer as I can contain, and as little work 
 to do for it as possible. In return for this, to touch my hat 
 when I meet the Squire, and to be content with the station to 
 which it has pleased God to call me. Miserable Finch's boy ! 
 
 We reached the highest point of the road. On our right 
 hand the ground sloped away gently into a fertile valley, 
 with a village and a church in it; and beyond, an abomina- 
 ble privileged inclosure of grass and trees torn from the 
 community by a tyrant, and called a Park, with the palace 
 in which this enemy of mankind caroused and fattened 
 standing in the midst. On our left hand spread the open 
 country a magnificent prospect of grand grassy hills roll- 
 ing away to the horizon, bounded only by the sky. To my 
 surprise, Finch's boy descended, took the pony by the head, 
 and deliberately led him off the high-road, and on to the 
 wilderness of grassy hills, on which not so much as a foot- 
 path was discernible any where, far or near. The chaise be- 
 gan to heave and roll. like a ship on the sea. 1 It became 
 necessary to hold with both hands to keep my place. I 
 thought first of my luggage then of myself. 
 
 "How much is there of this?" I asked. 
 
 "Three mile on't," answered Finch's boy. 
 
 I insisted on stopping the ship I mean the chaise and 
 on getting out. We tied my luggage fast with a rope; and 
 then we went on again, the boy at the pony's head, and I 
 after them on foot. 
 
 Ah, what a walk it was ! What air over my head, what 
 grass under my feet ! The sweetness of the inner land and 
 the crisp saltness of the distant sea were mixed in that de- 
 licious breeze. The short turf, fragrant with odorous herbs, 
 rose and fell elastic underfoot. The mountain piles of white 
 . cloud moved in sublime procession along the blue field of 
 heaven overhead. The wild growth of prickly bushes, spread 
 in great patches over the grass, was in a glory of yellow 
 bloom. On we went; now up, now down; now bending to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 13 
 
 the right, and now turning to the left. I looked about me. 
 No house, no road, no paths, fences, hedges, "walls ; no land- 
 marks of any sort. All round us, turn which way we might, 
 nothing was to be seen but the majestic solitude of the hills. 
 No living creatures appeared but the white dots of sheep 
 scattered over the soft green distance, and the sky-lark sing- 
 ing his hymn of happiness, a speck above my head. Truly 
 a wonderful place ! Distant not more than a morning's 
 drive from noisy and populous Brighton a stranger to this 
 neighborhood could only have found his way by the com- 
 pass, exactly as if he had been sailing on the sea. The far- 
 ther we penetrated on our land voyage, the more wild and 
 the more beautiful the solitary landscape grew. The boy 
 picked his way as he chose there were no barriers here. 
 Plodding behind, I saw nothing at one time but the back of 
 the chaise tilted up in the air, both boy and pony being in- 
 visibly buried in the steep descent of the hill. At other 
 times the pitch was all the contrary way ; the whole inte- 
 rior of the ascending chaise was disclosed to my view, and 
 above the chaise the pony, and above the pony the boy 
 and, ah, my luggage swaying and rocking in the frail em- 
 braces of the rope that held it. Twenty times did I confi- 
 dently expect to see baggage, chaise, pony, boy, all rolling 
 down into the bottom of a valley together. But no! Not 
 the least little accident happened to spoil my enjoyment of 
 the day. Politically contemptible, Finch's boy had his mer- 
 it he was master of his subject as guide and pony-leader 
 among the South Down Hills. 
 
 Arrived at the top of (as it seemed to me) our fiftieth 
 grassy summit, I began to look about for signs of the vil- 
 lage. 
 
 Behind me rolled back the long undulations of the hills, 
 with the cloud-shadows moving over the solitudes that we 
 had left. Before me, at a break in the purple distance, I 
 saw the soft white line of the sea. Beneath me, at my feet, 
 opened the deepest valley I had noticed yet with one first 
 sign of the presence of Man scored hideously on the face of 
 Nature, in the shape of a square brown patch of cleared and 
 plowed land on the grassy slope. I asked if we were get- 
 ting near the village now. Finch's boy winked, and an- 
 swered, " Yes, we be."
 
 14 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Astonishing Finch's boy ! Ask him what questions 1 
 might, the resources of his vocabulary remained invariably 
 the same. Still this youthful Oracle answered always in 
 three monosyllabic words ! 
 
 We plunged into the valley. 
 
 Arrived at the bottom, I discovered another sign of Man. 
 Behold the first road I had seen yet a rough wagon-road 
 plowed deep in the chalky soil ! We crossed this and turn- 
 ed a corner of a hill. More signs of human life. Two small 
 boys started up out of a dry ditch apparently set as scouts 
 to give notice of our approach. They yelled and set off 
 running before us by some short-cut known only to them- 
 selves. We turned again, round another winding of the 
 valley, and crossed a brook. I considered it my duty to 
 make myself acquainted with the local names. What was 
 the brook called? It was called "The Cockshoot !" And 
 the great hill, here, on my right? It was called "The Over- 
 blow !" Five minutes more, and we saw our first house 
 lonely and little built of mortar and flint from the hills. 
 A name to this also? Certainly ! Name of "Browndown." 
 Another ten minutes of walking, involving us more and 
 more deeply in the mysterious green windings of the valley, 
 and the great event of the day happened at last. Finch's 
 boy pointed before him with his whip, and said (even at this 
 supreme moment still in three monosyllabic words), 
 
 " Here we be !" 
 
 So this is Dimchurch ! I shake out the chalk-dust from 
 the skirts of my dress. I long (quite vainly) for the least 
 bit of looking-glass to see myself in. Here is the population 
 (to the number of at least five or six) gathered together, in- 
 formed by the scouts, and it is my woman's business to pro- 
 duce the best impression of myself that I can. We advance 
 along the little road. I smile upon the population ; the 
 population stares at me in return. On one side I remark 
 three or four cottages and a bit of open ground ; also an inn 
 named "The Cross-Hands," and a bit more of open ground; 
 also a tiny.. tiny, butcher-shop, with sanguinary insides of 
 sheep on one blue pie-dish in the window, and no other meat 
 than that, and nothing to see beyond but again the open 
 ground, and again the hills, indicating the end of the village 
 on this side. On the other side there appears for some dis-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 15 
 
 tance nothing but a long flint wall guarding the out-houses 
 of a farm. Beyond this comes another little group of cot- 
 tages, with the seal of civilization set upon them in the form 
 of a post-office. The post-office deals in general commodi- 
 ties in boots and bacon, biscuits and flannel, crinoline pet- 
 ticoats and religious tracts.' Farther on, behold another 
 flint wall, a garden, and a private dwelling-house, proclaim- 
 ing itself as the rectory. Farther yet, on rising ground, a 
 little desolate church, with a tiny white circular steeple top- 
 ped by an extinguisher in red tiles. Beyond this, the hills 
 and the heavens once more. And there is Dimchurch ! 
 
 As for the inhabitants what am I to say? I suppose I 
 must tell the truth. 
 
 I remarked one born gentleman among the inhabitants, and 
 he was a sheep-dog. He alone did the honors of the place. 
 He had a stump of a tail, which he wagged at me with ex- 
 treme difficulty, and a good honest white and black face 
 which he poked companionably into my hand. " Welcome, 
 Madame Pratolungo, to Dimchnrch; and excuse these male 
 and female laborers who stand and stare at you. The good 
 God who makes us all has made them too, but has not suc- 
 ceeded so well as with you and me." I happen to be one 
 of the few people who can read dogs' language as written in 
 dogs' faces. I correctly report the language of the gentle- 
 man sheep-dog on this occasion. 
 
 We opened the gate of the rectory and passed in. So my 
 Land Voyage over the South Down Hills came prosperously 
 to its end. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRD. 
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 THE rectory resembled, in one respect, this narrative that 
 I am now writing. It was in Two Parts. Part the First, 
 in front, composed of the everlasting flint and mortar of tho 
 neighborhood, failed to interest me. Part the Second, run- 
 ning back at a right angle, asserted itself as ancient. It 
 had been in its time, as I afterward heard, a convent of nuns. 
 Here were snug little Gothic windows, and dark ivy-covered 
 walls of venerable stone, repaired in places at some past pe-
 
 16 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 riod with quaint red bricks. I had hoped that I should en- 
 ter the house by this side of it. But no. The boy after 
 appearing to be at a loss what to do with me led the Avay 
 to a door on the modern side of the building, and rang the 
 bell. 
 
 A slovenly young maid-servant admitted me to the house. 
 
 Possibly this person was new to the duty of receiving vis- 
 itors. Possibly she was bewildered by a sudden invasion 
 of children in dirty frocks darting out on us in the hall, and 
 then darting back again into invisible back regions, screech- 
 ing at the sight of a stranger. At any rate, she too appear- 
 ed to be at a loss what to do with me. After staring hard 
 at my foreign face, she suddenly opened a door in the wall 
 of the passage, and admitted me into a small room. Two 
 more children in dirty frocks darted, screaming, out of the 
 asylum thus offered to me. I mentioned my name as soon 
 as I could make myself heard. The maid appeared to be 
 terrified at the length of it. I gave her my card. The 
 maid took it between a dirty finger and thumb, looked at it 
 as if it was some extraordinary natural curiosity, turned it 
 round, exhibiting correct black impressions in various parts 
 of it of her finger and thumb, gave up understanding it in 
 despair, and left the room. She was stopped outside (as I 
 gathered from the sounds) by a returning invasion of chil- 
 dren in the hall. There was whispering, there was giggling, 
 there was, every now and then, a loud thump on the door. 
 Prompted by the children, as I suppose pushed in by them, 
 certainly the maid suddenly re-appeared with a jerk. "Oh, 
 if you please, come this way," she said. The invasion of 
 children retreated again up the stairs, one of them in pos- 
 session of my card, and waving it in triumph on the first 
 landing. We penetrated to the other end of the passage. 
 Again a door was opened. Unannounced, I entered another 
 and a larger room. What did I see? 
 
 Fortune had favored me at last. My lucky star had led 
 me to the mistress of the house. 
 
 I made my best courtesy, and found myself confronting a 
 large, light -haired, languid, lymphatic lady, who had evi- 
 dently been amusing herself by walking up and down the 
 room at the moment when I appeared. If there can be such 
 a thing as a damp wnnifn.-, this was one. Thercvwas a hu-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 17 
 
 mid shine on her colorless white face, and an overflow of 
 water in her pale blue eyes. Her hair was not dressed, and 
 her lace cap was all on one side. The upper part of her 
 was clothed in a loose jacket of blue merino ; the lower part 
 was robed in a dimity dressing-gown of doubtful white. In 
 one hand she held a dirty dog-eared book, which I at once 
 detected to be a circulating library novel. Her other hand 
 supported a baby enveloped in flannel, sucking at her breast. 
 Such was my first experience of Reverend Finch's wife 
 destined to be also the experience of all after-time. Never 
 completely dressed, never completely dry; always with a 
 baby in one hand and a novel in the other such was Finch's 
 wife ! 
 
 "Oh, Madame Pratolungo? Yes. I hope somebody has 
 told Miss Finch you are here. She has her own establish- 
 ment, and manages every thing herself. Have you had a 
 pleasant journey ?" (These words were spoken vacantly, .-is 
 if her mind was occupied with something else. My first im- 
 pression of her suggested that she was a weak, good-natured 
 woman, and that she must have originally occupied a sta- 
 tion in the humbler ranks of life.) 
 
 "Thank yon, Mrs. Finch," I said. "I have enjoyed most 
 heartily my journey among your beautiful hills." 
 
 "Oh, you like the hills? Excuse my dress. I was half 
 an hour lale this morning. When you lose half an hour in 
 this house you never can pick it up again, try how you 
 may." (I soon discovered that Mrs. Finch was always los- 
 ing half an hour out of her day, and that she never, by any 
 chance, succeeded in finding it again, as she had just told 
 me.) 
 
 "I understand, madam. The cares of a numerous fam- 
 ily" 
 
 "Ah! that's just where it is." (This wns a favorite 
 phrase with Mrs. Finch.) "There's Finch, he gets up in the 
 morning, and goes and works in the garden. Then there's 
 the washing of the children, and the dreadful waste that 
 goes on in the kitchen. And Finch, he comes in without 
 any notice, and wants his breakfast. And, of course, I can't 
 leave the baby. And half an hour does slip away so easily 
 that how to overtake it again I do assure you I really don't 
 know." Here the baby began to exhibit symptoms of hav-
 
 18 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ing taken more maternal nourishment than his infant stom- 
 ach could comfortably contain. I held the novel while 
 Mrs. Finch searched for her handkerchief first, in her bed- 
 gown pocket ; secondly, here, there, and every where in the 
 room. 
 
 At this interesting moment there was a knock at the door. 
 An elderly woman appeared, who offered a most refreshing 
 contrast to the members of the household with whom I had 
 made acquaintance thus far. She was neatly dressed; and 
 she saluted me with the polite composure of a civilized 
 being. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am. My young lady has only 
 this moment heard of your arrival. Will you be so kind as 
 to follow me?" 
 
 I turned to Mrs. Finch. She had found her handkerchief, 
 and had put her overflowing baby to rights again. I re- 
 spectfully handed back the novel. "Thank you," said Mrs. 
 Finch. " I find novels compose my mind. Do you read 
 novels too? Remind me, and I'll lend you this one to-mor- 
 row." I expressed my acknowledgments and withdrew. 
 At the door I looked round, saluting the lady of the house. 
 Mrs. Finch was promenading the room, with the baby in 
 one hand and the novel in the other, and the dimity bed- 
 gown trailing behind her. 
 
 We ascended the stairs, and entered a bare whitewashed 
 passage, with drab-colored doors in it, leading, as I pre- 
 sumed, into the sleeping-chambers of the house. 
 
 Every door opened as we passed ; children peeped out at 
 me, and banged the door to again. " What family has the 
 present Mrs. Finch ?" I asked. The decent elderly woman 
 was obliged to stop and consider. "Including the baby, 
 ma'am, and two sets of twins, and one seven months' child 
 of deficient intellect fourteen in all." Hearing this, I be- 
 gan though I consider priests, kings, and capitalists to be 
 the enemies of the human race to feel a certain exceptional 
 interest in Reverend Finch. Did he never wish that he had 
 been a priest of the Roman Catholic Church, mercifully for- 
 bidden to marry at all ? While the question passed through 
 my mind my guide took out a key and opened a heavy oak- 
 en door at the farther end of the passage. 
 
 "We are obliged to keep the door locked, ma'am," she
 
 POOR MISS FINCU. 19 
 
 explained, "or the children would be in and out of our part 
 of the house all day long." 
 
 After ray experience of the children, I own I looked at the 
 oaken door with mingled sentiments of gratitude and re- 
 spect. 
 
 We turned a corner, and found ourselves in the vaulted 
 corridor of the ancient portion of the house. 
 
 The casement windows on one side sunk deep in recesses 
 looked into the garden. Each recess was filled with 
 
 o 
 
 groups of flowers in pots. On the other side the old wall 
 was gayly decorated with hangings of bright chintz. The 
 doors were colored of a creamy white, with gilt mouldings. 
 The brightly ornamented matting under 3ur feet I at once 
 recogni/ed as of South American origin. The ceiling above 
 was decorated in delicate pale blue, with borderings of flow- 
 ers. Nowhere down the whole extent of the place was so 
 much as a single morsel of dark color to be seen any where. 
 
 At the lower end of the corridor a solitary figure in a 
 pure white robe was bending over the flowers in the win- 
 dow. This was the blind girl whose dark hours I had come 
 .to cheer. In the scattered villages of the South Downs the 
 simple people added their word of pity to her name, and 
 called her, compassionately, " Poor Miss Finch." As for me, 
 I can only think of her by her pretty Christian name. She 
 is "Lucilla" when my memory dwells on her. Let me call 
 her "Lucilla" here. 
 
 When my eyes first rested on her she was picking off" the 
 dead leaves from her flowers. Her delicate ear detected the 
 sound of my strange footstep long before I reached the 
 place at which she was standing. She lifted her head and 
 advanced quickly to meet me, with a faint flush on her iace, 
 which came and died away again in a moment. I happen 
 to have visited the picture-gallery at Dresden in former 
 years. As she approached me, nearer ami nearer, I was ir- 
 resistibly reminded of the gem of that superb collection 
 the matchless Virgin of Raphael, called "The Madonna di 
 San Sisto." The lair broad forehead; the peculiar fullness 
 of the flesh between the eyebrow anil the eyelid ; the deli- 
 cate outline of the lower face ; the tender, sensitive lips ; the 
 color of the complexion and the' hair all reflected with a 
 startling fidelity the lovely creature of the Dresden picture.
 
 20 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 The one fatal point at which the resemblance ceased was in 
 the eyes. The divinely beautiful eyes of Raphael's Virgin 
 were lost in the living likeness of her that confronted me 
 now. There was no deformity, there was nothing to recoil 
 from, in my blind Lucilla. The poor, dim, sightless eyes had 
 a faded, changeless, inexpressive luok and that was all. 
 Above them, below them, round them to the very edges of 
 her eyelids, there was beauty, movement, life. In them 
 death. A more charming creature with that one sad draw- 
 back I never saw. There was no other personal defect in 
 her. She had the fine height, the well-balanced figure, and 
 the length of the lower limbs which make all a woman's 
 movements graceful of themselves. Her voice was delicious 
 clear, cheerful, sympathetic. This, and her smile, which 
 added a charm of its own to the beauty of her mouth, won 
 my heart before she had got close enough to me to put her 
 hand in mine. " Ah, my dear !" I said, in my headlong 
 way, "I am so glad to see you!" The instant the words 
 passed my lips I could have cut my tongue out for remind- 
 ing her in that brutal manner that she was blind. 
 
 To my relief, she showed no sign of feeling it as I did. 
 "May I see you in my way?" she asked, gently, and held up 
 her pretty white hand. "May I touch your face?" 
 
 I sat down at once on the window-seat. The soft, rosy 
 tips of her fingers seemed to cover my whole face in an in- 
 stant. Three separate times she passed her hand rapidly 
 over me, her own face absorbed all the while in breathless 
 attention to what she was about. " Speak again !" she said, 
 suddenly, holding her hand over me in suspense. I said a 
 few words. She stopped me by a kiss. " No more !" she ex- 
 claimed joyously. "Your voice says to my ears what your 
 face says to my fingers. I know I shall like you. Come in 
 and see the rooms we are going to live in together." 
 
 As I rose she put her arm round my waist then instantly 
 drew it away again, and shook her fingers impatiently, as if 
 something had hurt them. 
 
 " A pin ?" I asked. 
 
 " Xo ! no ! What colored dress have you got on ?" 
 
 " Purple." 
 
 " Ah ! T knew it ! Pray don't wear dark colors. I have 
 my own blind horror of any thing that is dark. Dear Mad-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 21 
 
 amc Pratolungo, wear pretty bright colors, to please me!" 
 She put her arm caressingly round me again round my neck, 
 however, this time, where her hand could rest on my linen 
 collar. "You will change your dress before dinner won't 
 you ?" s.he whispered. " Let me unpack for you, and choose 
 which dress I like." 
 
 The brilliant decorations of the corridor were explained to 
 me now. 
 
 We entered the rooms; her bedroom, my bedroom, and 
 our sitting-room between the two. I was prepared to find 
 them, what they proved to be as bright as looking-glasses 
 and gilding and gayly colored ornaments and cheerful knick- 
 knacks of all sorts could make them. They were more like 
 rooms in my lively native country than rooms in sober, color- 
 less England. The one thing which, I own, did still astonish 
 me was that all this sparkling beauty of adornment in Lucil- 
 la's habitation should have been provided for the express 
 gratification of a young lady who could not see. Experience 
 was yet to show me that the blind can live in their imagina- 
 tions, and have their favorite fancies and illusions like the 
 rest of us. 
 
 To satisfy Lucilla by changing my dark purple dress, it 
 was necessary that I should first have my boxes. So far as 
 I knew, Finch's boy had taken my luggage, along with the 
 pony, to the stables. Before Lucilla could ring the bell to 
 make inquiries, my elderly guide (who had silently left us 
 while we were talking together in the corridor) re-appeared, 
 followed by the boy and a groom, carrying my things. 
 These servants also brought with them certain parcels for 
 their young mistress, purchased in the town, together with 
 a be Ule, wrapped in. fair white paper, which looked like a 
 bottle of medicine and which had a part of its own to play 
 in our proceedings later in the day. 
 
 " This is my old nurse," said Lucilla, presenting her at- 
 tendant to me. "Zillah can do a little of every thing cook- 
 ing included. She has had lessons at a London club. You 
 must like Zillah, Madame Pratolungo, for my sake. Are 
 your boxes open ?" 
 
 She went down on her knees before the boxes as she asked 
 the question. No girl with the full use of her eyes could 
 have enjoyed more thoroughly than she did the trivial amuse-
 
 22 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 raent of unpacking my clothes. This time, however, her won- 
 derful delicacy of touch proved to be at fault. Of two dresses 
 of mine which happened to be exactly the same in texture, 
 though widely different in color, she picked out the dark 
 dress as being the light one. I saw that I disappointed her 
 sadly when I told her of her mistake. The next guess she 
 made, however, restored the tips of her fingers to their place 
 in her estimation : she discovered the stripes in a smart pair 
 of stockings of mine, and brightened up directly. " Don't 
 be long dressing," she said on leaving me. " We shall have 
 dinner in half an hour French dishes, in honor of your ar- 
 rival. I like a nice dinner; I am what you call in your 
 country gourmande. See the sad consequences!" She put 
 one finger to her pretty chin. "I am getting fat; I am 
 threatened with a double chin at two-and-twenty. Shock- 
 ing ! shocking !" 
 
 So she left me. And such was the first impression pro- 
 duced on my mind by " Poor Miss Finch." 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 
 
 TWILIGHT VIEW OF THE MAN. 
 
 ODR nice dinner had long since come to an end. We had 
 chattered, chattered, chattered as usual with women all 
 about ourselves. The day had declined, the setting sun was 
 pouring its last red lustre into our pretty sitting-room, when 
 Lucilla started as if she had suddenly remembered something, 
 and rang the bell. 
 
 Zillah came in. "The bottle from the chemist's," said 
 Lucilla. "I ought to have remembered it hours ago." 
 
 "Are you going to take it to Susan yourself, my dear?" 
 
 I was glad to hear the old nurse address her young lady 
 in that familiar way. It was so thoroughly un-English. 
 Down with the devilish system of separation between the 
 classes in this country that is what I say. 
 
 "Yes; I am going to take it to Susan myself." 
 
 "Shall I go with you?" 
 
 " No, no. Not the least occasion." She turned to me. 
 " I suppose you are too tired to go out again after your 
 walk on the hills ?" she said.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 23 
 
 I had dined; I had rested; I was quite ready to go oat 
 again, and I said so. 
 
 O f 
 
 Lucilla's face brightened. For some reason of her own 
 she had apparently attached a certain importance to per- 
 suading me to go out with her. 
 
 ~ o 
 
 "It's only a visit to a poor rheumatic woman in the vil- 
 lage," she said. "I have got an embrocation for her; and I 
 can't very well send it. She is old and obstinate. If I take 
 it to her, she will believe in the remedy. If any body else 
 takes it, she will throw it away. I had utterly forgotten her 
 in the interest of our nice long talk. Shall we get ready?" 
 
 I had hardly closed the door of my bedroom when there 
 was a knock at it. Lucilla? No: the old nurse entering on 
 tiptoe, with a face of mystery, and a finger confidentially 
 placed on her lips. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, ma'am," she began, in a Avhisper. " I 
 think you ought to know that my young lady has a purpose 
 in taking you out with her this evening. She is burning 
 with curiosity like all the rest of us, for that matter. She 
 took me out and used my eyes to see with yesterday even- 
 ing, and they have not satisfied her. She is going to try 
 your eyes now." 
 
 "What is Miss Lucilla so curious about?" I inquired. 
 
 " It's natural enough, poor dear," pursued the old woman, 
 following her own train of thought, without the slightest 
 reference to my question. "We none of us can find out any 
 thing about him. He usually takes his walk at twilight. 
 You are pretty sure to meet him to-night; and you will judge 
 for yourself, ma'am with an innocent young creature like 
 Miss Lucilla what it may be best to do." 
 
 This extraordinary answer set my curiosity in a flame. 
 
 " My good creature," I said, " you forget that I am a 
 stranger. I know nothing about it. Has this mysterious 
 man got a name ? Who is ' He ?' " 
 
 As I said that there was another knock at the door. Z51- 
 lah whispered, eagerly, "Don't tell upon me, ma'am! You 
 will see for yourself. I only speak for my young lady's 
 good." She hobbled away and opened the door and there 
 was Lucilla, with her smart garden-hat on, waiting for me. 
 
 We went out by our own door into the garden, and, passing 
 through a gate in the wall, entered the village.
 
 24 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 After the caution which the nurse had -given me, it was im- 
 possible to ask any questions, except at the risk of making 
 mischief in our little household on the first day of my joining 
 it. I kept my eyes wide open, and waited for events. I also 
 committed a blunder at starting I offered Lucilla my hand 
 to lead her. She burst out laughing. 
 
 "My dear Madame Pratolungo, I know my way better 
 than you do. I roam all over the neighborhood with nothing 
 to help me but this." 
 
 She held up a smart ivory walking-cane, with a bright silk 
 tassel attached. With her cane in one hand, and her chem- 
 ical bottle in the other and her roguish little hat on the top 
 of her head she made the quaintest and prettiest picture I 
 had seen for many a long day. " You shall guide me, my 
 dear," I said, and took her arm. We went on down the villaga 
 
 Nothing in the least like a mysterious figure passed us in 
 the twilight. The few scattered laboring people whom I 
 had already seen I saw again, and that was all. Lucilla was 
 silent suspiciously silent, as I thought, after what Zillah had 
 told me. She had, as I fancied, the look of a person who was 
 listening intently. Arrived at the cottage of the rheumatic 
 woman, she stopped and went in, while I waited outside. The 
 affair of the embrocation was not long. She was out again 
 in a minute, and this time she took my arm of her own accord. 
 
 "Shall we go a little farther?" she said. "It is so nice 
 and cool at this hour of the evening." 
 
 Her object in view, whatever it might be, was evidently 
 an object that lay beyond the village. In the solemn, peace- 
 ful twilight we followed the lonely windings of the valley 
 along which I had passed in the morning. When we came 
 opposite the little solitary house which I had already learned 
 to know as " Browndown," I felt her hand unconsciously 
 tighten on my arm. "Aha!" I said to myself. "lias 
 Browndown any thing to do with this?" 
 
 "Does the view look very lonely to-night?" she asked, 
 waving her cane over the scene before us. 
 
 The true meaning of that question I took to be, " Do you 
 see any body walking out to-night?" It was not my busi- 
 ness to interpret her meaning before she had thought fit to 
 confide her secret to me. "To my mind, dear," was all I 
 paid, "it is a very beautiful view."
 
 POOtt MISS FINCH. 25 
 
 She fell silent again, and absorbed herself in her own 
 thoughts. We turned into a new winding of the valley, and 
 there, walking toward us from the opposite direction, was a 
 human figure at last the figure of a solitary man ! 
 
 As we got nearer to each other I perceived that he was a 
 gentleman ; dressed in a light shooting-jacket, and wearing 
 a felt hat of the conical Italian shape. A little nearer, and I 
 saw that he was young. Nearer still, and I discovered that 
 he was handsome, though in rather an effeminate way. At 
 the same moment Lucilla heard his footstep. Her color in- 
 stantly rose, and once again I felt her hand tighten involun- 
 tarily round my arm. (Good ! Here was the mysterious 
 object of Zillah's warning to me found at last !) 
 
 I have, and I don't mind acknowledging it, an eye for a 
 handsome man. I looked at him as he passed us. Now, I 
 solemnly assure you, I am not an ugly woman. Nevertheless, 
 as our eyes met, I saw the strange gentleman's face suddenly 
 contract, with an expression which told me plainly that I 
 had produced a disagreeable impression on him. With some 
 difficulty for my companion was holding my arm, and 
 seemed to be disposed to stop altogether I quickened my 
 pace so as to get by him rapidly; showing him, I dare say, 
 that I thought the change in his face when I looked at him 
 an impertinence on his part. However that may be, after a 
 momentary interval I heard his step behind. The man had 
 turned, and had followed us. 
 
 He came close to me, on the opposite side to Lucilla, and 
 took off his hat. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am," he said. " You looked at 
 me just now." 
 
 At the first sound of Ins voice I felt Lucilla start. Her 
 hand began to tremble on my arm with some sudden agita- 
 tion inconceivable to me. In the double surprise of discov- 
 ering this and of finding myself charged so abruptly with the 
 offense of looking at a gentleman, I suffered the most excep- 
 tional of all losses (where a woman is concerned) the loss 
 of my tongue. 
 
 He gave me no time to recover myself. lie proceeded with 
 what he had to say speaking, mind, in the tone of a perfect- 
 ly well-bred man, with nothing wild in his look and nothing 
 odd in his manner. 
 
 B
 
 26 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Excuse me if I venture on asking you a very strange ques- 
 tion," he went on. " Did you happen to be at Exeter on the 
 third of last month?" 
 
 (I must have been more or less than woman if I had not 
 recovered the use of my tongue now.) 
 
 " I never was at Exeter in my life, Sir," I answered. " May 
 I ask, on my side, why you put the question to me?" 
 
 Instead of replying, he looked at Lucilla. 
 
 "Pardon me once more. Perhaps this young lady 
 
 He was plainly on the point of inquiring next whether Lu- 
 cilla had been at Exeter, when he checked himself. In the 
 breathless interest which she felt in what was going on she 
 had turned her full face upon him. There was still light 
 enough left for her eyes to tell their own sad story, in their 
 own mute way. As he read the truth in them the man's face 
 changed from the keen look of scrutiny which it had worn 
 thus far to an expression of compassion I had almost said 
 of distress. He again took oft' his hat, and bowed to me with 
 the deepest respect. 
 
 " I beg your pardon/' he said, very earnestly ; " I beg the 
 young lady's pardon. Pray forgive me. My strange behav- 
 ior has its excuse if I could bring myself to explain it. Yon 
 distressed me when you looked at me. I can't explain why. 
 Good-evening." 
 
 He turned away hastily, like a man confused and ashamed 
 of himself, and left us. I can only repeat that there was 
 nothing strange or flighty in his manner. A perfect gentle- 
 man, in full possession of his senses there is the unexagger- 
 ated and the just description of him. 
 
 I looked at Lucilla. She was standing with her blind face 
 raised to the sky, lost in herself, like a person rapt in ecstasy. 
 
 " Who is that man ?" I asked. 
 
 My question brought her down suddenly from heaven to 
 earth. "Oh !" she said, reproachfully, "I had his voice still 
 in my ears, and now I have lost it ! ' Who is he !' " she add- 
 ed, after a moment, repeating my question ; " nobody knows. 
 Tell me what is he like? Is he beautiful? He must be 
 beautiful, with that voice !" 
 
 "Is this the first time you have heard his voice?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 "Yes. He passed us yesterday, when I was out with Zil-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 29 
 
 lah ; but he never spoke. What is he like ? Do, pray, tell 
 me what is he like ?" 
 
 There was a passionate impatience in her tone which warned 
 me not to trifle with her. The darkness was coming. I 
 thought it wise to propose returning to the house. She con- 
 sented to do any thing I liked, as long as I consented, on my 
 side, to describe the unknown man. 
 
 All the way back I was questioned and cross-questioned, 
 till I felt like a witness under skillful examination in a court 
 of law. Lucilla appeared to be satisfied so far with the re- 
 sults. 
 
 "Ah !" she exclaimed, letting out the secret which her old 
 nurse had confided to me. " You can use your own eyes. 
 Zillah could tell me nothing." 
 
 o 
 
 When we got home again her curiosity took another turn. 
 "Exeter?" she said, considering with herself. "He men- 
 tioned Exeter. I am like you I never was there. What 
 will books tell us about Exeter?" She dispatched Zillah to 
 the other side of the house for a gazetteer. 
 
 I followed the old woman into the corridor, and set her 
 mind at ease in a whisper. "I have kept what you told me 
 a secret," I said. "The man was out in the twilight, as you 
 foretold. I have spoken to him ; and I am quite as curious 
 as the rest of you. Get the book." 
 
 Lucilla had, to confess the truth, infected me with her idea 
 that the gazetteer might help us in interpreting the stranger's 
 remarkable question relating to the third of last month, and 
 his extraordinary assertion that I had distressed him when I 
 looked at him. With the nurse breathless on one side of me, 
 and Lucilla breathless on the other, I opened the book at the 
 letter " E," and found the place, and read aloud these lines, 
 as follows: 
 
 " EXETER. A city and sen-port in Devonshire. Formerly the seat of 
 the West Saxon Kings. It has a large foreign and home commerce. Pop- 
 lation 33,738. The Assizes for Devonshire are held at Kxeter in the spring 
 and summer." 
 
 " Is that all ?" asked Lucilla. 
 
 I shut the book, and answered, like Finch's boy, in three 
 monosyllabic words : 
 "That is all."
 
 30 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 
 
 CANDLE-LIGHT VIEW OF THE MAN. 
 
 THERE had been barely light enough left for me to read by. 
 Zillah lit the candles and drew the curtains. The silence 
 which betokens a profound disappointment reigned in the 
 room. 
 
 "Who can he be?" repeated Lucilla, for the hundredth 
 time. "And why should your looking at him have distressed 
 him? Guess, Madame Pratolungo!" 
 
 The last sentence in the gazetteer's description of Exeter 
 hung a little on my mind, in consequence of there being one 
 word in it which I did not quite understand the word "As- 
 sizes." I have, I hope, shown that I possess a competent 
 knowledge of the English language by this time. But my 
 experience fails a little on the side of phrases consecrated to 
 the use of the law. I inquired into the meaning of "Assizes," 
 and was informed that it signified movable courts, for trying 
 prisoners at given times in various parts of England. Hear- 
 ing this, I had another of my inspirations. I guessed imme- 
 diately that the interesting stranger was a criminal escaped 
 from the Assizes. 
 
 Worthy old Zillah started to her feet, convinced that I had 
 hit him off (as the English saying is) to a T. "Mercy pre- 
 serve us!" cried the nurse, "I haven't bolted the garden 
 door !" 
 
 She hurried out of the room to rescue us from robbery and 
 murder before it was too late. I looked at Lucilla. She was 
 leaning back in her chair, with a smile of quiet contempt on 
 her pretty face. "Madame Pratolungo," she remarked, "that 
 is the first foolish thing you have said since you have been 
 here." 
 
 " Wait a little, my dear," I rejoined. " You have declared 
 that nothing is known of this man. Now you mean by that 
 nothing which satisfies //</, He has not dropped down 
 from heaven, I suppose ? The time when he came here must 
 be known. Also, whether he came alone or not. Also, how
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 31 
 
 and where he has found a lodging in the village. Before I 
 admit that my guess is completely wrong, I want to hear 
 what general observation in Dimchurch has discovered on 
 the subject of this gentleman. How long has he been here?" 
 
 Lucilla did not, at first, appear to be much interested in 
 the purely practical view of the question which I had just 
 placed before her. 
 
 " He has been here a week," she answered, carelessly. 
 
 "Did he come, as I came, over the hills?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "With a guide, of course ?" 
 
 Lucilla suddenly sat up in her chair. 
 
 " With his brother," she said. " His twin brother, Mad- 
 ame Pratohmgo." 
 
 /sat up in my chair. The appearance of his twin brother 
 in the story was a complication in itself Two criminals es- 
 caped from the Assizes, instead of one ! 
 
 " How did they find their way here ?" I asked next. 
 
 * Nobody knows." 
 
 " Where did they go to when they got here ?" 
 
 "To the Cross-Hands the little public-house in the vil- 
 lage. The landlord told Zillah he was perfectly astonished 
 at the resemblance between them. It was impossible to 
 know which was which it was wonderful, even for twins. 
 They arrived early in the day, when the tap-room was emp- 
 ty; and they had a long talk together in private. At the 
 end of it they rang for the landlord, and asked if he had a 
 bed-room to let in the house. You must have seen for your- 
 self that the Cross-Hands is a mere beer-shop. The landlord 
 had a room that he could spare a wretched place, not fit for 
 a gentleman to sleep in. One of the brothers took the room, 
 for all that." 
 
 "What became of the other brother?" 
 
 "He went away the same day very unwillingly. The 
 parting between them was most affecting. The brother who 
 spoke to us to-night insisted on it, or the other would have 
 refused to leave him. They both shed tears 
 
 "They did worse than that," said old Zillah, re-entering 
 the room at the moment. " I have made all the doors and 
 windows fast down stairs-, he can't get in now, my dear, if 
 he tries." \
 
 32 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "What did they do that was worse than crying?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Kissed each other !" said Zillah, witli a look of profound 
 disgust. " Two men !" 
 
 "Perhaps they are foreigners," I suggested. "Did they 
 give themselves a name ?" 
 
 o 
 
 "The landlord asked the one who stayed behind for his 
 name," replied Lucilla. "He said it was 'Dubourg.'" 
 
 This confirmed me in my belief that I had guessed right. 
 "Dubourg" is as common a name in my country ns "Jones" 
 or "Thompson" is in England just the sort of feigned name 
 that a man in difficulties would give among us. Was he a 
 criminal countryman of mine ? No ! There had been noth- 
 ing foreign in his accent when he spoke. Pure English 
 there could be no doubt of that. And yet he had given a 
 French name. Had he deliberately insulted my nation? Yes! 
 Not content with being stained by innumerable crimes, he 
 had added to the list of his atrocities he had insulted my 
 nation ! 
 
 " Well ?" I resumed. " We have left this undetected ruf- 
 fian deserted in the public-house. Is he there still ?" 
 
 " Bless your heart !" cried -the old nurse, " he is settled in 
 the neighborhood. He has taken Browndown." 
 
 O 
 
 I turned to Lucilla. " Browndown belongs to Somebody," 
 I said, hazarding another guess. " Did Somebody let it with- 
 out a reference ?" 
 
 "Browndown belongs to a gentleman at Brighton," an- 
 
 O C^ \J t 
 
 swered Lucilla. " And the gentleman was referred to a well- 
 known name in London one of the great City merchants. 
 Here is the most provoking part of the whole mystery. The 
 merchant said, ' I have known Mr. Dubourg from his child- 
 hood. He has reasons for wishing to live in the strictest re- 
 tirement. I answer for his being an honorable man, to whom 
 you can safely let your house. More than this I am not au- 
 thorized to tell you.' My father knows the landlord of 
 Browndown ; and that is what the reference said to him, 
 word for word ! Isn't it provoking? The house was let for 
 six months, certain, the next day. It is wretchedly furnished. 
 Mr. Dnbonrg has had several things that he wanted sent 
 from Brighton. Besides the furniture, a packing-case from 
 London arrived at the house to-day. It was so strongly
 
 POOR MISS FIXCII. 33 
 
 nailed up that the carpenter had to be sent for to open it. 
 He reports that the case was full of thin plates of gold and 
 silver; and it was accompanied by a box of extraordinary 
 tools, the use of which was a mystery to the carpenter him- 
 self. Mr. Dubourg locked up these things in a room at the 
 back of the house, and put the key in his pocket. He seemed 
 to be pleased he whistled a tune, and said, ' Now we shall 
 do !' The landlady at the Cross-Hands is our authority for 
 this. She does what little cooking he requires; and her 
 daughter makes his bed, and so on. They go to him in the 
 morning, and return to the inn in the evening. He has no 
 servants with him. He is all by himself at night. Isn't it 
 interesting ? A mystery in real life. It baffles every 
 body." 
 
 "You must be very strange people, my dear," I said, "to 
 make a mystery of such a plain case as this." 
 
 "Plain!" repeated Lucilla, in amazement. 
 
 "Certainly! The gold and silver plates, and the strange 
 tools, and the living in retirement, and the sending the serv- 
 ants away at night all point to the same conclusion. My 
 guess is the right one. The man is an escaped criminal; and 
 his form of crime is coining false money. He has been dis- 
 covered at Exeter, he has escaped the officers of justice, and 
 lie is now going to begin again here. You can do as you 
 please. If / happen to want change, I won't get it in this 
 neighborhood." 
 
 O 
 
 Lucilla laid herself back in her chair again. I could sec 
 that she gave me up, in the matter of Mr. Dubourg, as a per- 
 son willfully and incorrigibly wrong. 
 
 "A coiner of false money recommended as an honorable 
 man by one of the first merchants in London !" she exclaim- 
 ed. " We do some very eccentric things in England occa- 
 sionally ; but there is a limit to our nntional madness, Mad- 
 ame Pratolungo, and you have reached it. Shall we have 
 some music ?" 
 
 She spoke a little sharply. Mr. Dubourg was the hero of 
 her romance. She resented seriously resented any attempt 
 on my part to lower him in her estimation. 
 
 I persisted in my unfavorable opinion of him, nevertheless. 
 .The question between us (as I might have told her), was a 
 question of believing or not believing in the merchant of 
 
 r 2
 
 34 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 London. To her mind it was a sufficient guarantee of his in- 
 tegrity that lie was a rich man. To my mind (speaking as a 
 good Socialist), that very circumstance told dead against 
 him. A capitalist is a robber of one sort, and a coiner is a 
 robber of another sort. Whether the capitalist recommends 
 the coiner, or the coiner the capitalist, is all one to me. In 
 either case (to quote the language of an excellent English 
 play), the honest people are the soft, easy cushions on which 
 these knaves repose and fatten. It was on the tip of my 
 tongue to put this large and liberal view of the subject to 
 Lucilla. But (alas !) it was easy to see that the poor child 
 was infected by the narrow prejudices of the class amidst 
 whkh she lived. How could I find it in my heart to run the 
 risk of a disagreement between us on the first day? No it 
 was not to be done. I gave the nice pretty blind girl a kiss. 
 And we went to the piano together. And I put off making 
 a good Socialist of Lucilla till a more convenient oppor- 
 tunity. 
 
 We might as well have left the piano unopened. The mu- 
 sic was a failure. 
 
 I played my best. From Mozart to Beethoven. From 
 Beethoven to Schubert. From Schubert to Chopin. She 
 listened with all the will in the world to be pleased. She 
 thanked me again and again. She tried, at my invitation, to 
 play herself, choosing the familiar compositions which she 
 knew by ear. No! The abominable Dubourg, having got 
 the uppermost place in her mind, kept it. She tried and 
 tried and tried, and could do nothing. His voice was still in 
 her ears the only music which could possess itself of her at- 
 tention that night. I took her place, and began to play again. 
 She suddenly snatched my hands off the keys. " Is Zillah 
 here?" she whispered. I told her Zillah had left the room. 
 She laid her charming head on my shoulder, and sighed hys- 
 terically. "I can't help thinking of him," she burst out. "I 
 am miserable for the first time in my life no! I am happy 
 for the first time in my life. Oh, what must you think of me! 
 I don't know what -I am talking about. Why did you en- 
 courage him to speak to us? I might never have heard his 
 voice but for you." She lifted her head again, with a little 
 shiver, and composed herself. One of her hands wandered 
 here and there over the keys of the piano, playing softly.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 35 
 
 " His charming voice !" she whispered, dreamily, while she 
 played. " Oh, his charming voice !" She paused again. Her 
 hand dropped from the piano and took mine. "Is this love?" 
 she said, half to herself, half to me. 
 
 My duty as a respectable woman lay clearly before me 
 my duty was to tell her a lie. 
 
 "It is nothing, my dear, but too much excitement, and too 
 much fatigue," I said. "To-morrow you shall be my young 
 lady again. To-night you must be only my child. Come and 
 let me put you to bed." 
 
 She yielded with a weary sigh. Ah, how lovely she looked 
 in her pretty night-dress, on her knees at the bedside the 
 innocent, afflicted creature saying her prayers ! 
 
 I am, let me own, an equally headlong woman at loving 
 and hating. When I had left her for the night, I could hard- 
 ly have felt more tenderly interested in her if she had been 
 really a child of my own. You have met with people of my 
 sort unless you are a very forbidding person indeed who 
 have talked to you in the most confidential manner of all 
 their private affairs on meeting you in a railway carriage, or 
 sitting next to you at a table d'hote. For myself, I believe 
 I shall go on running up sudden friendships with strangers to 
 my dying day. Infamous Dubourg ! If I could have got 
 into Browndown that night,! should have liked to have done 
 to him what a Mexican maid of mine (at the Central Amer- 
 ican period of my career) did to her drunken husband, who 
 was a kind of peddler dealing in whips and sticks. She sewed 
 him strongly up one night in the sheet while he lay snoring: 
 off his liquor in bed ; and then she took his whole stock in: 
 trade out of the corner of the room and broke it on him, to 
 the last article on sale, until he was beaten to a jelly from 
 head to foot. 
 
 Not having this resource open to me, I sat myself down 
 in my bedroom to consider if the matter of Dubourg went 
 any farther what it was my business to do next. 
 
 I have already mentioned that Lucilla and I had idled 
 away the whole afternoon, womanlike, in talking of our- 
 selves. You will best understand what course my reflec- 
 tions took if I here relate the chief particulars which Lucilla 
 communicated to me concerning her own singular position 
 in her father's house.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTH. 
 
 A CAGE OF FINCHES. 
 
 LARGE families are as my experience goes of two sorts. 
 There are the families whose members all admire each other. 
 And there are the families whose members all detest each 
 other. For myself I prefer the second sort. Their quarrels 
 are their own affair; and they have a merit which the first 
 sort are never known to possess the merit of being some- 
 times able to see the good qualities of persons who do not 
 possess the .advantage of being related to them by blood. 
 The families whose members all admire each other are fam- 
 ilies saturated with insufferable conceit. You happen to 
 speak of Shakspeare among these people as a type of su- 
 preme intellectual capacity. A female member of the fam- 
 ily will not fail to convey to you that you would have illus- 
 trated your meaning far more completely if you had refer- 
 red to her "dear papa," You are walking out with a male 
 member of the household, and you say of a woman who 
 passes, " What a charming creature !" Your companion 
 smiles at your simplicity, and wonders whether you have 
 ever seen his sister when she is dressed for a ball. These' 
 are the families who can not be separated without corre- 
 sponding with each other every day. They read you ex- 
 tracts from their letters, and say, " Where is the professional 
 writer who can equal this?" They talk of their private af- 
 fairs in your presence, and appear to think that you ought 
 to be interested too. They enjoy their own jokes across 
 you at table, and wonder how it is that you are not amused. 
 In domestic circles of this sort the sisters sit habitually on 
 the brothers' knees; and the husbands inquire into the 
 wives' ailments in public as unconcernedly as if they were 
 closeted in their own room. W T hen we arrive at a more ad- 
 vanced stnge of civilization, the state will supply cages for 
 these intolerable people; and notices will be posted at the 
 corners of streets, "Beware of number twelve: a family in 
 a state of mutual admiration is hung up there!"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 3V 
 
 I gathered from Lucilla that the Finches were of the sco- 
 ond order of large families, as mentioned above. Hardly 
 one of the members of this domestic group was on speaking 
 terms with the other. And some of them had been sepa- 
 rated for years without once troubling her Majesty's Post- 
 office to convey even the slightest expression of sentiment 
 from one to the other. 
 
 The first wife of Reverend Finch was a Miss Batchford. 
 The members of her family (limited ;it the time of the mar- 
 riage to her brother and her sister) strongly disapproved of 
 her choice of a husband. The rank of a Finch (I laugh at 
 these contemptible distinctions!) was decided, in this case, 
 to be not equal to the rank of a Batchford. Nevertheless, 
 Miss married. Her brother and sister declined to be pres- 
 ent at the ceremony. First quarrel. 
 
 Lucilla was born. Reverend Finch's elder brother (on 
 speaking terms with no other member of the family) inter- 
 fered with a Christian proposal namely, to shake hands 
 across the baby's cradle. Adopted by the magnanimous 
 Batchfords. First reconciliation. 
 
 Time passed. Reverend Finch then officiating in a poor 
 curacy near a great manufacturing town felt a want (the 
 want of money), and took a liberty (the liberty of attempt- 
 ing to borrow of his brother-in-law). Mr. Batchford, being 
 a rich man, regarded this overture, it is needless to say, in 
 the light of an insult. Miss Batchford sided with her broth- 
 er. Second quarrel. 
 
 Time passed, as before. Mrs. Finch the first died. Rev- 
 erend Finch's elder brother (still at daggers drawn with the 
 other members of the family) made a second Christian pro- 
 posal namely, to shake hands across the wife's grave. 
 Adopted once more by the bereaved Batchfords. Second 
 reconciliation. 
 
 Another lapse of time. Reverend Finch, left a widower 
 with one daughter, became personally acquainted with an 
 inhabitant of the great city near which he ministered, who 
 was also a widower with one daughter. The status of the 
 parent in this case social-political-religious was Shoemak- 
 er-Radical-Baptist. Reverend Finch, still wanting money, 
 swallowed it all, and married the daughter, with a dowry of 
 three thousand pounds. This proceeding alienated from
 
 3S POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 him forever, not the Batchfords only, but the peace-making 
 elder brother as well. This excellent Christian ceased to be 
 on speaking terms now with his brother the clergyman as 
 well as with all the rest of the family. The complete isola- 
 tion of Reverend Finch followed. Regularly every year did 
 the second Mrs. Finch afford opportunities of shaking hands, 
 not only over one cradle, but sometimes over two. Vain 
 and meritorious fertility ! Nothing came of it but a kind 
 of compromise. Lucilla, quite overlooked among the rec- 
 tor's rapidly increasing second family, was allowed to visit 
 her maternal uncle and aunt at stated periods in every year. 
 Born, to all appearance, with the full possession of her sight, 
 the poor child had become incurably blind before she was a 
 year old. In all other respects she presented a striking re- 
 semblance to her mother. Bachelor Uncle Batchford and 
 his old maiden sister, both conceived the strongest affection 
 for the child. " Our niece, Lucilla," they said, " has justified 
 our fondest hopes she is a Batchford, not a Finch !" Lu- 
 cilla's father (promoted by this time to the rectory of Dim- 
 church) let them talk. "Wait a bit, and money will come 
 of it," was all lie said. Truly, money was wanted ! with 
 fruitful Mrs. Finch multiplying cradles year after year, till 
 the doctor himself (employed on contract) got tired of it, 
 and said one day, "It is not true that there is an end to ev- 
 ery tiling; there is no end to the multiplying capacity of 
 Mrs. Finch." 
 
 Lucilla grew up from childhood to womanhood. She was 
 twenty years old before her father's expectations were real- 
 ized, and the money came of it at last. 
 
 Uncle Batchford died a single man. He divided his for- 
 tune between his maiden sister and his niece. When she 
 came of age Lucilla was to have an income of fifteen hun- 
 dred pounds a year on certain conditions, which the will 
 set forth at great length. The effect of these conditions was 
 (first) to render it absolutely impossible for Reverend Finch, 
 under any circumstances whatever, to legally inherit a single 
 farthing of the money, and (secondly) to detach Lucilla from 
 her father's household, and to place her under the care of 
 her maiden aunt, so long as she remained unmarried, for a 
 period of three months in every year. 
 
 The will avowed the object of this last condition in the
 
 POOR 3IISS FINCH. 39 
 
 plainest words. "I die as I have lived" (wrote Uncle 
 Batchford), "a High-Churchman and a Tory. My legacy to 
 ray niece shall only take eftect on these terms namely, that 
 she shall be removed at certain stated periods from the Dis- 
 senting and Radical influences to which she is subjected un- 
 der her father's roof, and shall be placed under the care of 
 an English gentlewoman who unites to the advantages of 
 birth and breeding the possession of high and honorable 
 principles," et caetera, et caetera. Can you conceive Rever 
 end Finch's feelings, sitting, with his daughter by his side, 
 among the company, while the will was read, and hearing 
 this? He got up, like a true Englishman, and made them a 
 speech. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I admit that I 
 am a Liberal in politics, and that rny wife's family are Dis- 
 senters. As an example of the principles thus engendered 
 in my household, I beg to inform you that my daughter ac- 
 cepts this legacy with my full permission, and that I for- 
 give Mr. Batchford." With that, he walked out, with his 
 daughter on his arm. He had heard enough, please to ob- 
 serve, to satisfy him that Lucilla (while she lived unmarried) 
 could do what she liked with her income. Before they had 
 got back to Dimchurch, Reverend Finch had completed a 
 domestic arrangement which permitted his daughter to oc- 
 cupy a perfectly independent position in the rectory, and 
 which placed in her lather's pockets as Miss Finch's contri- 
 bution to the housekeeping five hundred a year. 
 
 (Do you know what I felt when I heard this? I it-It the 
 deepest regret that Finch of the liberal principles had not 
 made a third with my poor Pratolungo and me in Central 
 America. With him to advise us, we should have saved the 
 sacred cause of Freedom without spending a single farthing 
 on it!) 
 
 The old side of the rectory, hitherto uninhabited, was put 
 in order and furnished of course at Lucilla' s expense. On 
 her twenty-first birthday the repairs were completed; the 
 first installment of the housekeeping money was paid; and 
 the daughter was established as an independent lodger in 
 
 C* 1 O 
 
 her own father's house! 
 
 In order to thoroughly appreciate Finch's ingenuity, it is 
 necessary to add here that Lucilla had shown, as she grew 
 up, an increasing dislike of living at home. In her blind
 
 40 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 state, the endless turmoil of the children distracted her. 
 She and her step-mother did not possess a single sympathy 
 in common. Her relations with her father were in much 
 the same condition. She conld compassionate his poverty, 
 and she could treat him with the forbearance and respect 
 due to him from his child. As to really venerating and lov- 
 ing him the less said about that the better. Her happiest 
 days had been the days she spent with her uncle and aunt; 
 her visits to the Batchibrds had grown to be longer and 
 longer visits with every succeeding year. If the father, in 
 appealing to the daughter's sympathies, had not dexterously 
 contrived to unite the preservation of her independence with 
 the continuance of her residence under his roof, she would, 
 on coming of age, either have lived altogether with her aunt, 
 or have set up an establishment of her own. As it was, the 
 rector had secured his five hundred a year on terms accept- 
 able to both sides and, more than that, he had got her safe 
 under his own eye. For, remark, there was one terrible pos- 
 sibility threatening him in the future the possibility of Lu- 
 cilla's marriage ! 
 
 Such was the strange domestic position of this interesting 
 creature at the time when I entered the house. 
 
 You will now understand how completely puzzled I was 
 when I recalled what had happened on the evening of my 
 arrival, and when I asked myself in the matter of the mys- 
 terious stranger what course I was to take next. I had 
 found Lucilla a solitary being, helplessly dependent, in her 
 blindness, on others ; and in that sad condition without a 
 mother, without a sister, without a friend even in whose 
 sympathies she could take refuge, in whose advice she could 
 trust I had produced a first favorable impression on her: 
 I had won her liking at once, as she had won mine. I had 
 accompanied her on an evening walk, innocent of all suspi- 
 cion of what was going on in her mind. I had by pure ac- 
 cident enabled a stranger to intensify the imaginary inter- 
 est which she felt in him, by provoking him to speak in her 
 hearing for the first time. In a moment of hysterical agita- 
 tion and in sheer despair of knowing who else to confide in 
 the poor, foolish, blind, lonely rirl had opened her heart to 
 me. What was I to do? 
 
 If the case had been an ordinary one, the whole affair 
 would have been simply ridiculous.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 4i 
 
 But the case of Lucilla was not the case of girls in gen- 
 eral. 
 
 The minds of the blind are, by cruel necessity, forced in- 
 ward on themselves They li\e apart from us ah, how 
 hopelessly far apart ! in their own dark sphere, of which 
 we know nothing. What relief could come to Lucilla from 
 the world outside? None! It was part of her desolate lib- 
 erty to be free to dwell unremittingly on the ideal creature 
 of her own dream. Within the narrow limit of the one im- 
 pression that it had been possible for her to derive of this 
 man the impression of the beauty of his voice her fancy 
 was left to work unrestrained in the changeless darkness of 
 her life. What a picture ! I shudder as I draw it. Oh 
 yes, it is easy, I know, to look at it the other way ; to laugh 
 at the folly of a girl who first excites her imagination about 
 a total stranger, and then, when she hears him speak, falls in 
 love with his voice! But add that the girl is blind; that 
 the girl lives habitually in the world of her own imagina- 
 tion ; that the girl has nobody at home who can exercise a 
 wholesome influence over her. Is there nothing pitiable in 
 such a state of things as this? For myself though I come 
 of a light-hearted nation that laughs at every thing I saw 
 my own face looking horribly grave and old as I sat before 
 the glass that night brushing my hair. 
 
 I looked at my bed. Bah ! what was the use of going to 
 bed? 
 
 She was her own mistress. She was perfectly free to take 
 her next walk to Browndown alone, and to place herself, for 
 all I knew to the contrary, at the mercy of a dishonorable 
 and designing man. What was I? Only her companion. 
 I had no right to interfere and yet, if any tiling happened, 
 I should be blamed. It is so easy to say, " You ought to 
 have done something." Who could I consult? The worthy 
 old nurse only held the position of servant. Could I ad- 
 dress myself to the lymphatic lady with the bnby in one 
 hand and the novel in the other? Absurd! Her step- 
 mother was not to be thought of. Her father? Judging 
 by hearsay, I had not derived a favorable impression of the 
 capacity of Reverend Finch for interfering successfully in a 
 matter of this sort. However, he tea* her father; and I 
 could feel my way cautiously with him at first. Hearing
 
 4ii POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Zillah moving about the corridor, I went out to her. In the 
 course of a little gossip I introduced the name of the master 
 of the house. How was it I had not seen him yet ? For an 
 excellent reason. He had gone to visit a friend at Brighton. 
 It was then Tuesday. He was expected back on "sermon- 
 day" that is to say, on Saturday in the same week. 
 
 I returned to my room a little out of temper. In this 
 state my mind works with wonderful freedom. I had an- 
 other of my inspirations. Mr. Dubourg had taken the lib- 
 erty of speaking to me that evening. Good. I determined 
 to go alone to Browndown the next morning, and take the 
 liberty of speaking to Mr. Dubourg. 
 
 Was this resolution inspired solely by my interest in Lu- 
 cilla? Or had my own curiosity been all the time working 
 under the surface, and influencing the course of my reflec- 
 tions unknown to myself? I went to bed without inquiring. 
 I recommend you to go to bed without inquiring too. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTH. 
 
 DAYLIGHT VIEW OP THE MAN. 
 
 WHEN I put out my candle that night I made a mistake 
 I trusted entirely to myself to wake in good time in the 
 morning. I ought to have told Zillah to call me. 
 
 Hours passed before I could close my eyes. It was broken 
 rest when it came until the day dawned. Then I fell asleep 
 at last in good earnest. When I awoke, and looked at my 
 watch, I was amazed to find that it was ten o'clock. 
 
 I jumped out of bed, and rang for the old nurse. Was 
 Lucilla at home? No. She had gone out for a little walk. 
 By herself? Yes by herself. In what direction ? Up the 
 valley, toward Browndown. 
 
 I instantly arrived at my own conclusion. 
 
 She had got the start of me thanks to my laziness in 
 sleeping away the precious hours of the morning in bed. 
 The one thing to do was to follow her as speedily ns possi- 
 ble. In half an hour more I was out for a little walk by 
 myself and (what do you think?) my direction also was up 
 the valley, toward Browndown. 
 
 A pastoral solitude reigned round the lonely little house.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 43 
 
 I went on beyond it into the next winding of the valley. 
 Not a human creature was to be seen. I returned to Brown- 
 down to reconnoitre. Ascending the rising ground on which 
 the house was built, I approached it from the back. The 
 windows were all open. I listened. (Do you suppose I felt 
 scruples m such an emergency as this? Oh, pooh! pooh! 
 who but a fool would have felt any thing of the sort!) I 
 listened with both my ears. Through a window at the side 
 of the house I heard the sound of voices. Advancing noise- 
 lessly on the turf, I heard the voice of Dubourg. He was 
 answered by a woman. Aha, I had caught her! Lucilla 
 herself! 
 
 " Wonderful !" I heard him say. " I believe you have 
 eyes in the ends of your fingers. Take this, now, and try if 
 you can tell me what it is." 
 
 "A little vase," she answered, speaking, I give you my 
 word of honor, as composedly as if she had known him for 
 years. "Wait! what metal is it? Silver? No. Gold. 
 Did you really make this yourself, as well as the box?" 
 
 " Yes. It is an odd taste of mine, isn't it ? to be fond of 
 chasing in gold and silver. Years ago I met with a man in 
 Italy who taught me. It amused me. then, and it amuses 
 me now. When I was recovering from an illness last spring 
 I shaped that vase out of the plain metal, and made the or- 
 naments on it." 
 
 "Another mystery revealed!" she exclaimed. "Now I 
 know what you wanted with those gold and silver plates 
 that came to you from London. Are you aware of what a 
 character you have got here? There are some of us who 
 suspect you of coining false money !" 
 
 They both burst out laughing as gayly as a couple of 
 children. I declare I wished myself one of the party ! But 
 no. I had my duty to do as a respectable woman. My 
 duty was to steal a little nearer, and sec if any familiarities 
 were passing between these two merry young people. One- 
 half of the open window was sheltered, on the outer side, by 
 a Venetian blind. I stood behind the blind and peeped in. 
 (Duty ! oh, dear me, painful but necessary duty !) Dubourg 
 was sitting with his back to the window. Lucilla faced me 
 opposite to him. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure. 
 She held in her lap a pretty little golden vase. Her clever
 
 44 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 fingers were passing over it rapidly, exactly as they had 
 passed, the previous evening, over my face. 
 
 'Shall I tell you what the pattern is on your vase?" she 
 went on. 
 
 " Can you really do that ?" 
 
 "You shall judge for yourself. The pattern is made of 
 leaves, with birds placed among them, at intervals. Stop ! 
 I think I have felt leaves like these on the old side of the 
 rectory, against the wall. Ivy ?" 
 
 "Amazing ! it is ivy." 
 
 "The birds," she resumed. "I sha'n't be satisfied till I 
 have told you what the birds are. Haven't I got silver birds 
 like them only much larger for holding pepper and mus- 
 tard and sugar and so on ? Owls !" she exclaimed, with a 
 cry of triumph. "Little owls, sitting in ivy nests. What a 
 delightful pattern ! I never heard of any thing like it before." 
 
 "Keep the vase," he said. "You will honor me, you will 
 delight me, if you will keep the vase." 
 
 She rose and shook her head without giving him back 
 the vase, however. 
 
 "I might take it, if you were not a stranger," she said. 
 " Why don't you tell us who you are, and what your reason 
 is for living all by yourself in this dull place?" 
 
 He stood before her, with his head down, and sighed bitterly. 
 
 " I know I ought to explain myself," he answered. " I 
 can't be surprised if people are suspicious of me." He 
 paused, and added, very earnestly, " I can't tell it to you. 
 Oh no, not to you /" 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 " Don't ask me." 
 
 She felt for the table with her ivory cane, and put the 
 vase down on it very unwillingly. 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Diibourg," she. said. 
 
 He opened the door of the room for her in silence. Wait- 
 ing close against the side of the house, I saw them appear 
 under the porch and cross the little walled inclosure in front. 
 As she stepped out on the open turf beyond she turned and 
 spoke to him again. 
 
 "If you won't tell me your secret," she said, "will you tell 
 it to some one else? Will you tell it to a friend of mine?" 
 
 "To what friend?" he asked.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 45 
 
 "To the lady whom you met with me last night." 
 
 He hesitated. " I am afraid I offended the lady," he said. 
 
 "So much the more reason for your explaining yourself," 
 she rejoined. "If you will only satisfy her, I might ask you 
 to come and see us I might even take the vase." With 
 that strong hint she actually gave him her hand at parting. 
 Her perfect self-possession, her easy familiarity with this 
 stranger so bold and yet so innocent petrified me. "I 
 shall send my friend to you this morning," she said, imperi- 
 ously, striking her cane on the turf. "I insist on your telling 
 her the whole truth." 
 
 With that she signed to him that he was to follow her no 
 farther, and went her way back to the village. 
 
 Does it not surprise you, as it surprised me? Instead of 
 her blindness making her nervous in the presence of a man 
 unknown to her, it appeared to have exactly the contrary 
 effect. It made her fearless. 
 
 He stood on the spot where she had left him, watching her 
 as she receded in the distance. His manner toward her, in 
 the house and out of the house, had exhibited, it is only lair 
 to say, the utmost consideration and respect. Whatever 
 shyness there had been between them was shyness entirely 
 on his side. I had a short stuff dress on, which made no 
 noise over the grass. I skirted the wall of the inclosure, and 
 approached him unsuspected from behind. " The charming 
 creature !" he said to himself, still following her with his 
 eyes. As the words passed his lips I touched him smartly 
 on the shoulder with my parasol. 
 
 "Mr. Dubourg," I said, " I am waiting to hear the truth." 
 
 He started violently, and confronted me in speechless dis- 
 may, his color coming and going like the color of a young 
 girl. Any body who understands women will understand 
 that this behavior on his part, far from softening me toward 
 him, only encouraged me to bully him. 
 
 "In your present position in this place, Sir," I went on, 
 " do you think it honorable conduct on your part to decoy a 
 young lady, to whom you are a perfect stranger, into your 
 house a young lady who claims, in right of her sad afflic- 
 tion, even more than the usual forbearance and respect which 
 a gentleman owes to her sex ?" 
 
 His shifting color settled for the time into an angry red.
 
 46 POOE MISS FINCH. 
 
 " You are doing me a great injustice, ma'am," he answered. 
 "It is a shame to say that I have failed in respect to the 
 young lady. I feel the sincerest admiration and compassion 
 for her. Circumstances justify me in what I have done. I 
 could not have acted otherwise. I refer you to the young 
 lady herself." 
 
 His voice rose higher and higher. He was thoroughly 
 offended with me. Need I add (seeing the prospect not far 
 off of his bullying me) that I unblushingly shifted my ground, 
 and tried a little civility next? 
 
 "If I have done you an injustice, Sir, I ask your pardon," 
 I answered. "Having said so much, I have only to add that 
 I shall be satisfied if I hear what the circumstances are from 
 yourself." 
 
 This soothed his offended dignity. His gentler manner 
 began to show itself again. 
 
 "The truth is," he said, "that I owe my introduction to 
 the young lady to an ill-tempered little dog belonging to 
 the people at the inn. The dog had followed the person here 
 who attends on me; and it startled the lady by flying out 
 and barking at her as she passed this house. After I had 
 driven away the dog I begged her to come in and sit down 
 until she had recovered herself. Am I to blame for doing 
 that? I don't deny that I felt the deepest interest in her, 
 and that I did my best to amuse her while she honored me by 
 remaining in my house. May I ask if I have satisfied you?" 
 
 With the best will in the world to maintain my unfavora- 
 ble opinion of him, I was, by this time, fairly forced to ac- 
 knowledge to myself that the opinion was wrong. His ex- 
 planation was, in tone and manner, as well as in language, 
 the explanation of a gentleman. 
 
 And, besides though he was a little too effeminate for my 
 taste he really was such a handsome young man ! His 
 hair was of a fine bright chestnut color, with a natural curl 
 in it. His eyes were of the lightest brown I had" ever seen 
 with a singularly winning, gentle, modest expression in 
 them. As for his complexion so creamy and spotless and 
 fair he had no right to it: it ought to have been a woman's 
 
 O ?J 
 
 complexion, or at least a boy's. He looked, indeed, more 
 like a boy than a man ; his smooth face was quite uncovered, 
 either by beard, whisker, or mustache. If he ba-i VMH! me,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 47 
 
 I should have guessed him (though he was really three yeara 
 older; to have been younger than Lucilla. 
 
 "Our acquaintance has begun rather oddly, Sir," I said. 
 "You spoke strangely to me lust night; and I have spoke:: 
 hastily to you this morning. Accept my excuses and let 
 us try if we can't do each other justice in the end. I have 
 something more to say to you before we part. Will you 
 think me a very extraordinary woman if I suggest that you 
 may as well invite me next to take a chair in your house?" 
 
 He laughed with the pleasantest good temper, and led the 
 way in. 
 
 We entered the room in which he had received Lucilla, 
 and sat down together on the two chairs near the window 
 with this difference, that I contrived to possess myself of the 
 seat which he had occupied, and so to place him with his 
 lace to the light. 
 
 " Mr. Dubourg," I began, "you will already have guessed 
 that I overheard what Miss Finch said to you at parting?" 
 
 He bowed in silent acknowledgment that it was so, and 
 began to toy nervously with the gold vase which Lucilla 
 had left on the table. 
 
 "What do you propose to do?" I went on. "You have 
 spoken of the interest you feel in my young friend. If it is 
 a true interest, it will lead you to merit her good opinion by 
 complying with her request. Tell me plainly, if you please. 
 Will you come and see us, in the character of a gentleman 
 who has satisfied two ladies that they can receive him as a 
 neighbor and a friend? Or will you oblige me to warn the 
 rector of Dimchurch that his daughter is in danger of per- 
 mitting a doubtful character to force his acquaintance on her?" 
 
 He put the vase back on the table and turned deadly pale. 
 
 " If you knew what I have suffered," he said ; " if you had 
 gone through what I have been compelled to endure ' His 
 voice failed him; his soft brown eyes moistened; his head 
 drooped. He said no more. 
 
 In common with all women, I like a man to be a man. 
 There was, to my mind, something weak and womanish in 
 the manner in which this Dubourg met the advance which 
 I had made to him. He not only failed to move my pity 
 lie was in danger of stirring up my contempt. 
 
 "I too have suffered," I answered. "I too have been com-
 
 48 POOK MISS FIXCII. 
 
 polled to endure. But there is this difference between us. 
 My courage is not worn out. In your place, if I knew myself 
 to be an honorable man, I would not allow the breath of 
 suspicion to rest on me for an instant. Cost what it might, 
 I would vindicate myself. I should be ashamed to cry. I 
 should speak." 
 
 That stung him. He started up on his feet. 
 
 "Have you been stared at by hundreds of cruel eyes?" he 
 burst out, passionately. " Have you been pointed at without 
 mercy wherever you go? Have you been put in the pillory 
 of the newspapers ? Has the photograph proclaimed your 
 infamous notoriety in all the shop windows?" He dropped 
 back into his chair, and wrung his hands in a frenzy. "Oh, 
 the public!" he exclaimed "the horrible public! I can't 
 get away from them. I can't hide myself even here. You 
 have had your stare at me like the rest," he cried, turning on 
 me fiercely. "I knew it when you passed me last night." 
 
 "I never saw you out of this place," I answered. "As for 
 the portraits of you, whoever you may be, I know nothing 
 about them. I was far too anxious and too wretched to 
 amuse myself by looking into shop windows before I came 
 here. You and your name are equally strange to me. If 
 you have any respect for yourself, tell me who you are. Out 
 with the truth, Sir. You know as well as I do that you have 
 gone too far to stop." 
 
 I seized him by the hand. I was wrought up by the ex- 
 traordinary outburst that had escaped him to the highest 
 pitch of excitement. I was hardly conscious of what I said 
 or did. At that supreme moment we enraged, we maddened 
 each other. His hand closed convulsively on my hand. His 
 eyes looked wildly into mine. 
 
 "Do you read the newspapers?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you seen " 
 
 " I have not seen the name of Dubourg." 
 
 "My name is not 'Dubourg.'" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 He suddenly stooped over me and whispered his name in 
 my ear. 
 
 Tu my turn I started, thunderstruck, to my feet. 
 
 " Cood God!" I cried. "You are the man who was tried
 
 1'OOK MISS FINCH. 49 
 
 for murder last month, and who was all but hanged on the 
 lalso testimony of a clock !" 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTH. 
 
 THE PEUJURY OF THE CLOCK. 
 
 WE looked at one another in silence. Both alike, we were 
 obliged to wait a little and recover ourselves. 
 
 I may occupy the interval by answering two questions 
 which will arise in your minds in this place. How did Du- 
 bourg come to be tried for his life? And what was the con- 
 nection between this serious matter and the false testimony 
 of a clock ? 
 
 The reply to both these inquiries is to be found in the 
 story which I call the Perjury of the Clock. 
 
 In briefly relating this curious incidental narrative (which 
 I take from a statement of the circumstances placed in my 
 possession) I shall speak of our new acquaintance at Brown- 
 down and shall continue to speak of him throughout these 
 pages by his assumed name. In the first place, it was the 
 maiden name of his mother, and he had a right to take it if* 
 he pleased. In the second place, the date of our domestic 
 drama at Dimchurch goes back as far as the years 'fifty-eight 
 and 'fifty-nine; and real names are (now that it is all over) 
 of no consequence to any body. With "Dubourg" we have 
 begun. With "Dubourg" let us go on to the end. 
 
 On a summer evening, some years ago, a man was found 
 murdered in a field near a certain town in the West of En- 
 gland. The name of the field was "Pardon's Piece." 
 
 The man was a small carpenter and builder in the town, 
 who bore an indifferent character. On the evening in ques- 
 tion, a distant relative of his, employed as farm bailiff by a 
 gentleman in the neighborhood, happened to be passing a 
 stile which led from the field into a road, and saw a gentle- 
 man leaving the field by way of this stile rather in a hurry. 
 He recognized the gentleman (whom he knew by sight only) 
 as Mr. Dubourg. 
 
 The two passed each other on the road in opposite direc- 
 tions. After a certain lapse of time estimated as being half 
 
 C
 
 50 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 an hour the farm bailiff had occasion to pass back along the 
 same road. On reaching the stile he Heard an alarm raised, 
 and entered the h'eld to see what was the matter. He found 
 several persons running from the farther side of Pardon's 
 Piece toward a boy who was standing at the back of a cattle- 
 shed, in a remote part of the inclosure, screaming with terror. 
 At the boy's feet lay, face downward, the dead body of a 
 man, w r ith his head horribly beaten in. His watch was un- 
 der him, hanging out of his pocket by the chain. It had stop- 
 ped evidently in consequence of the concussion of its own- 
 er's fall on it at half-past eight. The body was still warm. 
 All the other valuables, like the watch, were left on it. The 
 farm bailiff instantly recognized the man as the carpenter 
 and builder mentioned above. 
 
 At the preliminary inquiry the stoppage of the watch at 
 half-past eight was taken as offering good circumstantial evi- 
 dence that the blow which had killed the man had been 
 struck at that time. 
 
 The next question was if any one had been seen near the 
 body at half-past eight? The farm bailiff declared that he 
 had met Mi 1 . Dubourg hastily leaving the h'eld by the stile at 
 that very time. Asked if he had looked at his watch, he 
 owned that he had not done so. Certain previous circum- 
 stances, which he mentioned as having impressed themselves 
 on his memory, enabled him to feel sure of the truth of this as- 
 sertion without having consulted his watch. He was pressed 
 on this important point, but he held to his declaration. At 
 half-past eight he had seen Mr. Dubourg hurriedly leave the 
 h'eld. At half-past eight the watch of the murdered man 
 had stopped. 
 
 Had any other person been observed in or near the field at 
 that time? 
 
 No witness could be discovered who had seen any bod v 
 else near the place. Had the weapon turned up with which 
 the blow had been struck? It had not been found. Was 
 any one known (robbery having plainly not been the motive 
 of the crime) to have entertained a grudge against the mur- 
 dered man. It was no secret that he associated with doubt- 
 ful characters, male and female ; but suspicion failed to point 
 to any one of them in particular. 
 
 In this state of things there was no alternative but to re-
 
 POOH MISS FINCH. 51 
 
 quest Mr. Dubourg well known, in and out of the town, as 
 a young gentleman of independent fortune, bearing an excel- 
 lent character to give some account of himself. 
 
 He immediately admitted that he had passed through the 
 Held. But, in contradiction to the farm bailiif, he declared 
 that he had looked at his watch at the moment before he 
 crossed the stile, and that the time by it was exactly a quar- 
 ter past eight. Five minutes later that is to say, ten min- 
 utes before the murder had been committed, on the evidence 
 of the dead man's watch he had paid a visit to a lady living 
 near Pardon's Piece, and had remained with her until his 
 watch, consulted once more on leaving the lady's house, in- 
 formed him that it was a quarter to nine. 
 
 Here was the defense called an "alibi." It entirely satis- 
 fied Mr. Dubourg's friends. To satisfy justice also, it was 
 necessary to call the lady as a witness. In the mean time 
 another purely formal question was put to Mr. Dubourg. Did 
 he know any thing of the murdered man? 
 
 With some appearance of contusion, Mr.Dubourg admitted 
 that he had been induced (by a friend) to employ the man 
 on some work. Further interrogation extracted from him 
 the following statement of facts: 
 
 That the work had been very badly done; that an exor- 
 bitant price had been charged for it; that the man, on being 
 remonstrated with, had behaved in a grossly impertinent 
 manner; that an altercation had taken place between them; 
 that Mr. Dubourg had seized the man by the collar of his 
 coat, and had turned him out of the house; that he had called 
 the man an infernal scoundrel (being in a passion at the time), 
 and had threatened to "thrash him within an inch of his life" 
 (or words to that effect) if he ever presumed to come near 
 the house again; that he had sincerely regretted his own 
 violence the moment he recovered his self-possession ; and 
 lastly, that, on his oath (the altercation having occurred six 
 weeks ago), he had never spoken to the man, or set eyes on 
 the man, since. 
 
 As the matter then stood, these circumstances were consid- 
 ered as being unfortunate circumstances for Mr. Dubourer 
 nothing more. He had his "alibi" to appeal to, and his char- 
 acter to appeal to; and nobody doubted the result. 
 
 The lady appeared as witness.
 
 52 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Confronted with Mr. Dubourg on the question of time, and 
 forced to answer, she absolutely contradicted him, on the tes- 
 timony of the clock on her own mantel-piece. In substance 
 her evidence was simply this: She had looked at her clock 
 when Mr. Dubourg entered the room, thinking it rather a 
 late hour for a visitor to call on her. The clock (regulated 
 by the maker only the day before) pointed to twenty-five 
 minutes to nine. Practical experiment showed that the time 
 required to walk the distance, at a rapid pace, from the stile 
 to the lady's house, was just five minutes. Here, then, was 
 the statement of the farm bailiff (himself a respectable wit- 
 ness) corroborated by another witness of excellent position 
 and character. The clock, on being examined next, was found 
 to be right. The evidence of the clock-maker proved that 
 he kept the key, and that there had been no necessity to set 
 the clock and wind it up again since he had performed both 
 those acts on the day preceding Mr. Dubourg's visit. The 
 accuracy of the clock thus vouched for, the conclusion on the 
 evidence was irresistible. Mr. Dubourg stood convicted of 
 having been in the field at the time when the murder was 
 committed; of having, by his own admission, had a quarrel 
 with the murdered man not long before, terminating in an 
 assault and a threat on his side ; and, lastly, of having at- 
 tempted to set up an alibi by a false statement of the ques- 
 tion of time. There was no alternative but to commit him 
 to take his trial at the Assizes, charged with the murder of 
 the builder in Pardon's Piece. 
 
 The trial occupied two days. 
 
 No new facts of importance were discovered in the inter- 
 val. The evidence followed the course which it had taken 
 at the preliminary examinations with this difference only, 
 that it was more carefully sifted. Mr. Dubourg had the 
 double advantage of securing the services of the leading bar- 
 rister in the circuit, and of moving the irrepressible sympa- 
 thies of the jury, shocked at his position, and eager for proof 
 of his innocence. By the end of the first day the evidence 
 had told against him with such irresistible force that his own 
 counsel despaired of the result. When the prisoner took his 
 place in the dock on the second day, there was but one con- 
 viction in the minds of the people in court every body said, 
 "The clock will ham* him."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 53 
 
 It was nearly two in the afternoon ; and the proceedings 
 were on the point c^f being adjourned for half an hour, when 
 the attorney for the prisoner was seen to hand a paper to 
 the counsel for the defense. 
 
 The counsel rose, showing signs of agitation which roused 
 the curiosity of the audience. He demanded the immediate 
 hearing of a new witness, whose evidence in the prisoner's 
 favor lie declared to be too important to be delayed for a 
 single moment. After a short colloquy between tle judge 
 and the barristers on either side, the Court decided to con- 
 tinue the sitting. 
 
 The witness, appearing in the box, proved to be a young 
 woman in delicate health. On the evening when the pris- 
 oner had paid his visit to the lady she was in that lady's 
 service as housemaid. The day after she had been permit- 
 ted (by previous arrangement with her mistress) to take a 
 week's holiday, and to go on a visit to her parents in the 
 west of Cornwall. While there she had fallen ill, and had 
 not been strong enough since to return to her employment. 
 Having given this preliminary account of herself, the house- 
 maid then stated the following extraordinary particulars in 
 relation to her mistress's clock. 
 
 On the morning of the day when Mr. Dubourg had called 
 at the house she had been cleaning the mantel-piece. She 
 had rubbed the part of it which was under the clock with 
 her duster, had accidentally struck the pendulum, and had 
 stopped it. Having once before done this, she had been se- 
 verely reproved. Fearing that a repetition of the offense, 
 only the day after the clock had been regulated by the mak- 
 er, might lead perhaps to the withdrawal of her leave of ab- 
 sence, she had determined to put matters right again, if pos- 
 sible, by herself. 
 
 After poking under the clock in the dark, and failing to 
 set the pendulum going again properly in that way, she next 
 attempted to lift the clock, and give it a shake. It was set 
 in a marble case, with a bronze figure on the top, and it was 
 so heavy that she was obliged to hunt for something which 
 she could use as a lever. The thing proved to be not easy 
 to find on the spur of the moment. Having at last laid her 
 hand on what she wanted, .she contrived so to lift the clock 
 a few inches and drop it again on the mantel-piece as to sot 
 it going once moro.
 
 54 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 The next necessity was, of course, to move the hands on. 
 Here again she was met by an obstacle. There was a diffi- 
 culty in opening the glass case which protected the dial. 
 After uselessly searching for some instrument to help her, 
 she got from the footman (without telling him what she 
 wanted it for) a small chisel. With this she opened the 
 case after accidentally scratching the brass frame of it 
 and set the hands of the clock by guess. She was flurried at 
 the time 1 , fearing that her mistress would discover her. Later 
 in the day she found that she had overestimated the inter- 
 val of time that had passed while she was trying to put the 
 clock right. She had, in fact, set it exactly a quarter of an 
 hour too fast. 
 
 No safe opportunity of secretly putting the clock right 
 again had occurred until the last thing at night. She had 
 then moved the hands back to the right time. At the hour 
 of the evening when Mr. Dubourg had called on her mis- 
 tress she positively swore that the clock was a quarter of an 
 hour too fast. It had pointed, as her mistress had declared, 
 to twenty-five minutes to nine the right time then being, 
 as Mr. Dubourg had asserted, twenty minutes past eight. 
 
 Questioned as to why she had refrained from giving this 
 extraordinary evidence at the inquiry before the magistrate, 
 she declared that in the remote Cornish village to which she 
 had gone the next day, and in which her illness had detained 
 her from that time, nobody had heard of the inquiry or the 
 trial. She would not have been then present to state the 
 vitally important circumstances to which she had just sworn 
 if the prisoner's twin brother had not found her out on the 
 previous day, had not questioned her if she knew any thing 
 about the clock, and had not (hearing what she had to tell) 
 insisted on her taking the journey with him to the court the 
 next morning. 
 
 This evidence virtually decided the trial. There was a 
 great burst of relief in the crowded assembly when the Avom- 
 an's statement had come to an end. 
 
 She was closely cross-examined, as a matter of course. 
 Her character was inquired into; corroborative evidence (re- 
 lating to the chisel and the scratches on the frame) was 
 sought lor, and was obtained. The end of it was that, at a 
 late hour on the second evening, the jury acquitted the pris-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 55 
 
 oner without leaving their box. It was not too much to 
 say that his life had been saved by his brother. His brother 
 alone had persisted, from first to last, in obstinately disbe- 
 lieving the clock for no better reason than that the clock 
 was the witness which asserted the prisoner's guilt ! He 
 had worried every body with incessant inquiries; he had 
 discovered the absence of the house-maid after the trial had 
 begun ; and he had started off to interrogate the girl, know- 
 ing nothing and suspecting nothing simply determined to 
 persist in the one everlasting question with which he perse- 
 cuted every body: "The clock is going to hang my brother; 
 can you tell me any thing about the clock?" 
 
 Four months later the mystery of the crime was cleared 
 up. One of the disreputable, companions of the murdered 
 man confessed on his death-bed that he had done the deed. 
 There was nothing interesting or remarkable in the circum- 
 stances. Chance, which had put innocence in peril, had of- 
 fered impunity to guilt. An infamous woman, a jealous 
 quarrel, and an absence at the moment of witnesses on the 
 spot these were really the commonplace materials which 
 had composed the tragedy of Pardon's Piece. 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINTH. 
 
 THE HERO OF THE TRIAL. 
 
 " You have forced it out of me. Now you have had your 
 way, never mind my feelings. Go !" 
 
 Those were the first words the Hero of the Trial said to 
 me, when he was able to speak again. He withdrew, with a 
 curious sullen resignation, to the farther end of the room. 
 There he stood looking at me as a man might have looked 
 who carried some contagion about him, and who wished to 
 preserve a healthy fellow-creature from the peril of touching 
 him. 
 
 "Why should I go?" I asked. 
 
 "You are a bold woman," he said, " to remain in the same 
 room with a man who has been pointed at as a murderer, 
 and who has been tried for his life." 
 
 The same unhealthy state of mind which had brought him 
 to Dimchurch, and which had led him to speak to me as he
 
 50 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 had spoken on the previous evening, was, as I understood it, 
 now irritating him against me as a person who had made 
 his own quick temper the means of entrapping him into let- 
 ting out the truth. How was I to deal with a man in this 
 condition? I decided to perform the feat which you call in 
 England " taking the bull by the horns." 
 
 "I see but one man here," I said: "a man honorably ac- 
 quitted of a crime which he was incapable of committing a 
 man who deserves my interest and claims my sympathy. 
 Shake hands, Mr. Dubourg." 
 
 I spoke to him in a good hearty voice, and I gave him a 
 good hearty squeeze. The poor, weak, lonely, persecuted 
 young fellow dropped his head on my shoulder like a child, 
 and burst out crying. 
 
 " Don't despise me," he said, as soon as he had got his 
 breath again. "It breaks a man down to have stood in 
 the dock, and to have had hundreds of hard-hearted people 
 staring at him in horror, without his deserving it. Besides, 
 I have been very lonely, ma'am, since my brother left me." 
 
 We sat down again side by side. He was the strangest 
 compound of anomalies I had ever met with. Throw him 
 into one of those passions in which he flamed out so easily, 
 and you would have said, This is a tiger. Wait till he had 
 cooled down again to his customary mild temperature, and 
 you would have said, with equal truth, This is a Iamb. 
 
 " One thing rather surprises me, Mr. Dubourg," I went on. 
 "I can't quite understand " 
 
 "Don't call me 'Mr. Dubourg,'" he interposed. "You 
 remind me of the disgrace which has forced me to change 
 my name. Call me by my Christian name. It's a foreign 
 name. You are a foreigner by your accent you will like 
 me all the better for having a foreign name. I was chris- 
 tened 'Oscar,' after my mother's brother my mother was a 
 Jersey woman. Call me ' Oscar.' What is it you don't un- 
 derstand?" 
 
 "In your present situation," I resumed, "I don't under- 
 stand your brother leaving you here all by yourself." 
 
 He was on the point of flaming out again at that. 
 
 "Not a word against my brother !" he exclaimed, fiercely. 
 "My brother is the noblest creature that God ever created ! 
 You must own that yourself; you know what he did at the
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 57 
 
 jrial. I should have died on the scaffold but for that angel. 
 I insist on it that he is not a man. lie is an angel !" 
 
 (I admitted that his brother was an angel. The conces- 
 sion instantly pacified him.) 
 
 "People say there is no difference between us," he went 
 on, drawing his chair cornpanionably close to mine. "Ah, 
 people are so shallow ! Personally, I grant you, we are ex- 
 actly alike. (You have heard that we are twins?) But 
 there it ends, unfortunately for me. Nugent (my brother 
 was christened Nugent, after my father) Nugent is a hero ! 
 Nugent is a genius! I should have died if he hadn't taken 
 
 O ^5 
 
 care of me after the trial. I had nobody but him. We are 
 orphans; we have no brothers or sisters. Nugent felt the 
 disgrace even more than I felt it, but he could control him- 
 self. It fell more heavily on him than it did on me. I'll 
 tell you why. Nugent was in a fair way to make our fam- 
 ily name the name that we have been obliged to drop 
 famous all over the world. He is a painter a landscape 
 painte - . Have you never heard of him ? Ah ! you soon 
 will! Where do you think he has gone to? He has gone 
 to the wilds of America in search of new subjects. He is 
 going to found a school of landscape painting. On an im- 
 mense scale ! A scale that has never been attempted yet ! 
 Dear fellow ! Shall I tell you what he said when he left me 
 here ? Noble words I call them noble words. ' Oscar, I 
 go to make our assumed name famous. You shall be hon- 
 orably known you shall be illustrious as the brother of 
 Nugent Dubourg.' Do you think I could stand in the way 
 of such a career as that? After what he has sacrificed for 
 me, could I let Such a Man stagnate here for no better pur- 
 pose than to keep me company ? What does it matter about 
 my feeling lonely ? Who am I ? Oh, if you had seen how 
 he bore with the horrible notoriety that followed us after 
 the trial ! He was constantly stared at and pointed at, for 
 me. Not a word of complaint escaped him. He snapped 
 his fingers at it. ' That for public opinion !' he said. What 
 strength of mind eh ? From one place after another we 
 moved and moved, and still there were the photographs and 
 the newspapers and the whole infamous story ('romance in 
 real life,' they called it) known beforehand to every body. 
 He never lost heart 'We shall find a place yet' (that was 
 
 C 2
 
 58 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 the cheerful way he put it). ' You have nothing to do with 
 it, Oscar ; you are safe in my hands ; I promise you exactly 
 the place of refuge you want.' It was he who got all the 
 information, and found out this lonely part of England where 
 you live. I thought it pretty as we wandered about the 
 hills ; it wasn't half grand enough for him. We lost our- 
 selves. I began to feel nervous. He didn't mind it a bit. 
 'You have Me with you,' he said. 'My luck is always to be 
 depended on. Mark what I say! We shall stumble on a 
 village!' You will hardly believe me in ten minutes more 
 we stumbled, exactly as he had fort-told, on this place. He 
 didn't leave me when I had prevailed on him to go with- 
 out a recommendation. He recommended me to the land- 
 lord of the inn here. He said, ' My brother is delicate ; my 
 brother wishes to live in retirement ; you will oblige me by 
 looking after my brother.' Wasn't it kind ? The landlord 
 seemed to be quite affected by it. Nugent cried when he 
 took leave of me. Ah, what would I not give to have a 
 heart like his, and a mind like his ! It's something isn't it? 
 to have a face like him. I often say that to myself when 
 I look in the glass. Excuse my running on in this way. 
 When I once begin to talk of Nugent, I don't know when to 
 leave off." 
 
 One thing, at any rate, was plainly discernible in this oth- 
 erwise inscrutable young man. He adored his twin brother. 
 
 It would have been equally clear to me that Mr. Nugent 
 Dubourg deserved to be worshiped if I could have recon- 
 ciled to my mind his leaving his brother to shift for himself 
 in such a place as Dimchurch. I was obliged to remind my- 
 self of the admirable service which he had rendered at the 
 trial before I could decide to do him the justice of suspend- 
 ing my opinion of him in his absence. Having accomplished 
 this act of magnanimity, I took advantage of the first oppor- 
 tunity to change the subject. The most tiresome informa- 
 tion that I am .acquainted with is the information which tells 
 us of the virtues of an absent person when that absent per- 
 son happens to be a stranger. 
 
 "Is it true that you have taken Browndown for six 
 months?" I asked. " Are you really going to settle at Dim- 
 church?" 
 
 "Yes if you keep my secret," he answered. "The people
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 59 
 
 here know nothing about me. Don't, pray don't, tell them 
 who I am ! You will drive me away if you do." 
 
 " I must tell Miss Finch who you are," I said. 
 
 "No! no! no!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I can't bear the 
 idea of her knowing it. I have been so horribly degraded. 
 What will she think of me?" He burst into another explo- 
 sion of rhapsodies on the subject of Lucilla mixed up with 
 renewed petitions to me to keep his story concealed from 
 every body. I lost all patience with his want of common 
 fortitude and common-sense. 
 
 " Young Oscar, I should like to box your ears !" I said. 
 "You are in a villainously unwholesome state about this 
 matter. Have you nothing else to think of? Have you no 
 profession? Are you not obliged to work for your living?" 
 
 I spoke, as you perceive, with some force of expression, 
 aided by a corresponding asperity of voice and manner. 
 
 Mr. Oscar Dubourg looked at me with the puzzled air of a 
 man who feels an overflow of new ideas forcing itself into his 
 mind. He modestly admitted the degrading truth. From 
 his childhood upward he had only to put his hand in his 
 pocket to find the money there, without any preliminary 
 necessity of earning it first. His father had been a fashion- 
 able portrait painter, and had married one of his sitters, an 
 heiress. Oscar and Nugent had been left in the detestable 
 position of independent gentlemen. The dignity of labor 
 was a dignity unknown to these degraded young men. a I 
 despise a wealthy idler," I said to Oscar, with my republican 
 severity. "You want the ennobling influences of labor to 
 make a man of you. Nobodv has a right to be idle : nobodv 
 
 J * 
 
 has a right to be rich. You would be in a more wholesome 
 state of mind about yourself, my young gentleman, if you 
 had to earn your bread and cheese before you ate it." 
 
 He stared at me piteously. The noble sentiments which I 
 had inherited from Doctor Pratolungo completely bewildered 
 Mr. Oscar Dubourg. 
 
 "Don't be angry with me," he said, in his innocent way. 
 
 * 
 
 "I couldn't eat my cheese if I did earn it. I can't digest 
 cheese. Besides, I employ myself as much as I can/' lie 
 took his little golden vase from the table behind him, and 
 told me what I had already heard him tell Lucilla while I 
 was listening at the window. " You would have found me
 
 60 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 at work this morning," he Avent on, "if the stupid people 
 who send me my metal plates had not made a mistake. The 
 alloy, in the gold and. silver both, is all wrong this time. I 
 must return the plates to be melted again before I can do 
 any thing with them. They are all ready to go back to-day 
 when the cart comes. If there are any laboring people here 
 who want money, I'm sure I will give them some of mine 
 with the greatest pleasure. It isn't my fault, ma'am, that my 
 father married my mother. And how could I help it if he 
 left two thousand a year each to my brother and me?" 
 
 Two thousand a year each to his brother and him ! And 
 the illustrious Pratolungo had never known what it was to 
 have five pounds sterling at his disposal before his union 
 with Me ! 
 
 I lifted my eyes to the ceiling. In my righteous indigna- 
 tion I forgot Lucilla and her curiosity about Oscar; I forgot 
 Oscar and his horror of Lucilla discovering who he was. I 
 opened my lips to speak. In another moment I should have 
 launched my thunder-bolts against the whole infamous s,ys- 
 tem of modern society, when I was silenced by the most ex- 
 traordinary and unexpected interruption that ever closed a 
 woman's lips. 
 
 CHAPTER TPIE TENTH. 
 
 FIRST APPEARANCE OF JICKS. 
 
 THERE walked in at the open door of the room softly, 
 suddenly, composedly a chubby female child, who could 
 not possibly have been more than three years old. She had 
 no hat or cap on her head. A dirty pinafore covered her 
 from her chin to her feet. This amazing apparition advanced 
 into the middle of the room, holding hugged under one arm 
 a ragged and disreputable-looking doll; stared hard, first at 
 Oscar, then at me; advanced to my knees, laid the disrepu- 
 table doll on my lap, and pointing to a vacant chair at my 
 side, claimed the rights of hospitality in these words: 
 
 " Jicks will sit down." 
 
 How was it possible, under these circumstances, to attack 
 the infamous system of modern society ? It was only pos- 
 sible to kiss "Jicks."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 63 
 
 "Do you know who this is?" I inquired, as I lifted our 
 visitor on to the chair. 
 
 Oscar burst out laughing. Like me, he now saw this 
 mysterious young lady for the first time. Like me, lie won- 
 dered what the extraordinary nickname under which she had 
 presented herself could possibly mean. 
 
 We looked at the child. The child with its legs stretched 
 out straight before it, terminating in a pair of little dusty 
 boots with holes in them lifted its large round eyes, over- 
 shadowed by a penthouse of unbrushed flaxen hair, looked 
 gravely at us in return, and made a second call on our hos- 
 pitality as follows: 
 
 " Jicks will have something to drink." 
 
 While Oscar ran into the kitchen for some milk, I succeeded 
 in discovering the identity of "Jicks." 
 
 Something I can not well explain what in the manner 
 in which the child had drifted into the room with her doll 
 reminded me of the lymphatic lady of the rectory, drifting 
 backward and forward with the baby in one hand and the 
 novel in the other. I took the liberty of examining " Jick's" 
 pinafore, and discovered the mark in one corner "Selina 
 Finch." Exactly as I had supposed, here was a member of 
 Mrs. Finch's numerous family. Rather a young member, it 
 struck me, to be wandering hatless round the environs of 
 Dimchurch all by herself. 
 
 Oscar returned with the milk in a mug. The child, insist- 
 ing on taking the mug into her own hands, steadily emptied 
 it to the last drop, recovered her breath with a gasp, looked 
 at me with a white mustache of milk on her upper lip, and 
 announced the conclusion of her visit in these terms: 
 
 "Jicks will get down again." 
 
 I deposited our young friend on the floor. She took her 
 doll, and stood for a moment deep in thought. What was 
 she going to do next? We were not kept long in suspense. 
 She suddenly put her little, hot, fat hand into mine, and tried 
 to pull me after her out of the room. 
 
 " What do you want?" I asked. 
 
 Jicks answered in one untranslatable compound word, 
 
 " Man-Gee-gee." 
 
 I suffered myself to be pulled out of the room to see 
 " Man-Gee-gee," to play " Man-Gee-gee," or to eat " Man-Gee-
 
 64 POOR MISS FIXCII. 
 
 gee," it was impossible to tell winch. I was pulled along 
 the passage ; I was pulled out to the front-door. There 
 having approached the house inaudibly to us over the grass 
 stood the horse, cart, and man waiting to take the case of 
 gold and silver plates back to London. I looked at Oscar, 
 who had followed me. We now understood not only the 
 masterly compound word of Jicks (signifying man and horse, 
 and passing over cart as unimportant), but the polite atten- 
 tion of Jicks in entering the house to inform us, after a rest 
 and a drink, of a circumstance which had escaped our notice. 
 The driver of the cart had, on his own acknowledgment, 
 been investigated and questioned by this extraordinary 
 child, strolling up to the door of Browndown to see what he 
 was doing there. Jicks was a public character at Dimchurch. 
 The driver knew all about her. She had been nicknamed 
 "Gypsy" from her wandering habits, and had shortened the 
 name in her own dialect into " Jicks." There was no keep- 
 ing her in at the rectory, try how you might. They had long 
 since abandoned the effort in despair. Sooner or later she 
 turned up again, or somebody brought her back, or one of 
 the sheep-dogs found her asleep under a bush and gave the 
 alarm. " What goes on in that child's head," said the driver, 
 regarding Jicks with a sort of superstitious admiration, "the 
 Lord only knows. She has a will of her own and a way of 
 her own. She is a child, and she ain't a child. At three 
 years of age she's a riddle none of us can guess. And that's 
 the long and the short of what I know about her." 
 
 While this explanation was in progress the carpenter who 
 had nailed up the case, and the carpenter's son, accompanying 
 him, joined us in front of the house. They followed Oscar 
 in, and came out again bearing the heavy burden of precious 
 metal more than one man could conveniently lift between 
 them. 
 
 The case deposited in the cart, carpenter senior and car- 
 penter junior got in after it, wanting "a lift" to Brighton. 
 Carpenter senior a big, burly man made a joke. " It's a 
 lonely country between this and Brighton, Sir," he said to 
 Oscar. " Three of us will be none too many to see your 
 precious packing-case safe into the railway station. Oscar 
 took it seriously. "Are there any robbers in this neighbor- 
 hood ?" he asked. " Lord love you, Sir !" said the driver,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 65 
 
 " robbers would starve in these parts ; we have got nothing 
 worth thieving here." Jicks, still watching the proceedings 
 with an interest which allowed no detail to escape her notice, 
 assumed the responsibility of starting the men on their jour- 
 ney. The odd child waved her chubby hand imperiously to 
 her friend the driver, and cried in her loudest voice, "Away!" 
 The driver touched his hat with comic respect. "All right, 
 miss; time's money, ain't it?" He cracked his whip, and the 
 cart rolled off noiselessly over the thick, close turf of the 
 South Downs. 
 
 It was time for me to go back to the rectory, and to re- 
 store the wandering Jicks, for the time being, to the protec- 
 tion of home. I turned to Oscar to say good-by. 
 
 "I wish I was going back with you," he said. 
 
 "You will, be as free as I am to come and to go at the 
 rectory," I unswered, " when they know what has passed this 
 morning between you and me. In your own interests I am 
 determined to tell them who you are. You have nothing to 
 fear, and every thing to gain, by my speaking out. Clear 
 your mind of fancies and suspicions that are unworthy ot you. 
 By to-morrow we shall be good neighbors; by the end of 
 the week we shall be good friends. For the present, as we 
 say in France, an revoir!" 
 
 I turned to take Jicks by the hand. While I had been 
 speaking to Oscar the child had slipped away from me. Not 
 a sign of her was to be seen. 
 
 Before we could stir a step to search for our lost Gypsy, 
 her voice reached us, raised shrill and angry, in the regions 
 behind us, at the side of the house. 
 
 "Go away!" we heard the child cry out impatiently. 
 " Ugly m en go away !" 
 
 We turned the corner, and discovered two shabby strangers 
 resting themselves against the side-wall of the house. Their 
 cadaverous faces, their brutish expressions, and their frowsy 
 clothes proclaimed them, to my eye, as belonging to the 
 vilest blackguard type that the civilized earth has yet pro- 
 duced the blackguard of London growth. There they 
 lounged, with their hands in their pockets and their backs 
 against the wall, as if they were airing themselves on the 
 outer side of a public-house, and there stood .Ticks, with her 
 legs planted wide apart on the turf, asserting the rights
 
 60 POOR MISS .FINCH. 
 
 of property (even at that early age !), and ordering the 
 rascals off. 
 
 "What are you doing there?" asked Oscar, sharply. 
 
 One of the men appeared to be on the point of making an 
 insolent answer. The other the younger and the viler-look- 
 ing villain of the two checked him, and spoke first. 
 
 " We've had a longish walk, Sir," said the fellow, with an 
 impudent assumption of humility ; "and we've took the lib- 
 erty of resting our backs against your wall, and feastin' our 
 eyes on the beauty of your young lady here." 
 
 He pointed to the child. Jicks shook her fist at him, and 
 ordered him off more fiercely than ever. 
 
 "There's an inn in the village," said Oscar. "Rest there, 
 if you please my house is not an inn." 
 
 The elder man made a second effort to speak, beginning 
 with an oath. The younger checked him again. 
 
 "Shut up, Jim !" said the superior blackguard of the two. 
 "The gentleman recommends the tap at the inn. Come and 
 drink the gentleman's health." He turned to the child, and 
 took off his hat to her with a low bow. "Wish you good- 
 morning, miss ! You're just the style, you are, that I admire. 
 Please don't engage yourself to be married till I come back." 
 
 His savage companion was so tickled by this delicate 
 pleasantry that he burst suddenly into a roar of laughter. 
 Arm in arm the two ruffians walked off together in the direc- 
 tion of the village. Our funny little Jicks became a tragic 
 and terrible Jicks all on a sudden. The child resented the 
 insolence of the two men as if she really understood it. I 
 never saw so young a creature in such a furious passion be- 
 fore. She picked up a stone and threw it at them before I 
 could stop her. She screamed, and stamped her tiny feet 
 alternately 'on the ground, till she was purple in the face. 
 She threw herself down and rolled in fury on the grass. 
 Nothing pacified her but a rash promise of Oscar's (which 
 he was destined to hear of for many a long day afterward) 
 to send for the police, and to have the two men soundly 
 beaten for daring to laugh at Jicks. She got up from the 
 ground, and dried her eyes with her knuckles, and fixed a 
 warning look on Oscar. "Mind!" said this curious child, 
 with her bosom still heaving under the dirty pinafore, "the 
 men are to be beaten. And Jicks is to see it."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 07 
 
 I said nothing to Oscar at the time, but I felt sonic secret 
 uneasiness on the way home an uneasiness inspired by the ap- 
 pearance of the two men in the neighborhood of Browndown. 
 
 It was impossible to say how long they might have been 
 lurking about the outside of the house before the child dis- 
 covered them. They might have heard, through the open 
 window, what Oscar had said to me on the subject of his 
 plates of precious metal ; and they might have seen the 
 heavy packing-case placed in the cart. I felt no apprehen- 
 sion about the safe arrival of the case at Brighton : the three 
 men in the cart were men enough to take good care of it. 
 My fears were for the future. Oscar was living, entirely by 
 himself, in a lonely house more than half a mile distant from 
 the village. His fancy for chasing in the precious metals 
 might have its dangers, as well as its attractions, if it became 
 known beyond the pastoral limits of Dimchurch. Advancing 
 from one suspicion to another, I asked myself if the two men 
 had roamed by mere accident into our remote part of the 
 world, or whether they had deliberately found their way to 
 Browndown with a purpose in view. Having this doubt in 
 my niiud, and happening to encounter the old nurse, Zillah, 
 in the garden as I entered the rectory gates with my little 
 charge, I put the question to her plainly, " Do you see many 
 strangers at Dimchurch ?" 
 
 " Strangers ?" repeated the old woman. " Excepting your- 
 self, ma'am, we see no such tiling as a stranger here from 
 one year's end to another." 
 
 I determined to say a warning word to Oscar at the first 
 convenient opportunity. 
 
 CHAFrER THE ELEVENTH. 
 
 BLIND LOVE. 
 
 LUCILLA was at the piano when I entered the sitting- 
 room. 
 
 "I wanted you of all things," she said. "I have sent all 
 over the house in search of you. Where have you been?" 
 
 I told her. 
 
 She sprang to her feet with a cry of delight. 
 
 " You have persuaded him to trust you you have discov-
 
 C8 POOR MISS FIXCn. 
 
 ered every tiling. You only said 'I have been at Brown- 
 down ' and I heard it in your voice. Out with it ! out 
 with it !" 
 
 She never moved she seemed hardly to breathe while 
 I was telling her all that had passed at the interview be- 
 tween Oscar and me. As soon as I had done she got up in 
 a violent hurry, flushed and eager, and made straight for 
 her bedroom door. 
 
 " What are you going to do?" I asked. 
 
 "I want my hat and my stick," she answered. 
 
 " You arc going out ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Where ?" 
 
 " Can you ask the question ? To Browndown, of course !" 
 
 I begged her to wait a moment, and hear a word or two 
 that I had to say. It is, I suppose, almost needless to add 
 that my object in speaking to her was to protest against the 
 glaring impropriety of her paying a second visit, in one day, 
 to a man who was a stranger to her. I declared, in the 
 plainest terms, that such a proceeding would be sufficient, in 
 the estimation of any civilized community, to put her repu- 
 tation in peril. The result of my interference was curious 
 and interesting in the extreme. It showed me that the vir- 
 tue called Modesty (I am not speaking of Decency, mind) is 
 a virtue of purely artificial growth; and that the successful 
 cultivation of it depends, in the first instance, not on the in- 
 fluence of the tongue, but on the influence of the eye. 
 
 Suppose the case of an average young lady (conscious of 
 feeling a first love) to whom I might have spoken in the 
 sense that I have just mentioned what would she have done? 
 
 She would assuredly have shown some natural and pretty 
 confusion, and would, in all human probability, have changed 
 color more or less while she was listening to me. Lucilla's 
 charming face revealed but one expression an expression 
 of disappointment, slightly mixed, perhaps, with surprise. I 
 believed her to be then, what I knew her to be afterward, as 
 pure a creature as ever walked the earth. And yet of the 
 natural and becoming confusion, of the little inevitable fem- 
 inine changes of color which I had expected to see, not so 
 much as a vestige appeared and this, remember, in the case 
 of a person of unusually sensitive and impulsive nature;
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 69 
 
 quick, on the most trifling occasions, to feel and to express 
 its feelings in no ordinary degree. 
 
 What did it mean? 
 
 It meant that here was one strange side shown to me of 
 the terrible affliction that darkened her life. It meant that 
 modesty is essentially the growth of our own consciousness 
 of the eyes of others judging us, and that blindness is never 
 bashful, for the one simple reason that blindness can not see. 
 The most modest girl in existence is bolder with her lover 
 in the dark than in the light. The female model who "sits" 
 for the first time in a drawing academy, and who shrinks 
 from the ordeal, is persuaded, in the last resort, to enter the 
 students' room by having a bandage bound over her eyes. 
 My poor Lucilla had always the bandage over her eyes. My 
 poor Lucilla was never to meet her lover in the light. She 
 had grown up with the passions of a woman, and yet she 
 had never advanced beyond the fearless and primitive inno- 
 cence of a child. Ah, if ever there was a sacred charge con- 
 fided to any mortal creature, here surely was a sacred charge 
 confided to Me ! I could not endure to see the poor pretty 
 blind face turned so insensibly toward mine, after such words 
 as I had just said to her. She was standing within my 
 reach. I took her by the arm, and made her sit on my knee. 
 "My dear," I said, very earnestly, " you must not go to him 
 again to-day." 
 
 "I have got so much to say to him !" she answered, impa- 
 tiently. "I want to tell him how deeply I feel for him, and 
 how anxious I am to make his life a happier one if I can. 
 
 " My dear Lucilla ! you can't say this to a young man. 
 It is as good as telling him, in plain words, that you are fond 
 of him !" 
 
 "law fond of him." 
 
 "Hush! hush! Keep it to yourself until you are sure 
 that lie is fond of you. It's the man's place, my love, not 
 the woman's, to own the truth first in matters of this sort." 
 
 "This is very hard on the women. If they feel it first, 
 they ought to own it first." She paused for a moment, con- 
 sidering with herself, and abruptly got oft* my knee. "I 
 must speak to him !" she burst out; '* I muitt tell him that I 
 have heard his story, and that I think all the better of him 
 after it, instead of the worse !"
 
 70 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 She was again on her way to get her hat. My only chance 
 of stopping her was to invent a compromise. 
 
 " Write him a note," I said, and then suddenly remember- 
 ed that she was blind. "You shall dictate," I added, "and 
 I will hold the pen. Be content with that for to-day. For 
 my sake, Lucilla !" 
 
 She yielded, not very willingly, poor tiling. But she jeal- 
 ously declined to let me hold the pen. 
 
 "My first note to him must be all written by me" she 
 said. '' I can write, in my own roundabout way. It's long 
 and tiresome; but still I can do it. Come, and see." 
 
 She led the way to a writing-table in the corner of the 
 room, and sat for a while, with the pen in her hand, think- 
 ing. Her irresistible smile broke suddenly like a glow of 
 light over her face. "Ah !" she exclaimed,"! know how to 
 tell him what I think !" 
 
 Guiding the pen in her right hand with the fingers of her" 
 left hand, she wrote slowly, in large childish characters, these 
 words : 
 
 " DEAR MB. OSCAR, I have heard all about you. Please 
 send me the little gold vase. 
 
 "Your friend, LUCILLA." 
 
 She inclosed and directed the letter, and clapped her 
 hands for joy. "He will know what that means!" she said, 
 
 s a y ] y. 
 
 It was useless to attempt making a second remonstrance. 
 I rang the bell, under protest (imagine her receiving a pres- 
 ent from a gentleman to whom she had spoken for the first 
 time that morning!), and the groom was sent oflf to Brown- 
 down with the letter. In making this concession I private- 
 ly said to myself, "I shall keep a tight hand over Oscar; lie- 
 is the most manageable person of the two!" 
 
 The interval before the return of the nurse was not an 
 easy interval to fill up. I proposed some music. Lucilla 
 was still too full of her new interest to be able to give her 
 attention to any thing else. She suddenly remembered that 
 her father and her step-mother ought both to be informed 
 that Mr. Dubourg was a perfectly presentable person at the 
 rectory. She decided on writing to her father.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 1 
 
 On tliis occasion she made no difficulty about permitting 
 me to hold the pen while she told me what to write. We 
 produced between us rather a flighty, enthusiastic, high- 
 flown sort of letter. I felt by no means sure that we should 
 raise a favorable impression of our new neighbor in the mind 
 of Reverend Finch. That was, however, not my affair. I 
 appeared to excellent advantage in the matter as the judi- 
 cious foreign lady who had insisted on making inquiries. 
 For the rest, it was a point of honor with me \vriting for a 
 person who was blind not to change a single word in the 
 sentences which Lucilla dictated to me. The letter com- 
 pleted, I wrote the address of the house in Brighton at which 
 Mr. Finch then happened to be staying; and I was next 
 about to close the envelope in due course when Lucilla 
 stopped me. 
 
 " Wait a little," she said. " Don't close the letter yet," 
 
 I wondered why the envelope was to be left open, and" 
 why Lucilla looked a little confused when she forbade mo to 
 close it. Another unexpected revelation of the influence of 
 their affliction on the natures of the blind was waiting 10 
 enlighten me on those two points. 
 
 After consultation between us it had been decided, at Lu- 
 cilla' s express request, that I should inform Mrs. Finch that 
 the mystery at Browndown was now cleared up. Lucilla 
 openly owned to having no great relish for the society of 
 her step-mother, or for the duty invariably devolving on any 
 body who was long in the company of that fertile lady of 
 either finding her handkerchief or holding her baby. A 
 duplicate key of the door of communication between the two 
 sides of the house was given to me, and I left the room. 
 
 Before performing my errand I went for a minute into my 
 bed-chamber to put away my hat and my parasol. Return- 
 ing into the corridor, and passing the door of the sitting- 
 room, I found that it had been left ajar by some one who 
 had entered after I had left, and I heard Lucilla's voice say, 
 "Take that letter out of the envelope, and read it to me." 
 
 I pursued my way along the passage very slowly, I own 
 and I heard the first sentences of the letter which I had 
 written under Lucilla's dictation read aloud to her in the 
 old nurse's voice. The incurable suspicion of the blind al- 
 ways abandoned to the same melancholy distrust of the per
 
 72 POOR MISS FIXCII. 
 
 sons about thc'in, always doubting whether some deceit is 
 not being practiced on them by the happy people who can 
 see had urged Lucilla, even in the trifling matter of the let- 
 ter, to put me to the test behind my back. She was using 
 Zillah's eyes to make sure that I had really written all that 
 she had dictated to me, exactly as, on many an alter occa- 
 sion, she used my eyes to make sure of Zillah's complete 
 performance of tasks allotted to her in the house. No expe- 
 rience of the faithful devotion of those Avho live with them 
 ever thoroughly satisfies the blind. Ah, poor things, always 
 in the dark ! always in the dark ! 
 
 In opening the door of communication it appeared as if I 
 had also opened all the doors of all the bed-chambers in the 
 rectory. The moment I stepped into the passage out pop- 
 ped the children from one room after another, like rabbits 
 out of their burrows. 
 
 "Where is your mami::a?" I asked. 
 
 The rabbits answered by one universal shriek, and popped 
 back again into their burrows. 
 
 I went down the stairs to try my luck on the ground-floor. 
 The window on the landing l.ad a view over the front gar- 
 den. I looked out, and saw the irrepressible Arab of the 
 family, our small, chubby Jicks, wandering in the garden all 
 by herself, evidently on the watch for her next opportunity 
 of escaping from the house. This curious little creature, 
 cared nothing for the society of the other children. In- 
 doors, she sat gravely retired in corners, taking her meals 
 (whenever she could) on the floor. Out-of-doors, she roamed 
 till she could walk no longer, and then lay down any where, 
 like a little animal, to sleep. She happened to look up as I 
 stood at the window. Seeing me, she waved her hands in- 
 dicatively in the direction of the rectory gate. ''What is 
 it?" I asked. The Arab answered, "Jicks -wants to get 
 out." 
 
 At the same moment the screaming of a baby below in- 
 formed me that I was in the near neighborhood of Mrs. 
 Finch. 
 
 I advanced toward the noise, and found myself standing 
 before the open door of a large store-room at the extreme 
 end of the passage. In the middle of the room (issuing 
 household commodities to the cook) sat Mrs. Finch. She
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 73 
 
 was robed this time in a petticoat and a shawl ; and she had 
 the baby and the novel laid together flat on their backs in 
 her lap. 
 
 "Eight pounds of soap? Where does it all go to, I won- 
 der!" groaned Mrs. Finch, to the accompaniment of the 
 baby's screams. "Five pounds of soda for the laundry? 
 One would think we did the washing for the whole village. 
 Six pounds of candles ? You must eat candles like the Rus- 
 sians. Who ever heard of burning six pounds of caudles in 
 a week ? Ten pounds of sugar ? Who gets it all ? I never 
 taste sugar from one year's end to another. Waste, nothing 
 but waste !" Here Mrs. Finch looked my way, and saw mo 
 at the door. "Oh, Madame Pratolungo? How d'ye do? 
 Don't go away. I've just done. A bottle of blacking ? My 
 shoes are a disgrace to the house. Five pounds of rice ? If 
 I had Indian servants, five pounds of rice would last them 
 for a year. There ! take the things away into the kitchen. 
 Excuse my dress, Madame Pratolungo. How am I to 
 dress, with all I have got to do? What do you say? My 
 time must, indeed, be fully occupied ? Ah, that's just where 
 it is! When yon have lost half an hour in the morning, and 
 can't pick it up again to say nothing of having the store- 
 room on your mind, and the children's dinner late, and the 
 baby fractious one slips on a petticoat and a shawl, and 
 gives it np in despair. Wliat can I have done with my 
 handkerchief? Would you mind looking among those bot- 
 tles behind you ? Oh, here it is under the baby. Might 1 
 trouble you to hold my book for one moment ? I think the 
 baby will be quieter if I put him the other way." Here 
 Mrs. Finch turned the baby over on his stomach, and patted 
 him briskly on the back. At this change in his circumstan- 
 ces the unappeasable infant only roared louder than ever. 
 His mother appeared to be perfectly unaffected by the noise. 
 This resigned domestic martyr looked placidly up at me as 
 I stood before her, bewildered, with the novel in my hand. 
 " Ah, that's a very interesting story," she went on. "Plenty 
 of love in it, you know. You have come for it, haven't you? 
 I remember I promised to lend it to you yesterday." Before 
 I could answer, the cook appeared again in search of more 
 household commodities. Mrs. Finch repeated the woman's 
 demands, one by one as she made them, in tones of despair. 
 
 D
 
 74 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Another bottle of vinegar? I believe you water the gar- 
 den with vinegar! More starch? The Queen's washing, 
 I'm firmly persuaded, doesn't come to as much as ours. 
 Sand-paper? Sand-paper means waste-paper in this profli- 
 gate house. I shall tell your master. I really can NOT 
 make the housekeeping money last at this rate. Don't go, 
 Madame Pratolungo ! I shall have done directly. What? 
 You must go? Oh, then, put the book back on my lap, 
 please, and look behind that sack of flour. The first volume 
 slipped down there this morning, and I haven't had time to 
 pick it up since. Sand-paper ! Do you think I'm made of 
 sand-paper? Have you found the first volume? Ah, that's 
 it. All over flour. There's a hole in the sack, I suppose. 
 Twelve sheets of sand-paper used in a week! What for? 
 I defy any of you to tell me what for. Waste ! waste ! 
 shameful, sinful waste !" At this point in Mrs. Finch's lam- 
 entations I made my escape with the book, and left the sub- 
 ject of Oscar Dubourg to be introduced at a fitter oppor- 
 tunity. The last words I heard, through the screams of the 
 baby, as I ascended the stairs, were words still relating to 
 the week's prodigal consumption of sand-paper. Let ^us 
 drop a tear, if you please, over the woes of Mrs. Finch, and 
 leave the British matron apostrophizing domestic economy 
 in the odorous seclusion of her own store-room. 
 
 I had just related to Lucilla the failure of my expedition 
 to the other side of the house, when the groom returned, 
 bringing with him the gold vase and ia letter. 
 
 Oscar's answer was judiciously modeled to imitate the 
 brevity of Lucilla's note. "You have made me a happy 
 man again. When may I follow the vase ?" There, in two 
 sentences, was the whole letter. 
 
 I had another discussion with Lucilla relating to the pro- 
 priety of our receiving Oscar in Reverend Finch's absence. 
 It was only possible to persuade her to wait until she had 
 at least heard from her father by consenting to take another 
 walk toward Browndown the next morning. This new con- 
 cession satisfied her. She had received his present; she 
 had exchanged letters with him that was enough to con- 
 tent her for the time. 
 
 "Do you think he is getting fond of me?" she asked, the 
 last thing at night, taking her gold vase to bed with her,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 75 
 
 poov dear exactly as she might have taken a new toy to 
 bed -with her when she was a child. "Give him time, my 
 love," I answered. <l It isn't every body who can travel at 
 your pace in such a serious matter as this." My banter had 
 no effect upon her. " Go away with your candle," she raid. 
 "The darkness makes no difference to me. I can see him in 
 my thoughts." She nestled her head comfortably on the 
 pillows, and tapped me saucily on the cheek as I bent over 
 her. " Own the advantage I have over you now," she said. 
 " You can't sec at night without your candle. I could go 
 all over the house at this moment without making a false 
 step any where." 
 
 When I left her that night, I sincerely believe "poor Miss 
 Finch" was the happiest woman in England. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWELFTH. 
 
 MR. FINCH SMELLS MONET. 
 
 A DOMESTIC alarm deferred for some hours our proposed 
 walk to Browndown. 
 
 The old nurse, Zillah, was taken ill in the night. She was 
 so little relieved by such remedies as we were able to apply 
 that it became necessary to summon the doctor in the morn- 
 in"-. He lived at some distance from Dimchureh: and he 
 
 O ' 
 
 had to send back to his own house for the medicines re- 
 quired. As a necessary result of these delays, it was close 
 on one o'clock in the afternoon before the medical remedies 
 had their effect, and the nurse was sufficiently recovered to 
 permit of our leaving her in the servants' care. 
 
 We had dressed for our walk (Lucilla being ready long 
 before I was), and had got as far as the garden gate on our 
 way to Browndown, when we heard, on the other side of the 
 wall, a man's voice, pitched in superbly deep bass tones, pro- 
 nouncing these words : 
 
 "Believe me, my dear Sir, there is not the least difficulty. 
 I have only to send the check to my bankers at Brighton." 
 
 Lucilla started, and caught hold of me by the arm. 
 
 " My father !" she exclaimed, in the utmost astonishment. 
 "Who is he talking to?" 
 
 The key of the gate was in my possession. " What a
 
 76 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 grand voice your father has got !" I said, as I took the key 
 out of my pocket. I opened the gate. There, confronting 
 
 us on the threshold, arm in arm as if they had known each 
 other from childhood, stood Lucilla's father and Oscar Du- 
 bourg ! 
 
 Reverend Finch opened the proceedings by folding his 
 daughter affectionately in his arms. 
 
 "My dear child!" he said, "I received your letter your 
 most interesting letter this morning. The moment I read 
 it I felt that I owed a duty to Mr. Dubourg. As pastor of 
 Dimchurch, it was clearly incumbent on me to comfort a 
 brother in affliction. I really felt, so to speak, a longing to 
 hold out the right hand of friendship to this sorely tried 
 man. I borrowed my friend's carriage, and drove straight 
 to Browndown. We have had a long and cordial talk. I 
 have brought Mr. Dubourg home with me. He must be one 
 
 ^ O 
 
 of us. My dear child, Mr. Dubotirg must be one of us. Let 
 me introduce you. My eldest daughter Mr. Dubourg." 
 
 He performed the ceremony of presentation with the most 
 impenetrable gravity, as if he really believed that Oscar and 
 his daughter now met each other for the first time ! 
 
 Never had I set my eyes on a meaner-looking man than 
 this rector. In height he barely readied up to my shoulder. 
 In substance he was so miserably lean that he looked the 
 living picture of starvation. He would have made his for- 
 tune in the streets of London if he had only gone out and 
 shown himself to the public in ragged clothes. His face 
 was deeply pitted with the small-pox. His short grizzly 
 hair stood up stiff and straight on his head like hair fixed in 
 a broom. His small whitish-gray eyes had a restless, inquis- 
 itive, hungry look in them indescribably irritating and un- 
 comfortable to see. The one personal distinction he pos- 
 sessed consisted in his magnificent bass voice a voice which 
 had no sort of 1'ight to exist in the person who used it. Un- 
 til one became accustomed to the contrast, there was some- 
 thing perfectly unbearable in hearing those superb big tones 
 come out of that contemptible little body. The famous Lat- 
 in phrase conveys, after all, the best description I can give 
 of Reverend Finch. He was in very truth Voice, and noth- 
 ing else. 
 
 "Madame Pratolungo, no doubt?" he went on, turning to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 77 
 
 me. "Delighted to make the acquaintance of my daughter's 
 judicious companion and friend. You must be one of us 
 like Mr. Dubourg. Let me introduce you. Madame Prato- 
 lurigo Mr. Dubourg. This is the old side of the rectory, 
 my dear Sir. We had it put in repair let me see; how 
 long since? we had it put in repair just after Mrs. Finch's 
 last confinement but one." (I soon discovered that Mr. 
 Finch reckoned time by his wife's confinements.) " You will 
 find it very curious and interesting inside. Lucilla, my 
 child ! (It has pleased Providence, Mr. Dubourg, to afflict 
 my daughter with blindness. Inscrutable Providence!) 
 Lucilla, this is your side of the house. Take Mr. Dubourg's 
 arm, and lead the way. Do the honors, my child. Madame 
 Pratolungo, let me offer you my arm. I regret that I was 
 not present when you arrived, to welcome you at the rec- 
 tory. Consider yourself do pray consider yourself one of 
 us." He stopped, and lowered his prodigious voice to a con- 
 fidential growl. "Delightful person, Mr. Dubourg. I can't 
 tell you how pleased I am with him. And what a sad story ! 
 Cultivate Mr. Dubourg, my dear madam. As a favor to Me 
 cultivate Mr. Dubourg !" 
 
 He said this with an appearance of the deepest anxiety 
 and more, he emphasized it by affectionately squeezing my 
 hand. 
 
 I have met with a great many audacious people in my 
 time. But the audacity of Reverend Finch persisting to 
 our faces in the assumption that he had been the first to dis- 
 cover our neighbor, and that Lucilla and I were perfectly 
 incapable of understanding and appreciating Oscar unassisted 
 by him was entirely without a parallel in my experience. 
 I asked myself what his conduct in this matter so entirely 
 unexpected by Lucilla, as well as by me could possibly 
 mean. My knowledge of his character, obtained through his 
 daughter, and my memory of what we had heard him say on 
 the other side of the wall, suggested that his conduct might 
 mean Money. 
 
 We assembled in the sitting-room. 
 
 The only person among us who was quite at his ease was 
 Mr. Finch. He never let his daughter and his <nicst alone 
 
 o 
 
 for a single moment. "My child, show Mr. Dubourg this; 
 show Mr. Dubourg that. Mr. Dubourg, my daughter pos-
 
 78 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 scsses this ; my daughter possesses that." So he went on all 
 round the room. Oscar appeared to feel a little daunted by 
 the overwhelming attentions of his new friend. Lucilla was, 
 as I could see, secretly irritated at finding herself authorized 
 by her father to pay those attentions to Oscar which she 
 would have preferred offering to him of her own accord. 
 As for me, I was already beginning to weary of the patron- 
 izing politeness of the little priest with the big voice. It 
 was a relief to us all when a message on domestic affairs ar- 
 rived in the midst of the proceedings from Mrs. Finch, re- 
 questing to see her husband immediately on the rectory side 
 of the house. 
 
 Forced to leave us, Reverend Finch made his farewell 
 speech. Taking Oscar's hand into a kind of paternal custody 
 in both his own hands, he spoke with such sonorous cordiality 
 that the china and glass ornaments on Lucilla's chiffonnier 
 actually jingled an accompaniment to his booming bass notes. 
 
 " Come to tea, my dear Sir. Without ceremony. To-night 
 at six. We must keep up your spirits, Mr. Dubourg. Cheer- 
 ful society and a little music. Lucilla, my dear child, you 
 will play for Mr. Dubourg, won't you? Madame Pratolungo 
 will do the same at My request I am sure. We shall make 
 even dull Dimchurch agreeable to our new neighbor before 
 we have clone. What does the poet say ? ' Fixed to no 
 spot is happiness sincere ; 'tis nowhere to be found, or every 
 where.' How cheering ! how true ! Good-day ; good-day." 
 
 The glasses left off jingling. Mr. Finch's wisen little legs 
 took him out of the room. 
 
 The moment his back was turned we both assailed Oscar 
 with the same question. What had passed at the interview 
 between the rector and himself? 
 
 Men are all alike incompetent to satisfy women when the 
 question between the sexes is a question of small details. A 
 woman in Oscar's position would have been able to relate to 
 us not only the whole conversation with the rector, but every 
 little trifling incident which had noticeably illustrated it. 
 As things were, we could only extract from our unsatisfac- 
 tory man the barest outline of the interview. The coloring 
 and the filling in we were left to do for ourselves. 
 
 Oscar had, on his own confession, acknowledged his visit- 
 or's kindness by opening his whole heart to the sympathizing
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 79 
 
 rector, and placing that wary priest and excellent man ot 
 business in possession of the completes! knowledge of all his 
 affairs. In return, Reverend Finch had spoken in the frank- 
 est manner on his side. He had drawn a sad picture of the 
 poverty-stricken condition of Dimchurch, viewed as an ec- 
 clesiastical endowment; and he had spoken in such feeling 
 terms of the neglected condition of the ancient and interest- 
 ing church that poor simple Oscar, smitten with pity, had 
 produced his check-book, and had subscribed on the spot 
 toward the fund for repairing the ancient round tower. 
 They had been still occupied with the subject of the tower 
 and the subscription when we had opened the garden gate 
 and had let them in. Hearing this, I. now understood the 
 motives under which our reverend friend was acting as well 
 as if they had been my own. It was plain to my mind that 
 the rector had taken his financial measure of Oscar, and had 
 privately satisfied himself that if he encouraged the two 
 young people in cultivating each other's society, money (to 
 use his own phrase) might come of it. He had, as I be- 
 lieved, put forward "the round tower," in the first instance, 
 as a feeler; and he would follow it up in due time by an 
 appeal of a more personal nature to Oscar's well-filled purse. 
 Brief, he was, in my opinion, quite sharp enough (after 
 having studied his young friend's character) to foresee an 
 addition to his income rather than a subtraction from it, if 
 the relations between Oscar and his daughter ended in a 
 marriage. 
 
 Whether Lucilla arrived, on her side, at the same conclusion 
 as mine is what I can not venture positively to declare. I 
 can only relate that she looked ill at ease as the facts came 
 out, and that she took the first opportunity of extinguishing 
 her father, viewed as a topic of conversation. 
 
 As for Oscar, it was enough for him that he had already 
 secured his place as friend of the house. He took leave of 
 us in the highest spirits. I had my eye on them when he 
 and Lucilla said good-by. She squeezed his hand. I saw 
 her do it. At the rate at which tilings were now going on 
 I began to ask myself whether Reverend Finch would not 
 appear at tea-time in his robes of office, and celebrate the 
 marriage of his " sorely tried " young friend between the 
 iirst cup and the second.
 
 80 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 At our little social assembly in the evening nothing passed 
 worthy of much remark. 
 
 Lucilla and I (I can not resist recording this) were both 
 beautifully dressed in honor of the occasion, Mrs. Finch serv- 
 ing us to perfection by way of contrast. She had made an 
 immense effort she was half dressed. Her evening costume 
 was an ancient green silk skirt (with traces of past babies 
 visible on it to an experienced eye), topped by the everlasting 
 blue merino jacket. " I lose every thing belonging to me," 
 Mrs. Finch whispered in my ear. " I have got a body to 
 this dress, and it can't be found any where." The rector's 
 prodigious voice was never silent: the pompous and plausi- 
 ble little man talked, talked, talked in deeper and deeper 
 bass, until the very tea-cups on the table shuddered under 
 the influence of him. The elder children, admitted to the 
 family festival, ate till they could eat no more, stared till 
 they could stare no more, yawned till they could yawn no 
 more and then went to bed. Oscar got on well with every 
 body. Mrs. Finch was naturally interested in him as one of 
 twins, though she was also surprised and disappointed at 
 hearing that his mother had begun and ended with his 
 brother and himself. As for Lucilla, she sat in silent happi- 
 ness, absorbed in the inexhaustible delight of hearing Oscar's 
 voice. She found as many varieties of expression in listen- 
 ing to her beloved tones as the rest of us find in looking at 
 our beloved face. We had music later in the evening, and I 
 then heard for the first time how charmingly Lucilla played. 
 She was a born musician, with a delicacy and subtlety of 
 touch such as few even of the greatest virtuosi possess. Os- 
 car was enchanted. In a word, the evening was a success. 
 
 I contrived when our guest took his departure to say my 
 contemplated word to him in private on the subject of his 
 solitary position at Browndown. 
 
 Those doubts of Oscar's security in his lonely house, which 
 I have described as having been suggested to me by the dis- 
 covery of the two ruffians lurking under the wall, still main- 
 tained their place in my mind, and still urged me to warn 
 him to take precautions of some sort before the precious 
 metals which he had sent to London to be melted came back 
 to him again. He gave me the opportunity I wanted by 
 looking at his watch and apologizing for protracting his
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 81 
 
 visit to a terribly late hour for the country the hour of 
 midnight. 
 
 " Is your servant sitting up for you ?" I asked, assuming 
 to be ignorant of his domestic arrangements. 
 
 He pulled out of his pocket a great clumsy key. "This is 
 my only servant at Browndown," he said. " By four or five 
 in the afternoon the people at the inn have done all for me 
 that I want. After that time there is nobody in the house 
 but myself." 
 
 He shook hands with us. The rector escorted him as far 
 as the front-door. I slipped out while they were saying their 
 last words, and joined Oscar when he advanced alone into 
 the garden. 
 
 "I want a breath of fresh air," I said. "I'll go with you 
 as far as the gate." 
 
 He began to talk of Lucilla directly. I surprised him by re- 
 turning abruptly to the subject of his position at Browndown. 
 
 "Do you think it's wise?" I asked, " to be all by yourself 
 at night in such a lonely house as yours ? Why don't you 
 have a man-servant?" 
 
 "I detest strange servants," he answered. "I infinitely 
 prefer being by myself." 
 
 " When do you expect your gold and silver plates to be 
 returned to you?" 
 
 " In about a week." 
 
 " What would be the value of them in money, at a rough 
 guess ?" 
 
 " At a rough guess, about seventy or eighty pounds." 
 
 "In a week's time, then," I said, "you will have seventy 
 or eighty pounds' worth of property at Browndown proper- 
 ty which a thief need only put into the melting-pot to have 
 no fear of its being traced into his hands." 
 
 Oscar stopped and looked at me. 
 
 "What can you be thinking of?" he asked. "There are 
 no thieves in this primitive place." 
 
 " There are thieves in other places," I answered, " and 
 they may come here. Have you forgotten those two men 
 whom we caught hanging about Browndown yesterday?" 
 
 He smiled. I had recalled to him a humorous association 
 nothing more. 
 
 "It was not we who caught them," he said. "It was that 
 
 P 2
 
 82 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 strange child. What do you say to my having Jicks to 
 sleep in the house and take care of me?" 
 
 " I am not joking," I rejoined. " I never met with two 
 more ill-looking villains in all my life. The window was 
 open when you were telling me about the necessity for melt- 
 ing the plates again. They may know as well as we do that 
 your gold and silver will be returned after a time." 
 
 "What an imagination you have got!" he exclaimed. 
 "You see a couple of shabby excursionists from Brighton 
 who have wandered to Dimchurch, and you instantly trans- 
 form them into a pair of house-breakers in a conspiracy to 
 rob and murder me. You and my brother Nugent would 
 just suit each other. His imagination runs away with him 
 exactly like yours." 
 
 "Take my advice," I answered, gravely. "Don't persist 
 in sleeping at Brovvndown without a living creature in the 
 house with you." 
 
 He was in wild good spirits. He kissed my hand, and 
 thanked me in his voluble, exaggerated way for the interest 
 that I took in him. " All right !" he said, as he opened the 
 gate. " I'll have a living creature in the house with me. I'll 
 
 o o 
 
 get a dog." 
 
 W T e parted. I had told him what was on my mind. I 
 could do no more. After all, it might be quite possible 
 that his view was the right one, and mine the wrong. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH. 
 
 SECOND APPEARANCE OF JICKS. 
 
 FIVE more days passed. 
 
 During that interval we saw our neighbor constantly. 
 Either Oscar came to the rectory or we went to Browndown. 
 Reverend Finch waited, with a masterly assumption of sus- 
 pecting nothing, until the relations between the two young 
 people were ripe enough to develop into relations of acknowl- 
 edged love. They were already (under Lucilla's influence) 
 advancing rapidly to that point. You are not to blame my 
 poor blind girl, if you please, for frankly encouraging the man 
 she loved. He was the most backward man viewed as a 
 suitor whom I ever met with. The fonder he crrew of her
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 83 
 
 the more timid and self-distrustful he became. I own I don't 
 like a modest man; and I can not honestly say that Mr. Os- 
 car Dubourg, on closer acquaintance, advanced himself much 
 in my estimation. Ho\vever,Lucilla understood him, and that 
 was enough. She was determined to have the completest 
 possible image of him in her mind. Every body in the house 
 who had seen him (the children included) she examined and 
 cross-examined on the subject of his personal appearance, as 
 she had already examined and cross-examined me. His feat- 
 ures and his color, his height and his breadth, his ornaments 
 and his clothes on all these points she collected evidence in 
 every direction and in the smallest detail. It was an espe- 
 cial relief and delight to her to hear on all sides that his 
 complexion was fair. There was no reasoning with her 
 against her blind horror of dark shades of color, whether seen 
 in men, women, or things. She was quite unable to account 
 for it ; she could only declare it. 
 
 " I have the strangest instincts of my own about some 
 tilings," she said to me one day. " For instance, I knew that 
 Oscar was bright and fair I mean I felt it in myself on that 
 delightful evening when I first heard the sound of his voice. 
 
 o ^ 
 
 It went straight from my ear to my heart, and it described 
 him just as the rest of you have described him to me since. 
 Mrs. Finch tells me his complexion is lighter than mine. Do 
 you think so too? I am so glad to hear that he is fairer than 
 I am ! Did you ever meet before with a person like me? I 
 have the oddest ideas in this blind head of mine. I associate 
 life and beauty with light colors, and death and crime with 
 dark colors. If I married a man with a dark complexion, 
 and if I recovered my sight afterward, I should run away 
 from him." 
 
 This singular prejudice of hers against dark people was a 
 little annoying to me on personal grounds. It was a sort of 
 reflection on my own taste. Between ourselves, the late 
 Doctor Pratol ungo was of a fine mahogany brown all over. 
 
 As for affairs in general at Dimchurch, my chronicle of 
 the five days finds little to dwell on that is worth record- 
 ing. 
 
 We were not startled by any second appearance of the 
 two ruffians at Browndown; neither was any change made 
 by Oscar in his domestic establishment. He was favored
 
 84 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 with more than one visit from our little wandering Jicks. 
 
 o 
 
 On each occasion the child gravely reminded him of his rash 
 promise to appeal to the police, and visit with corporal pun- 
 ishment the two ugly strangers who had laughed at her. 
 When were the men to be beaten? and when was Jicks to see 
 it ? Such were the serious questions with which this young 
 lady regularly opened the proceedings on each occasion when 
 she favored Oscar with a morning call. 
 
 On the sixth day the gold and silver plates were returned 
 to Browndown from the manufactory in London. 
 
 The next morning a note arrived for me from Oscar. It 
 ran thus : 
 
 "DEAR MADAME PRATOLUNGO, I regret to inform you 
 that nothing happened to me last night. My locks and bolts 
 are in their usual good order, my gold and silver plates are 
 safe in the workshop, and I myself am now eating my break- 
 fast with an uncut throat. Yours ever, 
 
 " OSCAR." 
 
 After this there was no more to be said. Jicks might per- 
 sist in remembering the two ill-looking strangers. Older 
 and wiser people dismissed them from all further considera- 
 tion. 
 
 Saturday came making the tenth day since the memora- 
 ble morning when I had forced Oscar to disclose himself to 
 me in the little side room at Browndown. 
 
 In the forenoon we had a visit from him at the rectory. 
 In the afternoon we went to Browndown to see him begin a 
 new piece of chasing in gold a casket for holding gloves 
 destined to take its place on Lucilla's toilet-table when it 
 was done. We left him industriously at work, determined to 
 go on as long as the daylight lasted. 
 
 Early in the evening Lucilla sat down at her piano-forte, 
 and I paid a visit by appointment to the rectory side of the 
 house. 
 
 Unhappy Mrs. Finch had determined to institute a com- 
 plete reform of her Avardrobe. She had entreated me to give 
 her the benefit of" my French taste" in the capacity of con- 
 fidential critic and adviser. "I can't afford to buy any 
 new things," said the poor lady. " But a deal might be done
 
 POOR MISS FINCft 85 
 
 in altering what I have got by me if a clever person took the 
 matter up." Who could resist that piteous appeal? I re- 
 signed myself to the baby, the novel, and the children in gen- 
 eral ; and (Reverend Finch being out of the way, writing his 
 sermon) I presented myself in Mrs. Finch's parlor, full of 
 ideas, with my scissors and my pattern-paper ready in my 
 hand. 
 
 We had only begun our operations when one of the elder 
 children arrived with a message from the nursery. 
 
 It was tea-time ; and, as usual, Jicks was missing. She 
 was searched for, first, in the lower regions of the house ; 
 secondly, in the garden. Not a trace of her was to be discov- 
 ered in either quarter. Nobody was surprised or alarmed. 
 We said, " Oh dear ! she has gone to Browndown again 1" 
 and immersed ourselves once more in the shabby recesses 
 of Mrs. Finch's wardrobe. 
 
 I had just decided that the blue merino jacket was an ar- 
 ticle of wearing apparel which had done its duty, arid earned 
 its right to a final retirement from the scene, when a plaint- 
 ive cry reached my ear through the open door which led into 
 the back garden; 
 
 I stopped and looked at Mrs. Finch. 
 
 The cry was repeated, louder and nearer recognizable 
 this time as a cry in a child's voice. The door of the room 
 had been left ajar when we sent the messenger back to the 
 nursery. I threw it open, and found myself face to face with 
 Jicks in the passage. 
 
 I felt every nerve in my body shudder at the sight of the 
 child. 
 
 The poor little thing was white and wild with terror. 
 She w:is incapable of uttering a word. When I knelt down 
 to fondle and soothe her she caught convulsively at my hand, 
 and attempted to raise me. I got on my feet again. She re- 
 peated her dumb cry more loudly, and tried to drag me out 
 of the house. She was so weak that she staggered under the 
 effort. I took her up in my arms. Ojic of my hands, as I 
 embraced her, touched the top of her frock, just below the 
 back of her neck. I felt something on my lingers. I looked 
 at them. Gracious God ! I was stained with blood ! 
 
 I turned the child round. My own blood froze. Her 
 mother, standing behind me, screamed with horror.
 
 80 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 The dear little thing's white frock was spotted and splash- 
 ed with wet blood. Not her own blood. There was not a 
 scratch on her. I looked closer at the horrid marks. They 
 had been drawn purposely on her drawn, as it seemed, with 
 a finger. I took her out into the light. It was writing ! A 
 word had been feebly traced on the back of her frock. I 
 made out something like the letter " H." Then a letter which 
 it was impossible to read. Then another next to it, which 
 might have been " L," or might have been "j." Then a last 
 letter, which I guessed to be " P." 
 
 Was the word "Help?" 
 
 Yes ! traced on the back of the child's frock, with a fin- 
 ger dipped in blood " HELP." 
 
 CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH. 
 
 DISCOVERIES AT BROWNDOWN. 
 
 IT is needless to tell you at what conclusion I arrived as 
 soon as I was sufficiently myself to think at all. 
 
 Thanks to my adventurous past life, I have got the habit 
 of deciding quickly in serious emergencies of all sorts. In 
 the present emergency as I saw it there were two things 
 to be done. One, to go instantly with help to Browndown ; 
 the other, to keep the knowledge of what had happened from 
 Lucilla until I could get back again and prepare her for the 
 discovery. 
 
 I looked at Mrs. Finch. She had dropped helplessly into 
 a chair. "Rouse yourself!" I said, and shook her. It was 
 no time for sympathizing with swoons and hysterics. The 
 child was still in my arms, fast yielding, poor little thing, to 
 the exhaustion of fatigue and terror. I could do nothing un- 
 til I had relieved myself of the charge of her. Mrs. Finch 
 looked up at me, trembling and sobbing. I put the child in 
 her lap. Jicks feebly resisted being parted from me ; but 
 soon gave up, and dropped her weary little head on her 
 mother's bosom. "Can you take off her frock?" I asked, 
 with another shake a good one this time. 
 
 The prospect of a domestic occupation (of any sort) ap- 
 peared to rouse Mrs. Finch. She looked at the baby, in its 
 cradle in one corner of the room, and at the novel, reposing
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 89 
 
 on a chair in another corner of the room. The presence of 
 these two familiar objects appeared to encourage her. She 
 shivered, she swallowed a sob, she recovered her breath, she 
 began to undo the frock. 
 
 "Put it away carefully," I said, "and say nothing to any 
 body of what lias happened until I come back. You can see 
 for yourself that the child is not hurt. Soothe her, and wait 
 here. Is Mr. Finch in the study?" 
 
 Mrs. Finch swallowed another sob, and said, Yes. The 
 child made a last effort. " Jicks will go with you," said the 
 indomitable little Arab, faintly. I ran out of the room, and 
 left the three babies big, little, and least together. 
 
 After knocking at the study door without getting any re- 
 ply, I opened it and went in. Reverend Finch, comfortably 
 prostrate in a large arm-chair (with his sermon-paper spread 
 out in fair white sheets by his side), started up, and confront- 
 ed me in the character of a clergyman that moment awak- 
 ened from a sound sleep. 
 
 The rector of Dimchurch instantly recovered his dignity. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Madame Pratolungo, I was deep in 
 thought. Please state your business briefly." Saying those 
 words, he waved his hand magnificently over his empty 
 sheets of paper, and added in his deepest bass : " Sermon 
 day !" 
 
 I told him in the plainest words what I had seen on his 
 child's frock, and what I feared had happened at Browndown. 
 He turned deadly pale. If I ever yet set my two eyes on a 
 man thoroughly frightened, Reverend Finch was that man. 
 
 "Do you anticipate danger?" he inquired. "Is it your 
 opinion that criminal persons are in or near the house?" 
 
 " It is my opinion that there is not a moment to be lost," 
 I answered. "We must go to Browndown; and we must 
 get what help we can on the way." 
 
 I opened the door, and waited for him to come out with 
 me. Mr. Finch (still apparently pre-occupied with the ques- 
 tion of the criminal persons) looked as if he wished himself a 
 hundred miles from his own rectory at that particular mo- 
 ment. But he was the master of the house ; he was the 
 principal man in the place he had no other alternative, as 
 matters now stood, than to take his hat and go. 
 
 We went out together into the village. My reverend
 
 90 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 companion was silent for the first time in my limited experi- 
 ence of him. We inquired for the one policeman who patrol- 
 led the district. He was away on his rounds. We asked if 
 any body had seen the doctor. No; it was not the doctor's 
 day for visiting Dimchurch. I had heard the landlord of 
 the Cross Hands described as a capable and respectable man ; 
 and I suggested stopping at the inn and taking him with us. 
 Mr. Finch instantly brightened at that proposal. His sense 
 of his own importance rose again, like the mercury in a ther- 
 mometer when you put it into a warm bath. 
 
 " Exactly what I was about to suggest," he said. " Gooth- 
 eridge, of the Cross Hands, is a very worthy person for his 
 station in life. Let us have Gootheridge, by all means. 
 Don't be alarmed, Madame Pratolungo. We are all in the 
 hands of Providence. It is most fortunate for you that I was 
 at home. What would you have done without me ? Now 
 don't, pray don't, be alarmed. In case of criminal persons 
 I have my stick, as you see. I am not tall, but I possess im- 
 mense physical strength. I am, so to speak, all muscle. 
 Feel !" 
 
 He held out one of his wizen little arms. It was about 
 half the size of my arm. If I had not been far too anxious 
 to think of playing tricks, I should certainly have declared 
 that it was needless, with such a tower of strength by my 
 side, to disturb the landlord. I dare not assert that Mr. Finch 
 actually detected the turn my thoughts were taking I can 
 only declare that he did certainly shout for Gootheridge in a 
 violent hurry the moment we were in sight of the inn. 
 
 The landlord came out ; and, hearing what our errand was, 
 instantly consented to join us. 
 
 "Take your gun," said Mr. Finch. 
 
 Gootheridge took his gun. We hastened on to the 
 house. 
 
 " Were Mrs. Gootheridge or your daughter at Browndown 
 to-day ?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am; they were both at Browndown. They fin- 
 ished up their w r ork as usual, and left the house more than 
 an hour since." 
 
 " Did any thing out of the common happen while they 
 were there ?" 
 
 "Nothing that I hoard of, ma'am."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 91 
 
 I considered with myself for a minute, and ventured on 
 putting a few more questions to Mr. Gootheridge. 
 
 "Have any strangers been seen here this evening?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am. Nearly an hour ago two strangers drove 
 by my house in a chaise." 
 
 " In what direction ?" 
 
 "Coming from Brighton way, and going toward Brown- 
 down." 
 
 " Did you notice the men ?" 
 
 " Not particularly, ma'am. I was busy at the time." 
 
 A sickening suspicion that the two strangers in the chaise 
 might be the two men whom I had seen lurking under the 
 wall forced its way into my mind. I said no more until 
 we reached the house. 
 
 All was quiet. The one sign of any thing unusual was in 
 the plain traces of the passage of wheels over the turf in front 
 of Browndown. The landlord was the first to see them. 
 "The chaise must have stopped at the house, Sir," he said, 
 addressing himself to the rector. 
 
 Reverend Finch was suffering under a second suspension 
 of speech. All he could say as we approached the door of 
 the silent and solitary building and he said that with ex- 
 treme difficulty was, " Pray let us be careful !" 
 
 The landlord was the first to reach the door. I was behind 
 him. The rector at some little distance acted as rear- 
 guard, with the South Downs behind him to retreat upon. 
 Gootheridge rapped smartly on the door, and called out, 
 * Mr. Dubourg !" There was no answer. There was only a 
 dreadful silence. The suspense was more than I could en- 
 dure. I pushed by the landlord, and turned the handle of 
 the unlocked door. 
 
 " Let me go first, ma'am," said Gootheridge. 
 
 He pushed by me in his turn. I followed him close. 
 We entered the house, and called again. Again there was 
 no answer. We looked into the little sitting-room on 
 one side of the passage, and into the dining-room on the 
 other. Both were empty. We went on to the back of 
 the house, where the room was situated which Oscar 
 called his workshop. When \ve tried the door of the 
 workshop it was locked.
 
 92 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 We knocked, and called again. The horrid silence was all 
 that followed, as before. 
 
 I tried the key-hole with my finger. The key was not in 
 the lock. I knelt down and looked through the key-hole. 
 The next instant I was up again on my feet, wild and giddy 
 with horror. 
 
 " Burst open the door !" I screamed. " I can just see his 
 hand lying on the floor !" 
 
 The landlord, like the rector, was a little man ; and the 
 door, like every thing else at Browndown, was of the clumsi- 
 est and heaviest construction. Unaided l>y instruments, we 
 should all three together have been too weak to burst it 
 open. In this difficulty, Reverend Finch proved to be for 
 the first time, and also for the last of some use. 
 
 " Stay !" he said. " My friends, if the back garden gate is 
 open, we can get in by the window." 
 
 Neither the landlord nor I had thought of the window. 
 We ran round to the back of the house, seeing the marks of 
 the chaise wheels leading in the same direction. The gate 
 in the wall was wide open. We crossed the little garden. 
 The window of the workshop opening to the ground- 
 gave us admission, as the rector had foretold. We entered 
 the room. 
 
 There he la)' poor, harmless, unlucky Oscar senseless, in 
 a pool of his own blood. A blow on t!ie left side of his head 
 .had, to all appearance, felled him on the spot. The wound 
 had split the scalp. Whether it had also split the skull was 
 more than I was surgeon enough to be able to say. I had 
 gathered some experience of how to deal with wounded men 
 when I served the sacred cause of Freedom with my glori- 
 ous Pratolungo. Cold water, vinegar, and linen for band- 
 ages these were all in the house, and these I called for. 
 Gootheridge found the key of the door flung aside in a cor- 
 ner of the room. He got the water and the vinegar, while I 
 ran up stairs to Oscar's bedroom and provided myself with 
 some of his handkerchiefs. In a few minutes I had a cold- 
 water bandage over the wound, and was bathing his face in 
 vinegar and water. He was still insensible; but he lived. 
 Reverend Finch not of the slightest help to any body as- 
 sumed the duty of feeling Oscar's pulse. He did it as if, un- 
 der the circumstances, this was the one meritorious action
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 03 
 
 that could be performed. He looked ns if nobody could feel 
 a pulse but himself. " Most fortunate," he said, counting the 
 slow, faint throbbing at the poor fellow's wrist " most for- 
 tunate that I was at home. What would you have done 
 without me?" 
 
 The next necessity was, of course, to send for the doctor, 
 and to get help in the mean time to carry Oscar up stairs to 
 his bed. 
 
 Gootheridge volunteered to borrow a horse, and to ride oft* 
 for the doctor. We arranged that he was to send his wife 
 and his wife's brother to help me. This settled, the one last 
 embarrassment left to deal with was the embarrassment of 
 Mr. Finch. Now that we were free from all fear of encoun- 
 tering bad characters in the house, the boom-boom of the lit- 
 tle man's big voice went on unintermittingly, like a machine 
 at work in the neighborhood. I had another of my inspira- 
 tions sitting on the floor with Oscnr's head on my lap. I 
 gave my reverend companion something to do. " Look about 
 the room," I said: "see if the packing-case with the gold 
 and silver plates is here or not." 
 
 Mr. Finch did not quite relish being treated like an ordi- 
 nary mortal, and being told what he was to do. 
 
 " Compose yourself, Madame Pratolungo," he said. " No 
 hysterical activity, if you please. This business is in My 
 hands. Quite needless, ma'am, to tell Me to look for the 
 packing-case." 
 
 " Quite needless," I agreed. " I know beforehand the 
 packing-case is gone." 
 
 That answer instantly set him fussing about the room. 
 Not a sign of a case was to be seen. 
 
 All doubt in my mind was at an end now. The two ruf- 
 fians lounging against the wall had justified horribly justi- 
 fied my worst suspicions of them. 
 
 On the arrival of Mrs. Gootheridge and her brother we 
 carried him up to his room. We laid him on the bed, with 
 his neck-tie off and his throat free, and the air blowing over 
 him from the open window. He showed no sign yet of com- 
 ing to his senses. But still the pulse went faintly on. No 
 change was discernible for the worse. 
 
 It was useless to hope for the doctor's arrival before an- 
 other hour at least. I felt the necessity of getting back at
 
 04 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 once to the rectory, so as to be able to tell Lucilla (with all 
 needful preparation) the melancholy truth. Otherwise, the 
 news of what had happened would get abroad in the village, 
 and might come to her ears, in the worst possible way, 
 through one of the servants. To my infinite relief, Mr. Finch, 
 when I rose to go, excused himself from accompanying me. 
 He had discovered that it was his duty, as rector, to give 
 the earliest information of the outrage at Browndown to the 
 legal authorities. He went his way to the nearest magistrate. 
 
 O ti O 
 
 And I went mine leaving Oscar under the care of Mrs. 
 Gootheridge and her brother back to the house. Mr. 
 Finch's last words at parting reminded me once more that 
 we had one thing at least to be thankful for under the cir- 
 cumstances, sad as they otherwise were. 
 
 " Most fortunate, Madame Pratolungo, that I was at 
 home. What would you have done without me ?" 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH. 
 
 EVENTS AT THE 15EDSIDE. 
 
 I AM, if you will be so good as to remember, constitution- 
 ally French, and, therefore, constitutionally averse to distress- 
 ing myself, if I can possibly help it. For this reason, I real- 
 ly can not summon courage to describe what passed between 
 my blind Lucilla and me when I returned to our pretty sit- 
 ting-room. She made me cry at the time ; and she would 
 make me (and perhaps you) cry again now, if I wrote the lit- 
 tle melancholy story of what this tender young creature suf- 
 fered when I told her my miserable news. I won't write it! 
 I am dead against tears. They affect the nose ; and my nose 
 is my best feature. Let us use our eyes, my fair friends, to 
 conquer not to cry. 
 
 Be it enough to say that when I went back to Browndown 
 Lucilla went with me. 
 
 I now observed her, for the first time, to be jealous of the 
 eyes of us happy people who could see. The instant she en- 
 tered she insisted on being near enough to the bed to hear us 
 or to touch us as we waited on the injured man. This was 
 at once followed by her taking the place occupied by Mrs. 
 Gootheridge at the bed-head, and herself bathing Oscar's
 
 POOH MISS FINCH. 95 
 
 face and forehead. She was even jealous of me, when she 
 discovered that I was moistening the bandages on the wound. 
 I irritated her into boldly kissing the poor insensible face in 
 our presence ! The landlady of the Cross Hands was one of 
 my sort she took cheerful views of things. " Sweet on him, 
 eh, ma'am?" she whispered in my ear; "we shall have a 
 wedding in Dimchurch. In presence of these kissings and 
 whisperings Mrs. Gootheridge's brother, as the only man pres- 
 ent, began to look very uncomfortable. This worthy creat-. 
 ure belonged to that large and respectable order of English- 
 men who don't know what to do with their hands, or how to 
 get out of a room. I took pity on him ; he was, I assure you, 
 a fine man. "Smoke your pipe, Sir, in the garden," I said; 
 " we will call to you from the window if we want you up 
 here." Mrs. Goothcridge's brother cast on me one look of 
 unutterable gratitude, and escaped as if he had been let out 
 of a trap. 
 
 At last the doctor arrived. 
 
 His first words were an indescribable relief to us. The 
 skull of our poor Oscar was not injured. There was concus- 
 sion of the brain, and there wa; a scalp wound inflicted evi- 
 dently with a blunt instrument. As to the wound, I had 
 done all that was necessary in the doctor's absence. As to 
 the injury to the brain, time and care would put every thing 
 right again. " Make your minds easy, ladies," said this angel 
 of a man. " There is no reason for feeling the slightest alarm 
 about him." 
 
 He came to his senses that is to say, he opened his eyes 
 and looked vacantly about him between four and five hours 
 after the time when we had found him on the floor of the 
 workshop. 
 
 His mind, poor fellow, was still all astray. He recognized 
 nobody. He imitated the action of writing with his finger, 
 and said, very earnestly, over and over again, " Go home, 
 Jicks ; go home, go home !" fancying himself (as I suppose) 
 lying helpless on the floor, and sending the child back to us 
 to give the alarm. Later in the night he fell asleep. All 
 through the next day he still wandered in his mind when he 
 spoke. It was not till the day after that lie began feebly to 
 recover his reason. The first person he recognized was Lu- 
 cilla. She was engaged at the moment in brushing his beau-
 
 V6 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 tiftil. chestnut hair. To her unutterable joy he patted her 
 hand and murmured her name. She bent over him ; and, 
 under cover of the hair-brush, whispered something in his ear 
 which made the young fellow's pale face flush, and his dull 
 eyes brighten with pleasure. A day or two afterward she 
 owned to me that she had said, "Get well, for my sake." 
 She \vas not in the least ashamed of having spoken to 
 that plain purpose. On the contrary, she triumphed in it. 
 "Leave him to me," said Lucilla, in the most positive man- 
 ner. "I mean first to cure him, and then I mean to be his 
 wife." 
 
 In a week more he was in complete possession of his fac- 
 ulties, but still wretchedly weak, and only gaining ground 
 very slowly after the shock that he had suffered. 
 
 He was now able to tell us, by a little at a time, of what 
 had happened in the workshop. 
 
 After Mrs. Gootheridge and her daughter had quitted the 
 house at their usual hour, he had gone up to his room, had 
 remained there some little time, and had then gone down 
 stairs again. On approaching the workshop he heard voices 
 talking in whispers in the room. The idea instantly occur- 
 red to him that something was wrong. He softly tried the 
 door, and found it locked the robbers having no doubt 
 taken that precaution to prevent their being surprised at 
 their thieving work by any person in the house. The one 
 other way of getting into the room was the Avay that we 
 had tried. He went round to the back garden, and found 
 an empty chaise drawn up outside the door. The circum- 
 stance thoroughly puzzled him. But for the mysterious 
 locking of the workshop door it would have suggested to 
 him nothing more alarming than the arrival of some unex- 
 pected visitors. Eager to solve the mystery, lie crossed the 
 garden; and, entering the room, found himself face to face 
 with the same two men whom Jicks had discovered ten days 
 previously lounging against the garden wall. 
 
 As he approached the window they were both busily en- 
 gaged, with their backs toward him, in cording up the pack- 
 ing-case which contained the metal plates. 
 
 They rose and faced him as he stepped into the room. 
 The act of robbery which lie found them coolly perpetrating
 
 E
 
 POOH MISS FINCH. 99 
 
 in broad daylight instantly set his irritable temper in a 
 flame. He rushed at the younger of the two men being 
 the one nearest to him. The ruffian sprang aside out of his 
 reach, snatched up from the table on which it was lying 
 ready a short loaded staff of leather, called "a life-preserver," 
 and struck him with it on the head before he had recovered 
 himself and could face his man once more. 
 
 From that moment he remembered nothing until lie had 
 regained his consciousness after the first shock of the blow. 
 
 He found himself lying, giddy and bleeding, on the floor; 
 and he saw the child (who must have strayed into the room 
 while he was senseless) standing, petrified with fear, looking 
 at him. The idea of making use of her as the only living 
 being near to give the alarm, came to him instinctively the 
 moment he recognized her. He coaxed the little creature 
 to venture within reach of his hand, and, dipping his finger 
 in the blood that was flowing from, him, sent us the terrible 
 message which I had spelled out on the back of her frock. 
 That done, he exerted his last remains of strength to push 
 her gently toward the open window, and direct her to go 
 home. He fainted from loss of blood while he was still re- 
 peating the words, " Go home ! go home !" and still seeing, 
 or fancying that he saw, the child stopping obstinately in 
 the room, stupefied with terror. Of the time at which she 
 found the courage and the sense to run home, and of all that 
 had happened after that, he was necessarily ignorant. His 
 next conscious impression was the impression, already re- 
 corded, of seeing Lucilla sitting by his bedside. 
 
 The account of the matter thus given by Oscar was fol- 
 lowed by a supplementary statement provided by the police. 
 
 The machinery of the law was put in action, and the vil- 
 lage was kept in a fever of excitement for days together. 
 Never was there a more complete investigation and never 
 was a poorer result achieved. Substantially, nothing was 
 discovered beyond what I had already found out for myself. 
 The robbery was declared to have been (as I had supposed) 
 a planned thing. Though we had none of us noticed them 
 at the rectory, it was ascertained that the thieves had been 
 at Dimchurch on the day when the unlucky plates were first 
 delivered at Browndown. Having taken their time to ex- 
 amine the house, and to make themselves acquainted with
 
 JOO POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 the domestic habits of the persons in it, the rogues had paid 
 their second visit to the village no doubt to commit the 
 robbery on the occasion when we had discovered them. 
 Foiled by the unexpected return of the gold and silver to 
 London, they had waited again, had followed the plates back 
 to Browndown, and had effected their object thanks to the 
 lonely situation of the house, and to the murderous blow 
 which had stretched Oscar insensible on the floor. 
 
 More than one witness had met them on the road back to 
 Brighton, with the packing-case in the chaise. But when 
 they returned to the livery stables from which they had 
 hired the vehicle, the case was not to be seen. Accomplices 
 in Brighton had, in all probability, assisted them in getting 
 rid of it, and in shifting the plates into ordinary articles of 
 luggage which would attract no special attention at the rail- 
 way station. This was the explanation given by the police. 
 Right or wrong, the one fact remains that the villains were 
 not caught, and that the assault and robbery at Oscar's 
 house may be added to the long list of crimes cleverly 
 enough committed to defy the vengeance of the law. 
 
 For ourselves, we all agreed led by Lucilla to indulge 
 in no useless lamentations, and to be grateful that Oscar had 
 escaped without serious injury. The mischief was done; 
 and there was an end of it. 
 
 In this philosophical spirit we looked at the affair while 
 our invalid was recovering. We all plumed ourselves on 
 our excellent good sense and (ah, poor stupid human 
 wretches !) we were all fatally wrong. So far from the mis- 
 chief being at an end, the mischief had only begun. The 
 true results of the robbery at Browndown were yet to show 
 themselves, and were yet to be felt in the strangest and the 
 saddest way by every member of the little circle assembled 
 at Dimchurch. 
 
 CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH. 
 
 THE RESULT OF THE ROBBERY. 
 
 BETWEEN five and six weeks passed. Oscar was out of 
 his bedroom, and was well of his wound. 
 
 During this lapse of time Lucilla steadily pursued that
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 101 
 
 process of her own of curing him which was to end in mar- 
 rying him. Never had I seen such nursing before never 
 do I expect to see sucli nursing again. From morning to 
 night she interested him, and kept him in good spirits. The 
 charming creature actually made her blindness a means of 
 lightening the weary hours of the man she loved. 
 
 Sometimes she would sit before Oscar's looking-glass, and 
 imitate all the innumerable tricks, artifices, and vanities of a 
 coquette arraying herself for conquest, with such wonderful 
 truth and humor of mimicry that you would have sworn she 
 possessed the use of her eyes. Sometimes she would show 
 him her extraordinary power of calculating, by the sound of 
 a person's voice, the exact position which that person occu- 
 pied toward her in a room. Selecting me as the victim, she 
 would first provide herself with one of the nosegays always 
 placed by her own hands at Oscar's bedside, and would then 
 tell me to take up my position noiselessly in any part of the 
 room that I pleased, and to say " Lucilla." The instant the 
 words were out of my mouth the nosegay flew from her hand 
 and hit me on the face. She never once missed her aim on 
 any one of the occasions when this experiment was tried, 
 and she never once flagged in her childish enjoyment of the 
 exhibition of her own skill. 
 
 Nobody was allowed to pour out Oscar's medicine but 
 herself. She knew when the spoon into which it was to be 
 measured was full by the sound which the liquid made in 
 falling into it. When he was able to sit up in his bed, and 
 when she was standing by the pillow-side, she could tell him 
 how near his head was to hers by the change which he pro- 
 duced, when lie bent forward or when he drew back, in the 
 action of the air on her face. In the same way she knew as 
 well as he knew when the sun was out, and when it was be- 
 hind a cloud, judging by the differing effect of the air at such 
 times on her forehead and on her cheeks. 
 
 All the litter of little objects accumulating in a sick-room 
 she kept in perfect order on a system of her own. She de- 
 lighted in putting the room tidy late in the evening, when 
 we helpless people who could see were beginning to think 
 of lighting the candles. The time when we could just dis- 
 cern her flitting to and fro in the dusk in her bright summer 
 dress now visible as she passed the window, now lost in the
 
 102 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 shadows at the end of the room was the time when she 
 began to clear the tables of the things that had been wanted 
 in the day, and to replace them- by the things which would 
 be wanted at night. We were only allowed to light the 
 candles when they showed us the room magically put in 
 order during the darkness, as if the fairies had done it. She 
 laughed scornfully at our surprise, and said she sincerely 
 pitied the poor useless people who could only see. 
 
 The same pleasure which she had in arranging the room in 
 the dark she also felt in wandering all over the house in the 
 dark, and in making herself thoroughly acquainted with every 
 inch of it from top to bottom. As soon as Oscar was well 
 enough to go down stairs, she insisted on leading him. 
 
 " You have been so long up in your bedroom," she said, 
 " that you must have forgotten the rest of the house. Take 
 my arm, and come along. Now we are out in the passage. 
 Mind ! there is a step down just at this place. And now a 
 step up again. Here is a sharp corner to turn at the top of 
 the staircase. And there is a rod out of the stair-carpet, and 
 an awkward fold in it that might throw you down." So 
 she took him into his own drawing-room, as if it was lie that 
 was blind and she who had the use of her eyes. Who could 
 resist such a nurse as this? Is it wonderful that I heard a 
 sound suspiciously like the sound of a kiss, on that first day 
 of convalescence, when I happened for a moment to be out 
 of the room? I strongly suspected her of leading the way 
 in that also. She was so wonderfully composed when I came 
 back, and he was so wonderfully flurried. 
 
 In a week from his convalescence Lncilla completed the 
 cure of the patient. In other words, she received from Oscar 
 an offer of marriage. I have not the slightest doubt in my 
 mind that he required assistance in bringing this delicate 
 matter to a climax and that Lncilla helped him. 
 
 I may be right or I may be wrong about this. But I can 
 at least certify that Lncilla was in such mad high spirits 
 when she told me the news, out in the garden, on a lovely 
 autumn morning, that she actually danced for joy; and, more 
 improper still, she made me, at my discreet time of life, dance 
 too. She took me round the waist, and we waltzed on the 
 grass, Mrs. Finch standing by in the condemned blue merino 
 jacket (with the baby in one; linn 1 and the novel in the
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 103 
 
 other), ana warning us both that if we lost half an hour out 
 of our day in whirling each other round the lawn, we should 
 never sueceed in picking it up again in that house. We 
 went on whirling, for all that, until we were both out of 
 breath. Nothing short of downright exhaustion could tame 
 Lucilla. As for me, I am, I sincerely believe, the rashest 
 person of my age now in existence. (What is my age? Ah! 
 I am always discreet about that ; it is the one exception.) 
 Set down my rashness to my French nationality, my easy 
 conscience, and my excellent stomach and let us go on with 
 our story. 
 
 There was a private interview at Browndown, later on 
 that day, between Oscar and Reverend Finch. 
 
 Of what passed on this occasion I was not informed. The 
 rector came back among us, with his head high in the air, 
 strutting magnificently on his wizen little legs. He em- 
 braced his daughter in pathetic silence, and gave me his 
 hand with a serene smile of condescension worthy of the 
 greatest humbug (say Louis the Fourteenth) that ever sat 
 on a throne. When he got the better of his paternal emo- 
 tion and began to speak, his voice was so big that I really 
 thought it must have burst him. The vapor of words in 
 which he enveloped himself (condensed on paper) amounted 
 to these two statements. First, that he hailed in Oscar 
 not having, I suppose, children enough already of his own 
 the advent of another son. Secondly, that he saw the finger 
 of Providence in every thing that had happened. Alas for 
 me! my irreverent French nature saw nothing but the finger 
 of Finch in Oscar's pocket. 
 
 The wedding-day was not then actually fixed. It was 
 only generally arranged that the marriage should take place 
 in about six weeks. 
 
 This interval was intended to serve a double purpose. It 
 was to give the lawyers time to prepare the marriage-set- 
 tlements, and to give Oscar time to completely recover 
 his health. Some anxiety was felt by all of us on this 
 latter subject. His wound was well, and his mind was itself 
 again. But still there was something wrong with him, for 
 all that. 
 
 Those curious contradictions in his character which I have 
 already mentioned showed themselves more strangely than
 
 104 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ever. The man who had found the courage (when his blood 
 was up) to measure himself, alone and unarmed, against two 
 robbers, was now unable to enter the room in which the 
 struggle had taken place without trembling from head to 
 foot. He who had laughed at me when 1 begged him not 
 to sleep in the house by himself, now had two men (a gar- 
 dener and an in-door servant) domiciled at Browndown to 
 protect him, and felt no sense of security even in that. He 
 was constantly dreaming that the ruffian with the " life-pre- 
 server" was attacking him again, or that he was lying bleed- 
 ing on the floor, and coaxing Jicks to venture within reach 
 of his hand. If any of us hinted at his occupying himself 
 once more with his favorite art, he stopped his ears and en- 
 treated us not to renew his horrible associations with the 
 past. He could not even look at his box of chasing tools. 
 The doctor summoned to say what was the matter with 
 him told us that his nervous system had been shaken, and 
 frankly acknowledged that there was nothing to be done but 
 to wait until time set it right again. 
 
 I am afraid I must confess that I myself took no very in- 
 dulgent view of the patient's case. 
 
 It was his duty to exert himself, as I thought. He ap- 
 peared to me to be too indolent to make a proper effort to 
 better his own condition. Lucilla and I had more than one 
 animated discussion about him. On a certain evening when 
 we Avere at the piano gossiping, and playing in the intervals, 
 she was downright angry with me for not sympathizing with 
 her darling as unreservedly as she did. "I have noticed one 
 thing, Madame Pratolungo," she said to me, with a flushed 
 face and a heightened tone: "you have never done Oscar 
 justice from the first." 
 
 (Mark those trifling words. The time is coming when you 
 will hear of them again.) 
 
 The preparations for the contemplated marriage went on. 
 The lawyers produced their sketch of the settlement, and 
 Oscar wrote (to an address in New York given to him by 
 Nugent) to tell his brother of the approaching change in his 
 life, and of the circumstances which had brought it about. 
 
 The marriage-settlement was not shown to me, but from 
 certain signs and tokens I guessed that Oscar's perfect dis- 
 interestedness on the question of money had been turned to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 105 
 
 profitable account by Oscar's future father-in-law. Reverend 
 Finch was reported to have shed tears when he first read 
 the document. And Lucilla came out of the study, after an 
 interview with her father, more thoroughly and vehemently 
 indignant than I had ever seen her yet. "Don't ask what 
 is the matter!" she said to me between her teeth. "I am 
 ashamed to tell you." When Oscar came in, a little later, 
 she fell on her knees literally fell on her knees before him. 
 Some overmastering agitation was in possession of her whole 
 being, which made her, for the moment, reckless of what she 
 said or did. "I worship you!" she burst out, hysterically, 
 kissing his hand. "You are the noblest of living men. I 
 can never, never be worthy of you !" The interpretation of 
 these high-flown sayings and doings was, to my mind, briefly 
 this: Oscar's money in the rector's pocket, and the rector's 
 daughter used as thy means. 
 
 The interval expired ; the weeks succeeded each other. 
 All had been long since ready for the marriage, and still the 
 marriage did not take place. 
 
 Far from becoming himself again, with time to help him, 
 as the doctor had foretold, Oscar steadily grew worse. All 
 the nervous symptoms (to use the medical phrase) which I 
 have already described strengthened instead of loosening 
 their hold on him. lie grew thinner and thinner, and paler 
 and paler. Early in tin) month of November we sent for the 
 doctor again. The question to be put to him this time was 
 the question (suggested by Lucilla) of trying as a last remedy 
 change of air. 
 
 Something I forget what delayed the arrival of our 
 medical man. Oscar had given up all idea of seeing him 
 that day, and had come to us at the rectory, when the doctor 
 drove into Dimchurch. He was stopped before he went on 
 to Browndown, and he and his patient saw each other alone 
 in Lucilla's sitting-room. 
 
 They were a long time together. Lucilla, waiting with 
 me in my bed-chamber, grew impatient. She begged me to 
 knock at the sitting-room door, and inquire when she might 
 be permitted to assist at the consultation. 
 
 I found doctor and patient standing together at the win- 
 dow, talking quietly. Evidently nothing had passed to ex- 
 cite either of them in the smallest degree. Oscar looked a 
 
 E2
 
 106 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 little pale and weary, but he, like his medical adviser, was 
 perfectly composed. 
 
 "There is a young lady in the next room," I said, "who is 
 getting anxious to hear what your consultation has ended 
 in." 
 
 The doctor looked at Oscar and smiled. 
 
 "There is really nothing to tell Miss Finch," he said. "Mr. 
 Dubourg and I have gone all over the case again, and noth- 
 ing new has come of it. His nervous system has not recov- 
 ered its balance so soon as I expected. I am sorry, but I am 
 not in the least alarmed. At his age things are sure to come 
 right in the end. He must be patient, and the young lady 
 must be patient. I can say no more." 
 
 "Do you see any objection to his trying change of air?" I 
 inquired. 
 
 " None whatever. Let him go where he likes, and amuse 
 himself as he likes. You are all of you a little disposed to 
 take Mr. Dubourg's case too seriously. Except the nervous 
 derangement (unpleasant enough in itself, I grant), there is 
 really nothing the matter with him. He has not a trace of 
 organic disease any where. The pulse," continued the doc- 
 tor, laying his fingers lightly on Oscar's wrist, "is perfectly 
 satisfactory. I never felt a quieter pulse in my life." 
 
 As the words passed his lips a frightful contortion fastened 
 itself on Oscar's face. 
 
 His eyes turned up hideously. 
 
 From head to foot his whole body was wrenched round, as 
 if giant hands had twisted it, toward the right. 
 
 Before I could speak he was in convulsions on the floor at 
 his doctor's feet. 
 
 "Good God ! what is this?" I cried out. 
 
 The doctor loosened his cravat, and moved away the fur- 
 niture that was near him. That done, he waited, looking at 
 the writhing figure on the floor. 
 
 "Can you do nothing more?" I asked. 
 
 He shook his head gravely. " Nothing more." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " An epileptic fit."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 107 
 
 CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH. 
 
 WHAT DOES THE DOCTOR SAY? 
 
 BEFORE another word had been exchanged between us Lu- 
 cilla entered the room. We looked at each other. If we 
 could have spoken at that moment, I believe we should both 
 have said, "Thank God, she is blind!" 
 
 "Have you all forgotten me?" she asked. "Oscar! where 
 are you? What does the doctor say?" 
 
 She advanced into the room. In a moment more she would 
 have stumbled against the prostrate man still writhing on 
 the floor. I laid my hand on her arm and stopped her. 
 
 She suddenly caught my hand in hers. "Why did you 
 tremble," she asked, "when you took me by the arm? Why 
 are you trembling now ?" Her delicate sense of touch was 
 not to be deceived. I vainly denied that any thing had hap- 
 pened: my hand had betrayed me. "There is something 
 wrong!" she exclaimed. "Oscar has not answered me." 
 
 The doctor came to my assistance. 
 
 "There is nothing to be alarmed about," he said. "Mr. 
 Dubourg is not very well to-day." 
 
 She turned on the doctor with a sudden burst of anger. 
 
 "You are deceiving me!" she cried. "Something serious 
 has happened to him. The truth ! tell me the truth ! Oh, 
 it's shameful, it's heartless of both of you, to deceive a 
 wretched blind creature like me!" 
 
 The doctor still hesitated. I told her the truth. 
 
 "Where is he?'' she asked, seizing me by the two shoul- 
 ders, and shaking me in the violence of her agitation. 
 
 I entreated her to wait a little; I tried to place her in a 
 chair. She pushed me contemptuously away, and went down 
 on the floor on her hands and knees. " I shall find him,'' she 
 muttered; "I shall find him in spite of you !" She began to 
 crawl over the floor, feeling the empty space before her with 
 her hand. It was horrible. I followed her, and raised her 
 again by main force. 
 
 "Don't struggle with hor," said the doctor. "Let her 
 come here. He is quiet now."
 
 103 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I looked at Oscar. The worst of it was over. He was ex- 
 hausted he was quite still now. The doctor's voice guided 
 her to the place. She sat down by Oscar on the floor, and 
 laid his head on her lap. The moment she touched him the 
 same effect was produced on her which would be produced 
 (if our eyes were bandaged) on you or me when the bandage 
 was taken off. An instant sense of relief diffused itself 
 through her whole being. She became her gentler and sweet- 
 er self again. "I am sorry I lost my temper," she said, with 
 the simplicity of a child. "But you don't know how hard it 
 is to be deceived when you are blind." She stooped as she 
 said those words, and passed her handkerchief lightly over his 
 forehead. "Doctor," she asked, " will this happen again?" 
 
 "I hope not." 
 
 "Are you sure not?" 
 
 "I can't say that." 
 
 "What has brought it on?" 
 
 " I am afraid the blow he received on the head has brought 
 it on." 
 
 She asked no more questions : her eager face passed sud- 
 denly into a state of repose. Something seemed to have come 
 into her mind after the doctor's answer to her last question 
 which absorbed her in herself. When Oscar recovered his 
 consciousness she left it to me to answer the first natural 
 questions which he put. When he personally addressed her 
 she spoke to him kindly but briefly. Something in her at 
 that moment seemed to keep her apart even from him. When 
 the doctor proposed taking him back to Browndown she did 
 not insist, as I had anticipated, on going with them. She 
 took leave of him tenderly but still she let him go. While 
 he yet lingered near the door, looking back at her, she moved 
 away slowly to the further end of the room; self-withdrawn 
 into her own dark world shut up in her thoughts from him 
 and from us. 
 
 The doctor tried to rouse her. 
 
 "You must not think too seriously of this," he snid, follow- 
 ing her to the window at which she stood, and dropping his 
 voice so that Oscar could not hear him. "He has himself 
 told you that he feels lighter and better than he felt before 
 the fit. It has relieved instead of injuring him. There is no 
 danger. I assure you, on my honor, there is nothing to it-ar."
 
 POOR MISS FI.MH. 100 
 
 "Can you assure me, on your honor, of one other thinjr," 
 she asked, lowering her voice on l:er side: "can you honestly 
 tell me that this is not the first of other fits that are to 
 come ?" 
 
 The doctor parried the question. 
 
 "We will have another medical opinion," he answered, 
 "before we decide. The next time I go to see him a phy- 
 sician from Brighton shall go with me." 
 
 Oscar, who had thus far waited, wondering at the change 
 in her, now opened the door. The doctor returned to him. 
 They left us. 
 
 She sat down on the window-seat, with her elbows on her 
 knees and her hands grasping her forehead. A long moaning 
 cry burst from her. She said to herself bitterly the one 
 word "Farewell !" 
 
 I approached her, feeling the necessity of reminding her 
 that I was in the room. 
 
 "Farewell to what?" I asked, taking my place by her side. 
 
 "To his happiness and to mine," she answered, without lift- 
 ing her head from her hands. "The dark days are coming 
 for Oscar and for me." 
 
 "Why should you think that? You heard what the doc- 
 tor said." 
 
 " The doctor doesn't know what T know." 
 
 " What you know ?" 
 
 She paused before she answered me. " Do you believe in 
 Fate?" she said, suddenly breaking the silence. 
 
 "I believe in nothing which encourages people to despair 
 of themselves," I replied. 
 
 She went on without heeding me. 
 
 "What caused the tit which seized him in this room? The 
 blow that struck him on the head. How r did he receive the 
 blow? In trying to defend what was his and what was mine. 
 What had he been doing on the day when the thieves en- 
 tered the house? He had been working on the casket which 
 was meant for me. Do you see those events linked together 
 in one chain? I believe the fit will be followed by some next 
 event springing out of it. Something else is coming to dark- 
 en his life and to darken mine. There is no wedding-day near 
 for us. The obstacles are rising in front of him and in front 
 of me. The next misfortune is very near us. You will see!
 
 110 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 you will see !" She shivered as she said those words ; and, 
 shrinking away from me, huddled herself up in a corner of 
 the window-seat. 
 
 It was useless to dispute with her, and worse than useless 
 to sit there and encourage her to say more. I got up on my 
 leet. 
 
 "There is one thing I believe in," I said, cheerfully. "I 
 believe in the breeze on the hills. Come for a walk !" 
 
 She shrank closer into her corner and shook her head. 
 
 "Let me be !" she broke out, impatiently. "Leave me by 
 myself!" She rose, repenting the words the moment they 
 were uttered ; she put her arm round my neck and kissed 
 me. "I didn't mean to speak so harshly," said the gentle, 
 affectionate creature. " Sister ! my heart is heavy. My life 
 to come never looked so dark to my blind eyes as it looks 
 now." A tear dropped from those poor sightless eyes on my 
 cheek. She turned her head aside abruptly. "Forgive me," 
 she murmured, "and let me go." Before I could answer she 
 turned away to hide herself in her room. The sweet girl ! 
 How you would have pitied her how you would have loved 
 her ! 
 
 I went out alone for my walk. She had not infected me 
 with her superstitious forebodings of ill things to come. But 
 there was one sad word that she had said in which I could 
 not but agree. After what I had witnessed in that room, the 
 wedding-day did, indeed, look further off than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH. 
 
 FAMILY TROUBLES. 
 
 IN four or five days more Liicilla's melancholy doubts 
 about Oscar were confirmed. He was attacked by a second 
 fit. 
 
 The promised consultation with the physician from Bright- 
 on took place. Our new doctor did not encourage us to hope. 
 The second fit following so close on the first was, in his opin- 
 ion, a bad sign. He gave general directions for the treatment 
 of Oscar, and left him to decide for himself whether he would 
 or would not try change of scene. No change, the physician 
 appeared to think, would exert any immediate influence on
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. Ill 
 
 the recurrence of the epileptic attacks. The patient's general 
 health might be benefited, and that was all. As for the 
 question of the marriage, he declared without hesitation that 
 we must for the present dismiss all consideration of it from 
 our minds. 
 
 Lucilla received the account of what passed at the visit 
 of the doctors with a stubborn resignation which it distress- 
 ed me to see. "Remember what I told you when the first 
 attack seized him," she said. "Our summer-time is ended; 
 our winter is come." 
 
 Her manner, while she spoke, was the manner of a person 
 who is waiting without hope who feels deliberately that 
 calamity is near. She only roused herself when Oscar came 
 in. He was, naturally enough, in miserable spirits under the 
 sudden alteration in all his prospects. Lucilla did her best 
 to cheer him, and succeeded. On my side, I tried vainly to 
 persuade him to leave Browndown, and amuse himself in 
 some gayer place. He shrank from new faces and new 
 scenes. Between these two unelastic young people, I felt 
 even my native good spirits beginning to sink. If we had 
 been all three down in the bottom of a dry well in a wilder- 
 ness, we could hardly have surveyed a more dismal prospect 
 than the prospect we were contemplating now. By good 
 luck Oscar, like Lucilla, was passionately fond of music. 
 We turned to the piano as our best resource in those days 
 of our adversity. Lucilla and I took it in turns to play, and 
 Oscar listened. I have to report that we got through a 
 great deal of music. I have also to acknowledge that we 
 were very dull. 
 
 As for Reverend Finch, he talked his way through his 
 share of the troubles that were trying us now at the full 
 compass of his voice. 
 
 If you had heard the little priest in those days, you would 
 have supposed that nobody could feel our domestic misfor- 
 tunes as he felt them, and grieve over them as he grieved. 
 He was a sight to see on the day of the medical consulta- 
 tion, strutting up and down his wife's sitting-room, and ha- 
 ranguing his audience composed of his wife and myself. 
 Mrs. Finch sat in one corner, with the baby and tile novel, 
 and the petticoat and the shawl. I occupied the other cor-
 
 112 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ner, summoned to "consult with the rector." In plain 'words, 
 summoned to hear Mr. Finch declare that lie was the person 
 principally overshadowed by the cloud which hung over the 
 household. 
 
 "I despair, Madame Pratolungo I assure you, I despair 
 of conveying any idea of how I feel under this most mel- 
 ancholy state of things. You have been very good ; you 
 have shown the sympathy of a true friend. But you can 
 not possibly understand how this blow has fallen on Me. 
 I am crushed. Madame Pratolungo" (he appealed to me in 
 my corner), " Mrs. Finch'' (he appealed to his wife, in her 
 corner), " I am crushed. There is no other word to express 
 it but the word I have used. Crushed." He stopped in the 
 middle of the room. He looked expectantly at me he look- 
 ed expectantly at his wife. His face and manner said, plain- 
 ly, "If both these women faint, I shall consider it a natural 
 and becoming proceeding on their parts, after what I have 
 just told them." I Availed for the lead of the lady of the 
 house. Mrs. Finch did not roll prostrate, with the baby and 
 the novel, on the floor. Thus encouraged, I presumed to 
 keep my seat. The rector still waited for us. I looked as 
 miserable as I could. Mrs. Finch cast her eyes up reveren- 
 tially at her husband, as if she thought him the noblest of 
 created beings, and silently put her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 Mr. Finch was satisfied; Mr. Finch went on: "My health 
 has suffered I assure you, Madame Pratolungo, MY health 
 has suffered. Since this sad occurrence my stomach has 
 given way. My balance is lost ; my usual regularity is 
 gone. I am subject entirely through this miserable busi- 
 ness to fits of morbid appetite. I want things at wrong 
 times breakfast in the middle of the night; dinner at four 
 in the morning. I want something now." Mr. Finch stop- 
 ped, horror-struck at his condition, pondering with his eye- 
 brows fiercely knit, and his hand pressed convulsively on 
 the lower buttons of his rusty black waistcoat. Mrs. Finch's 
 watery blue eyes looked across the room at rne in a moist 
 melancholy of conjugal distress. The rector, suddenly en- 
 lightened after his consultation with his stomach, strutted to 
 the door, flung it wide open, and called down the kitchen 
 stairs with a voice of thunder, "Poach me an egg!" He 
 came back into the room, held another consultation, keeping
 
 POOR MISS -FINCH. 118 
 
 his eyes severely fixed on me, strutted back in a furious hur- 
 ry to the door, and bellowed a counter-order down the kitch- 
 en stairs, " No egg ! Do me a red herring !" He came back 
 for the second time, with his eyes closed and his hand laid 
 distractedly on his head. He appealed alternately to Mrs. 
 Finch and to me, " See for yourselves. Mrs. Finch ! Madame 
 Pratolungo ! see for yourselves what a state I am in. It's 
 simply pitiable. I hesitate about the most trifling things. 
 First I think I want a poached egg; then I think I want a 
 red herring: now I don't know what I want. Upon my 
 word of honor as a clergyman and a gentleman, I don't know 
 what I want. Morbid appetite all day; morbid wakefulness 
 all night: what a condition! I can't rest. I disturb my 
 wife at night. Mrs. Finch ! I disturb you at night. How 
 many times since this misfortune fell upon us do I turn in 
 bed before I fall off to sleep ? Eight times ? Are you cer- 
 tain of it? Don't exaggerate! Are you certain you count- 
 ed ? Very well : good creature ! I never remember I as- 
 sure you, Madame Pratolungo, I never remember such a 
 complete upset as this before. The nearest approach to it 
 was some years since at my "wife's last confinement but 
 four. Mrs. Finch ! was it at your last confinement but four? 
 or your last but five? Your last but four? Are you sure? 
 Are you certain you are not misleading our friend here? 
 Very well: good creature! Pecuniary difficulties, Madame 
 Pratolungo, were at the bottom of it on that last occasion. 
 I got over the pecuniary difficulties. How am I to get over 
 this? My plans for Oscar and Lucilla were completely ar- 
 ranged. My relations with my wedded children were pleas- 
 antly laid out. I saw my own future; I saw the future of 
 my family. What do I see. now? All, so to speak, annihi- 
 lated at a blow. Inscrutable Providence !" He paused, and 
 lifted his eyes and hands devotionally to the ceiling. The 
 cook appeared with the red herring. "Inscrutable Provi- 
 dence," proceeded Mr. Finch, a tone lower. "Eat it, dear," 
 said Mrs. Finch, "while it's hot." The rector paused again. 
 His unresting tongue urged him to proceed; his undisci- 
 plined stomach clamored for the herring. The cook uncov- 
 ered the dish. Mr. Finch's nose instantly sided with Mr. 
 Finch's stomach. He stopped at "Inscrutable Providence," 
 and peppered his herring.
 
 114 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Having reported how the vector spoke in the presence of 
 the disaster which had fallen on the family, I have only to 
 complete the picture by stating next what he did. He bor- 
 rowed two hundred pounds of Oscar, and left off command- 
 ing red herrings in the day and disturbing Mrs. Finch at 
 night immediately afterward. 
 
 The dull autumn days ended, and the long nights of win- 
 ter began. 
 
 No change for the better appeared in our prospects. The 
 doctors did their best for Oscar without avail. The horri- 
 ble fits came back, again and again. Day after day our dull 
 lives went monotonously on. I almost began now to believe, 
 with Lucilla, that a crisis of some sort must be at hand. 
 " This can not last," I used to say to myself generally when 
 I was very hungry. "Something will happen before the year 
 comes to its end." 
 
 The month of December began; and something happened 
 at last. The family troubles at the rectory were matched by 
 family troubles of my own. A letter arrived for me from 
 one of my younger sisters at Paris. It contained alarming 
 news of a person very dear to me already mentioned in the 
 first of these pages as my good Papa. 
 
 Was the venerable author of my being dangerously ill of 
 a mortal disease? Alas! he was not exactly that, but the 
 next worst thing to it. He was dangerously in love with a 
 disreputable young woman. At what age? At the age of 
 seventy-five! What can we say of my surviving parent? 
 We can only say, This is a vigorous nature; Papa has an 
 evergreen heart. 
 
 I am grieved to trouble you with my family concerns. 
 But they mix themselves up intimately, as you will see in 
 due time, with the concerns of Oscar and Lucilla. It is my 
 unhappy destiny that I can not possibly take you through 
 the present narrative without sooner or later disclosing the 
 one weakness (amiable weakness) of the gayest and brightest 
 and best-preserved man of his time. 
 
 Ah, I am now treading on egg-shells, I know I The En- 
 glish spectre called Propriety springs tip rampant on my 
 writing-table, and whispers furiously in my en;-, " Tdadamc 
 Pratolungo, raise a blush on the Check of Innocence, and it
 
 POOK MISS FINCH. 115 
 
 is all over from that moment with you and your story." 
 Oh, inflammable Cheek of Innocence, be good-natured for 
 once, and I will rack my brains to try if I can put it to you 
 without offense ! May I picture good Papa as an elder in 
 the Temple of Venus, burning incense inexhaustibly on the 
 altar of love! No: Temple of Venus is Pagan; altar of love 
 is not proper take them out. Let me only say of my ever- 
 green parent that his lite from youth to age had been one 
 unintermitting recognition of the charms of the sex, and that 
 my sisters and I (being of the sex) could not find it in our 
 hearts to abandon him on that account. So handsome, so 
 affectionate, so sweet-tempered ; with only one fault, and 
 that a compliment to the women, who naturally adored him 
 in return ! We accepted our destiny. For years past (since 
 the death of Mamma) we accustomed ourselves to live in 
 perpetual dread of his- marrying some one of the hundreds 
 of unscrupulous hussies who took possession of him ; and, 
 worse if possible than that, of his fighting duels about them 
 with men young enough to be his grandsons. Papa was so 
 susceptible! Papa was so brave! Over and over again I 
 had been summoned to interfere, as the daughter who had 
 the strongest influence over him, and had succeeded in ef- 
 fecting liis rescue, now by one means and now by another; 
 ending always, however, in the same sad way, by the sacri- 
 fice of money for damages on which damages, when the 
 woman is shameless enough to claim them, my verdict is, 
 "Serve her right!" 
 
 On the present occasion it was the old story over again. 
 My sisters had done their best to stop it, and had failed. I 
 had no choice but to appear on the scene to begin, perhaps, 
 by boxing her ears; to end, certainly, by filling her pockets. 
 
 My absence at this time was something more than an an- 
 noyance it was a downright grief to my blind Lucilla. On 
 the morning of my departure she clung to me as if she was 
 determined not to let me go. 
 
 "What shall I do without you?" she said. "It is hard, 
 in these dreary clays, to lose the comfort of hearing your 
 voice. I shall feel all my security gone when I feel you no 
 longer near me. How many days shall you be away?" 
 
 " A day to get to Paris," I answered ; " and a day to get 
 back two. Five days (if I can do it in the time) to thunder-
 
 1 1 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 strike the hussy and to rescue Papa seven. Let us say, if 
 possible, a week." 
 
 " You must be back, no matter what happens, before the 
 new year." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I have my yearly visit to pay to my aunt. It has been 
 twice put off. I must absolutely go to London on the last 
 day of the old year, and stay there my allotted three months 
 in Miss Batchford's house. I had hoped to be Oscar's wile 
 before the time came round again " (she waited a moment 
 to steady her voice). "That is all over now. We must be 
 parted. If I can't leave you here to console him and to take 
 care of him, come what may of it I shall stay at Dimchurch." 
 
 Her staying at Dimchurch while she was still unmarried 
 meant, under the terms of her uncle's will, sacrificing her 
 fortune. If Reverend Finch had heard her, he would not 
 even have been able to say "Inscrutable Providence;" he 
 would have lost his senses on the spot. 
 
 "Don't be afraid," I said ; "I shall be back, Lucilla, before 
 you go. Besides, Oscar may get better. He may be able 
 to follow you to London, and visit you at your aunt's." 
 
 She shook her head with such a sad, sad doubt of it that 
 the tears came into my eyes. I gave her a last kiss, and 
 hurried away. 
 
 My route was to Newhaven, and then across the Channel 
 to Dieppe. I don't think I really knew how fond I had 
 grown of Lucilla until I lost sight of the rectory at the turn 
 in the road to Brighton. My natural firmness deserted me; 
 I felt torturing presentiments that some great misfortune 
 would happen in my absence; I astonished myself I, the 
 widow of the Spartan Pratolungo ! by having a good cry, 
 like any other woman. Sooner or later we susceptible people 
 pay with the heart-ache for the privilege of loving. No 
 matter: heart-ache or not, one must have something to love 
 in this world as long as one lives in it. I have lived in it 
 never mind how many years and I have got Lucilla. Be- 
 fore Lucilla I had the Doctor. Before the Doctor ah, my 
 friends, we won't look back beyond the Doctor !
 
 POOK MISS FINCH. 11 
 
 CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH. 
 
 SECOND RESULT OF THE ROBBERY. 
 
 THE history of my proceedings in Paris can be dismissed in 
 ^very few words. It is only necessary to dwell in detail on 
 one among the many particulars which connect themselves 
 in my memory with the rescue of good Papa. 
 
 The affair this time assumed the gravest possible aspect. 
 The venerable victim had gone the length of renewing his 
 
 o o o 
 
 youth in respect of his teeth, his hair, his complexion, and 
 his figure (this last involving the purchase of a pair of stays). 
 I declare I hardly knew him again, lie was so outrageously 
 and unnaturally young. The utmost stretch of my influence 
 was exerted over him in vain. He embraced me with the 
 most touching fervor; he expressed the noblest sentiments; 
 but in the matter of his contemplated marriage he was im- 
 movable. Lile was only tolerable to him on one condition. 
 The beloved object, or death : such was the programme of 
 this volcanic old man. 
 
 To make the prospect more hopeless still, the beloved ob- 
 ject proved, on this occasion, to be a bold enough woman to 
 play her trump card at starting. 
 
 I give the jade her due. She assumed a perfectly unas- 
 sailable attitude : we had her full permission to break off 
 the match if we could. "I refer you to your father. Pray 
 understand that /don't wish to marry him if his daughters 
 object to it. He has only to say, ' Release me;' from that 
 moment he is free." There was no contending against such 
 a system of defense as this. We knew as well as she did that 
 our fascinated parent would not say the word. Our one 
 chance was to spend money in investigating the antecedent 
 indiscretions of this lady's life, and to produce against her 
 proof so indisputable that not even an old man's infatuation 
 could say, This is a lie. 
 
 We disbursed; we investigated; we secured our proof. 
 It took a fortnight. At the end of that time we had the 
 necessary materials in hand lor opening the eyes of good Papa.
 
 ]18 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 In the course of the inquiry I was brought into contact 
 with many strange people among others with a man who 
 startled me, at our first interview, by presenting a personal 
 deformity which, with all my experience of the world, I now 
 saw, oddly enough, for the first time. 
 
 The man's face, instead of exhibiting any of the usual 
 shades of complexion, was hideously distinguished by a 
 superhuman I had" almost said a devilish coloring of livid 
 blackish-6/we/ He proved to be a most kind, intelligent, and 
 serviceable person. But when we first confronted each 
 other his horrible color so startled me that I could not re- 
 press a cry of alarm. He not only passed over my involun- 
 tary act of rudeness in the most indulgent manner he 
 explained to me the cause which had produced his peculiarity 
 of complexion, so as to put me at my ease before we entered 
 on the delicate private inquiry which had brought us together. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said this unfortunate man, "for not 
 having warned you of my disfigurement before I entered the 
 room. There are hundreds of people discolored as I am in 
 the various parts of the civilized world ; and I supposed that 
 you had met in the course of your experience with other 
 examples of my case. The blue tinge in my complexion is 
 produced by the effect on the blood of Nitrate of Silver 
 taken internally. It is the only medicine which relieves suf- 
 ferers like me from an otherwise incurable malady. We 
 have no alternative but to accept the consequences for the 
 sake of the cure." 
 
 He did not mention what his malady had been ; and I ab- 
 stained, it is needless to say, from questioning him further. 
 I got used to his disfigurement in the course of my relations 
 with him ; and I should no doubt have forgotten my blue 
 man in attending to more absorbing matters of interest if 
 the effects of Nitrate of Silver as a medicine had not been 
 once more unexpectedly forced on my attention in another 
 quarter, and under circumstances which surprised me in no 
 ordinary degree. 
 
 Having saved Papa on the brink of let us say, his twen- 
 tieth precipice, it was next necessary to stay a few days 
 longer and reconcile him to the hardship of being rescued 
 in spite of himself. You would have been greatly shocked 
 if you had seen how he suffered. He gnashed his expensive
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 110 
 
 teeth; he tore his beautifully manufactured hair. In the 
 fervor of his emotions I have no doubt he would have burst 
 his new stays if I iiad not taken them away and sold them 
 half priee, and made (to that small extent) a profit out of our 
 calamity to set against the loss. Do what one may in the 
 detestable system of modern society, the pivot on which it 
 all turns is Money. Money, when you are saving Freedom ! 
 Money, when you are saving Papa ! Is there no remedy for 
 this? A word in your ear. Wait till the next revolution! 
 
 During the time of my absence I had, of course, corre- 
 sponded with Lucilla. 
 
 Her letters to me very sad and very short reported a 
 melancholy state of things at Dimchurch. While I had 
 been away the dreadful epileptic seizures had attacked Os- 
 car with increasing frequency and increasing severity. The 
 moment I could see my way to getting back to England I 
 wrote to Lucilla to cheer her with the intimation of my re- 
 turn. Two days only before my departure from Paris I re- 
 ceived another letter from her. I was weak enough to be 
 almost afraid to open it. Her writing to me again, when 
 she knew that we should be reunited at such an early date, 
 suggested that she must have some very startling news to 
 communicate. My mind misgave me that it would prove to 
 be news of the worst sort. 
 
 I summoned courage to open the envelope. Ah, what 
 fools we are! For once that our presentiments come right, 
 they prove a hundred times to be wrong. Instead of dis- 
 tressing me, the letter delighted me. Our gloomy prospect 
 was brightening at last. 
 
 Thus, feeling her way over the paper in her large childish 
 characters, Lucilla wrote: 
 
 "DEAREST FRIEND AND SISTER, I can not wait until we 
 meet to tell you my good news. The Brighton doctor has 
 been dismissed, and a doctor from London has been tried in- 
 stead. My dear, for intellect there is nothing like London. 
 The new man sees, thinks, and makes up his mind on the 
 spot. He has a way of his own of treating Oscar's case; 
 suid he answers for curing him of the horrible fits. There is 
 news for you! Come back, and let us jump for joy togeth- 
 er. How wrong I was to doubt the future! Never, never,
 
 120 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 never will I doubt it again. This is the longest letter I 
 have ever written. 
 
 " Your affectionate LUCILLA." 
 
 To this a postcript was added, in Oscar's handwriting, as 
 follows : 
 
 "Lucilla has told you that there is some hope for mo at 
 last. What I write in this place is written without her 
 knowledge for your private ear only. Take the first op- 
 portunity you can find of coming to see me at Browndown, 
 without allowing Lucilla to hear of it. I have a great favor 
 to ask of you. My happiness depends on your granting it. 
 You shall know what it is when we meet. OSCAE." 
 
 This postscript puzzled inc. 
 
 It was not in harmony with the implicit confidence which 
 I had observed Oscar to place habitually in Lucilla. It 
 jarred on my experience of his character, which presented 
 him to me as the reverse of a reserved, secretive man. His 
 concealment of his identity when he first came among us had 
 been a forced concealment due entirely to his horror of be- 
 ing identified with the hero of the trial. In all the ordinary 
 relations of life he was open and unreserved to a fault. That 
 he eould have a secret to keep from Lucilla, and to .confide 
 to me, was something perfectly unintelligible to my mind. 
 It highly excited my curiosity ; it gave me a new reason for 
 longing to get back. 
 
 I was able to make all my arrangements, and to bid adien 
 to my father and my sisters on the evening of the twenty- 
 third. Early on the morning of the twenty-fourth I left 
 Paris, and reached Dimchurch in time ibr the final festivities 
 in celebration of Christmas-eve. 
 
 The first hour of Christmas-day had struck on the clock in 
 our own pretty sitting-room before I could prevail upon Lu- 
 cilla to let me rest, after my journey, in bed. She was now 
 once more the joyous, light-hearted creature of our happier 
 time ; and she had so much to say to me, that not even her 
 father himself (on this occasion) could have talked her down. 
 The next morning she paid the penalty of exciting herself 
 overniht. When I went into her rouin she was sii
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 121 
 
 from a nervous headache, and was not able to rise at her 
 usual hour. She proposed of her own accord that I should 
 go alone to Browndown to see Oscar on my return. It is 
 only doing common justice to myself to say that this was a 
 relief to me. If she had had the use of her eyes, my con- 
 science Avould have been easy enough ; but I shrank from 
 deceiving my dear blind girl even in the slightest things. 
 
 So, with Lucilla's knowledge and approval, I went to Os- 
 car alone. 
 
 I found him fretful and anxious, ready to flame out into 
 one of his sudden passions on the smallest provocation. Not 
 the slightest reflection of Lucilla's recovered cheerfulness 
 appeared in Lucilla's lover. 
 
 "Has she said any thing to you about the new doctor?" 
 were the first words he addressed to me. 
 
 "She has told me that she feels the greatest faith in him," 
 I answered. "She firmly believes that he speaks the truth 
 in saying he can cure you." 
 
 "Did she show any curiosity to know how he is curing 
 me?" 
 
 "Not the slightest curiosity that I could see. It is 
 enough for her that you are to be cured. The rest she 
 leaves to the doctor." 
 
 My last answer appeared to relieve him. He sighed, and 
 leaned back in his chair. "That's right!" he said to him- 
 self. " I am glad to hear that." 
 
 " Is the doctor's treatment of you a secret ?" I asked. 
 
 "It must be a secret from Lucilla," he said, speaking very 
 earnestly. "If she attempts to find it out, she must be kept 
 for the present, at least from all knowledge of it. No- 
 body has any influence over her but you. I look to you to 
 help inc." 
 
 "Is this the favor you had to ask me?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Am I to know the secret of the medical treatment?" 
 
 " Certainly ! How can I expect you to help me unless 
 you know what a serious reason there is for keeping Lucilla 
 in the dark ?" 
 
 He laid a strong emphasis on the two words "serious rea- 
 son." I began to feel a little uneasy. I had never yet 
 taken the slightest advantage of my poor Lucilla's blind- 
 
 F
 
 122 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ness. And here was her promised husband of all the peo- 
 ple in the world proposing to me to keep her in the dark ! 
 
 "Is the new doctor's treatment dangerous?" I inquired. 
 
 "Not in the least." 
 
 " Is it not so certain as he has led Lucilla to believe ?" 
 
 "It is quite certain." 
 
 "Did the other doctors know of it?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Why did they not try it?" 
 
 "They were afraid." 
 
 " Afraid ? What -is the treatment ?" 
 
 " Medicine." 
 
 "Many medicines? or one?" 
 
 " Only one." 
 
 " What is the name of it ?" 
 
 "Nitrate of Silver." 
 
 I started to my feet, looked at him, and dropped back into 
 my chair. 
 
 My mind reverted, the instant I recovered myself, to the 
 effect produced on me when the blue man in Paris first en- 
 tered my presence. In informing me of the effect of the 
 medicine he had (yon will remember) concealed from me the 
 malady for which he had taken it. It had been left to Os- 
 car, of all the people in the world, to enlighten me and that 
 by a reference to his own case ! I was so shocked that I 
 sat speechless. 
 
 With his quick sensibilities, there was no need for me to 
 express myself in words. My face revealed to him what 
 was passing in my mind. 
 
 "You have seen a person who has taken Nitrate of Sil- 
 ver !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Have you ? " I asked. 
 
 " I know the price I pay for being cured," he answered, 
 quietly. 
 
 His composure staggered me. " How long have you been 
 taking this horrible drug?" I inquired. 
 
 "A little more than a week." 
 
 "I see no change in you yet." 
 
 "The doctor tells me there will be no visible change for 
 
 
 
 weeks and weeks to come." 
 
 Those words roused a momentary hope in me. "There is
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 123 
 
 time to alter your mind," I said. "For Heaven's Bake re- 
 consider your resolution before it is too late!" 
 
 He smiled bitterly. " Weak as I am," he answered, " for 
 once my mind is made up." 
 
 I suppose I took a woman's view of the matter. I lost 
 my temper when I looked at his beautiful complexion, and 
 thought of the future. 
 
 " Are you in your right senses ?". I burst out. " Do you 
 mean to tell me that you are deliberately bent on making 
 yourself an object of horror to every body who sees you." 
 
 "The one person whose opinion I care for," he replied, 
 " will never see me." 
 
 I understood him at last. That was the consideration 
 which had reconciled him to it ! 
 
 Lucilla's horror of dark people and dark shades of color 
 of all kinds was, it is needless to say, recalled to my memory 
 by the turn the conversation was taking now. Had she con- 
 fessed it to him, as she had confessed it to me? No! I re- 
 membered that she had expressly warned me not to admit 
 him into our confidence in this matter. At an early period 
 of their acquaintance she had asked him which of his pa- 
 rents he resembled. This led him into telling her that Irs 
 lather had been a dark man. Lucilla's delicacy had at oiu-c 
 taken the alarm. "He speaks very tenderly of his dead fa- 
 ther," she said to me. "It may hurt him if he finds out the 
 antipathy I have to dark people. Let us keep it to our- 
 selves." As things now were, it was on the tip of my tongue 
 to remind him that Lucilla would hear of his disfigurement 
 
 o 
 
 from other people; and then to warn him of the unpleasant 
 result that might follow. On reflection, however, I thought 
 it wiser to wait a little and sound his motives first. 
 
 "Before you tell me how I can help you," I said, "I want 
 to know one thing more. Have you decided in this serious 
 matter entirely by yourself? Have you taken no advice?" 
 
 " I don't want advice," he answered, sharply. " My case ad- 
 mits of no choice. Even such a nervous, undecided creature 
 as I am can judge for himself where there is no alternative." 
 
 "Did the doctors tell you there was no alternative?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "The doctors hesitated to tell me. I had to force it out 
 of them. I said, ' I appeal to your honor to auswer u piaiu
 
 124 POOE MISS FINCH. 
 
 question plainly. Is there any certain prospect of my get- 
 ting the better of the fits ?' They only said, ' At your time 
 of life, we may reasonably hope so.' I pressed them closer. 
 ' Can you fix a date to which I may look forward as the date 
 of my deliverance ?' They could neither of them do it. All 
 thev could say was, ' Our experience justifies us in believing 
 that you will grow out of it; but it does not justify us in 
 saying when.' 'Then I may be years growing out of it?' 
 They were obliged to own that it might be so. 'Or I may 
 never grow out of it at all?' They tried to turn the conver- 
 sation. I wouldn't have it. I said, ' Tell me honestly, is 
 that one of the possibilities in my case?' The Dimchurch 
 doctor looked at the London doctor. The London man said, 
 'If you will have it, it is one of the possibilities.' Just 
 consider the prospect which his answer placed before me ! 
 Day after day, week after week, month after month, always 
 in danger, go where I may, of falling down in a fit is that 
 a miserable position? or is it not?" 
 
 How could I answer him? What could I say? 
 
 He went on : 
 
 "Add to that wretched state of things that I am engaged 
 to be married. The hardest disappointment which can fall 
 on a man falls on me. The happiness of my life is within 
 my reach, and I am forbidden to enjoy it. It is not only 
 my health that is broken up; my prospects in life are ruined 
 as well. The woman I love is a woman forbidden to me 
 while I suffer as I suffer now. Realize that, and then fancy 
 you see a man sitting at this table here, with pen, ink, and 
 paper before him, who has only to scribble a line or two, and 
 to begin the cure of you from that moment. Deliverance in 
 a few months from the horror of the fits; marriage in a few 
 months to the woman you love. That heavenly prospect in 
 exchange for the hellish existence that you arc enduring 
 now. And the one price to pay for it, a discolored face for 
 the rest of your life which the one person who is dearest to 
 you will never see ! Would you have hesitated ? When 
 the doctor took up the pen to Avrite the prescription tell 
 me, if you had been in my place, would you have said No?" 
 
 I still sat silent. My obstinacy women are such mules ! 
 declined to give way, even when my conscience told me 
 that he was ri^ht.
 
 POOR MISS FIXCH. 125 
 
 He sprang to his feet in the same fever of excitement 
 which I remembered so well when I had irritated him at 
 Browndown into telling me who he really was. 
 
 "Would you have said No?" he reiterated, stooping over 
 me, flushed and heated, as he had stooped on that first oc- 
 casion, when he had whispered his name in my ear. " Would 
 you ?" he repeated, louder and louder " would you ?" 
 
 At the third reiteration of the words the frightful contor- 
 tion that I knew so well seized on his face. The wrench to 
 the right twisted his body. He dropped at my feet. Good 
 God ! who could have declared that he was wrona:, with 
 
 O ' 
 
 such an argument in his favor as I saw at that moment? 
 Who would not have said that any disfigurement would be 
 welcome as a refuge from this? 
 
 The servant ran in, and helped me to move the furniture 
 to a safe distance from him. "There won't be much more 
 of it, ma'am," said the man, noticing my agitation, and try- 
 ing to compose me. " In a month or two, the doctor says, 
 the medicine will get hold of him." I could say nothing on 
 my side I could only reproach myself bitterly for disputing 
 with him and exciting him, and leading perhaps to the hid- 
 eous seizure which had attacked him in my presence for the 
 second time. 
 
 The fit, on this occasion, was a short one. Perhaps the 
 drug was already beginning to have some influence over 
 him. In twenty minutes he was able to resume his chair, 
 and to go on talking to me. 
 
 "You think I shall horrify you when my face has turned 
 blue," he said, with a faint smile. "Don't I horrify you now 
 when you see me in convulsions on the floor?" 
 
 I entreated him to dwell on it no more. 
 
 " God knows," I said, " you have convinced me obstinate 
 as I am. Let us try to think of nothing now but of the 
 prospect of your being cured. What do you wish me to do ?" 
 
 "You have a great influence over Lucilla," he said. "If 
 she expresses any curiosity, in future conversations with 
 you, about the effect of the medicine, check her at once. 
 Keep her as ignorant of it as she is now." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Why ! If she knows what you know, how will she feel? 
 Shocked and horrified, as you felt. What will she do? She
 
 126 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 will come straight here, and try, as you have tried, to per- 
 suade me to give it up. Is that true, or not?" 
 
 (Impossible to deny that it was true.) 
 
 " I am so fond of her," he went on, " that I can refuse her 
 nothing. She would end in making me give it up. The in- 
 stant her back was turned I should repent my own weak- 
 ness, and return to the medicine. Here is a perpetual strug- 
 gle in prospect for a man who is already worn out. Is it de- 
 sirable, after what you have just seen, to expose me to 
 that?" 
 
 It would have been useless cruelty to expose him to it. 
 How could I do otherwise than consent to make his sacrifice 
 of himself his necessary sacrifice as easy as I could? At 
 the same time, I implored him to remember one thing. 
 
 "Mind," I said, " we can never hope to keep her in igno- 
 rance of the change in you when the change comes. Sooner 
 or later, some one will let the secret out." 
 
 "I only want it to be concealed from her while the disfig- 
 urement of me is in progress," he answered. "When noth- 
 ing she can say or do will alter it, I will tell her myself. 
 She is so happy in the hope of my recovery ! What good 
 can be gained by telling her beforehand of the penalty that 
 I pay for my deliverance? My ugly color will never terrify 
 my poor darling. As for other persons, I shall not force my- 
 self on the view of the world. It is my one wish to live out 
 of the world. The few people about me will soon get rec- 
 onciled to my face. Lucilla will set them the example. 
 She won't trouble herself long about a change in me that 
 she can neither feel nor see." 
 
 Ought I to have warned him here of Lucilla's inveterate 
 prejudice, and of the difficulty there might be in reconciling 
 her to the change in him when she heard of it? I dare say 
 I ought. I dare say I was to blame in shrinking from in- 
 flicting new anxieties and new distresses on a man who had 
 already suffered so much. The simple truth is I could not 
 do it. Would you have done it? Ah, if you would, I hope 
 I may never come in contact with you. What a horrid 
 wretch you must be ! 
 
 The end of it was that I left the house pledged to keep 
 Lucilla in ignorance of the cost at which Oscar had deter- 
 mined to purchase his cure.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 127 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH. 
 
 GOOD PAPA AGAIN ! 
 
 THE promise I had given did not expose me to the annoy- 
 ance of being kept long on the watch against accidents. If 
 we could pass safely over the next five days, we might feel 
 pretty sure of the future. On the last day of the old year 
 Lucilla was bound by the terms of the will to go to London, 
 and live her allotted three months under the roof of her 
 aunt. 
 
 In the short interval that elapsed before her departure 
 she twice approached the dangerous subject. 
 
 On the first occasion she asked me if I knew what medi- 
 cine Oscar was taking. I pleaded ignorance, and passed at 
 once to other matters. On the second occasion she advanced 
 still further on the way to discovery of the truth. She now 
 inquired if I had heard how the physic worked the cure. 
 Having been already informed that the fits proceeded from 
 a certain disordered condition of the brain, she was anxious 
 to know whether the medical treatment was likely to affect 
 the patient's head. This question (which I was, of course, 
 unable to answer) she put to both the doctors. Already 
 warned by Oscar, they quieted her by declaring that the 
 process of cure acted by general means, and did not attack 
 the head. From that moment her curiosity was satisfied. 
 Her mind had other objects of interest to dwell on before 
 she left Dimehurch. She touched on the perilous topic no 
 more. 
 
 It was arranged that I was to accompany Lucilla to Lon- 
 don. 
 
 Oscar was to follow us when the state of his health per- 
 mitted him to take the journey. As betrothed husband of 
 Lucilla, he had his right of entry during her residence in her 
 aunt's house. As for me, I was admitted at Luc-ilia's inter- 
 cession. She declined to be separated from me for three 
 months. Miss Batchford wrote, most politely, to offer me a 
 hospitable welcome during the day. She had no second
 
 128 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 spai-e room at her disposal ; so we settled that I was to 
 sleep at a lodging-house in the neighborhood. In this same 
 house Oscar was also to be accommodated when the doctors 
 sanctioned his removal to London. It was now thought 
 likely if all went well that the marriage might be cele- 
 brated, at the end of the three months, from Miss Batchford's 
 residence in town. 
 
 Three days before the date of Lucilla's departure these 
 plans so far as I was concerned in them were all over- 
 thrown. 
 
 A letter from Paris reached me, with more bad news. My 
 absence had produced the worst possible effect on good 
 Papa. The moment my influence had been removed he had 
 become perfectly unmanageable. My sisters assured me 
 that the abominable woman from whom I had rescued him 
 would most certainly end in marrying him, after all, unless I 
 re-appeared immediately on the scene. What was to be 
 done? Nothing was to be done but to fly into a rage, to 
 grind my teeth, and throw down all my things, in the soli- 
 tude of my own room, and then to go back to Paris. 
 
 Lucilla behaved charmingly. When she saw how angry 
 and how distressed I was she suppressed all exhibition of 
 disappointment on her side, with the truest and kindest con- 
 sideration for my feelings. "Write to me often," said the 
 charming creature ; " and come back to me as soon as you 
 can." Her father took her to London. Two days before 
 they left I said good-by at the rectory and at Browndown, 
 and started once more by the Newhaven and Dieppe route 
 for Paris. 
 
 I was in no humor (as your English saying is) to mince 
 matters in controlling this new outbreak on the part of my 
 evergreen parent. I insisted on instantly removing him 
 from Paris, and taking him on a Continental tour. I was 
 proof against his paternal embraces; I was deaf to his noble 
 sentiments. He declared he should die on the road. When 
 I look back at it now, I am amused at my own cruelty. I 
 said, "En route, Papa !" and packed him up, and took him to 
 Italy. 
 
 He became enamored at intervals, now of one fair traveler 
 and now of another, all through the journey from Paris to 
 Rome. (Wonderful old man !) Arrived at Rome that
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 129 
 
 hot-bed of the enemies of mankind I saw my way to put- 
 ting a moral extinguisher on the author of my being. The 
 Eternal City contains three hundred and sixty-five churches 
 and (say) three million and sixty-five pictures. I insisted 
 on his seeing them all at the advanced age of seventy-five 
 years ! The sedative result followed exactly as I had antic- 
 ipated. . I stupefied good Papa with churches and pictures, 
 and then I tried him with a marble woman to begin with. 
 He fell asleep before the Venus of the Capitol. When I saw 
 that I said to myself, Now he will do ; Don Juan is reformed 
 at last. 
 
 Lucilla's correspondence with me at first cheerful grad- 
 ually assumed a desponding tone. 
 
 Six weeks had passed since her departure from Dimchurch; 
 and still Oscar's letters held out no hope of his being able 
 to join her in London. His recovery was advancing, but not 
 so rapidly as his medical adviser had anticipated. It was 
 possible to look the worst in the face boldly that he might 
 not get the doctor's permission to leave Browndown before 
 the time arrived for Lucilla's return to the rectory. In this 
 event he could only entreat her to be patient, and to remem- 
 ber that though he was gaining ground but slowly, he was 
 still getting on. Under these circumstances Lucilla was 
 naturally vexed and dejected. She had never (she wrote), 
 from her girlhood upward, spent such a miserable time with 
 her aunt as she was spending now. 
 
 On reading this letter I instantly smelt something wrong. 
 
 I corresponded with Oscar almost as frequently as with 
 Lucilla. His last letter to me flatly contradicted his last 
 letter to his promised wife. In writing to my address he 
 declared himself to be rapidly advancing toward recovery. 
 Under the new treatment, the fits succeeded each other at 
 longer and longer intervals, and endured a shorter and 
 shorter time. Here, then, was plainly a depressing report 
 sent to Lucilla, and an encouraging report sent to me. 
 
 What did it mean? 
 
 Oscar's next letter to me answered the question. 
 
 "I told you in my last" (he wrote) " that the discoloration 
 of my skin had begun. The complexion which you were 
 once so good as to admire has disappeared forever. I am 
 now of a livid ashen color so like death that I sometimes 
 
 P2
 
 130 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 startle myself when I look in the glass. In about six weeks 
 more, as the doctor calculates, this will deepen to a blackish- 
 blue; and then 'the saturation' (as he calls it) will be 
 complete. 
 
 "So far from feeling any useless regrets at having taken 
 the medicine which is producing these ugly effects,! am more 
 grateful to my Nitrate of Silver than words can say. If you 
 ask for the secret of this extraordinary exhibition of philoso- 
 phy on my part, I can give it in one line. For the last ten 
 days I have not had a fit. In other words, for the last ten 
 days I have lived in Paradise. I declare I would have cheer- 
 fully lost an arm or a leg to gain the blessed peace of mind, 
 the intoxicating confidence in the future it is nothing less 
 ~that I feel now. 
 
 " Still, there is a drawback which prevents me from enjoy- 
 ing perfect tranquillity even yet. When was there ever a 
 pleasure in the world without a lurking possibility of pain 
 hidden away in it somewhere? 
 
 " I have lately discovered a peculiarity in Lucilla which is 
 new to me, and which has produced a very unpleasant im- 
 pression on my mind. My proposed avowal to her of the 
 eliange in my personal appearance has now become a matter 
 of far more serious difficulty than I had anticipated when the 
 question was discussed between you and me at Browndown. 
 
 "Have you ever found out that the strongest antipathy 
 she has is her purely imaginary antipathy to dark people 
 and to dark shades of color of all kinds? This strange 
 prejudice is the result, as I suppose, of some morbid growth 
 of her blindness, quite as inexplicable to herself as to other 
 people. Explicable, or not, there it is in her. Read the ex- 
 tract that follows from one of her letters to her father, which 
 her father showed to me, and you will not be surprised to 
 hear that I tremble for myself when the time comes for tell- 
 ing her what I have done. 
 
 " Thus she writes to Mr. Finch : 
 
 "'I am sorry to say I have had a little quarrel with my 
 aunt. It is all made up now, but it has hardly left us such 
 good friends as we were before. Last week there was a 
 dinner-party here; and among the guests was a Hindoo 
 gentleman (converted to Christianity) to whom my aunt has 
 taken a irroat faiu-v. While the maid was dressing me I
 
 POOR MISS PINCH. 131 
 
 unluckily inquired if she had seen the Hindoo and hearing 
 that she had, I still more unfortunately askod her to tell me 
 what he was like. She described him as being very tall and 
 lean, with a dark-brown complexion and glittering black 
 eyes. My mischievous fancy instantly set to work on this 
 horrid combination of darkness. Try as I might to resist it, 
 my mind drew a dreadful picture of the Hindoo, as a kind of 
 monster in human form. I would have given worlds to have 
 been excused from going down into the drawing-room. At 
 the last moment I was sent for,and the Hindoo was introduced 
 to me. The instant I felt him approaching my darkness was 
 peopled with brown demons. He took mv hand. I tried 
 hard to control myself but I really could not help shud- 
 dering and starting back when he touched me. To make 
 matters worse, he sat next to me at dinner. In five minutes 
 I had long, lean, black-eyed beings all round me; perpetually 
 growing in numbers, and pressing closer and closer on me as 
 they grew. It ended in my being obliged to leave the table. 
 When the guests, were all gone my aunt was furious. I ad- 
 mitted my conduct was unreasonable in the last degree. 
 At the same time I begged her to make allowance for me. 
 
 oo 
 
 I reminded her that I was blind at a year old, and that I had 
 really no idea of what any person was like, except by draw- 
 ing pictures of them in my imagination, from description, 
 and from my own knowledge obtained by touch. I appealed 
 to her to remember that, situated as I am, my fancy is pecul- 
 iarly liable to play me tricks, and that I have no sight to 
 see with, and to show me as other people's eyes show them 
 when they have taken a false view of persons and things. 
 It was all in vain. My aunt would admit of no excuse for 
 me. I was so irritated by her injustice that I reminded her 
 of an antipathy of her own, quite as ridiculous as mine an 
 antipathy to cats. She, who can see that cats are harmless, 
 shudders and turns pale, for all that, if a cat is in the same 
 room with her. Set my senseless horror of dark people 
 against her senseless horror of cats and say which of us 
 has the rirjht to be angry with the other?'" 
 
 o o / 
 
 Such was the quotation from Lucilla's letter to her father. 
 At the end of it Oscar resumed, as follows: 
 
 "I wonder whether you will now understand me, if I own 
 to you that I have made the worst of my case in writing to
 
 132 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Lucilla ? It is the only excuse I can produce for not joining 
 her in London. Weary as I am of our long separation,! can 
 not prevail on myself to run the risk of meeting her in the 
 presence of strangers, who would instantly notice my fright- 
 ful color, and betray it to her. Think of her shuddering and 
 starting back from my hand when it took hers! No! no! 
 I must choose my own opportunity, in this quiet place, of 
 telling her what (I suppose) must be told with time before 
 me to prepare her mind for the disclosure (if it must come), 
 and with nobody but you near to see the first mortifying 
 effect of the shock which I shall inflict on her. 
 
 " I have only to add, before I release you, that I write 
 these lines in the strictest confidence. You have promised 
 not to mention my disfigurement to Lucilla, unless I first 
 give you leave. I now, more than ever, hold you to that 
 promise. The few people about me here are all pledged to 
 secrecy as you are. If it is really inevitable that she should 
 know the truth I alone must tell it; in my own way, and at 
 my own time." 
 
 "If it must come," "if it is really inevitable" these 
 phrases in Oscar's letter satisfied me that he was already 
 beginning to comfort himself with an insanely delusive idea 
 the idea that it might be possible permanently to conceal 
 the ugly personal change in him from Lucilla's knowledge. 
 
 If I had been at Dimchurch, I have no doubt I should have 
 begun to feel seriously uneasy at the turn which things ap- 
 peared to be taking now. 
 
 But distance has a very strange effect in altering one's 
 customary way of thinking of affairs at home. Being in 
 Italy instead of in England, I dismissed Lucilla's antipathies 
 and Oscar's scruples, as both alike unworthy of serious con- 
 sideration. Sooner or later, time (I considered) would bring 
 these two troublesome young people to their senses. Their 
 marriage would follow, and there would be an end of it ! In 
 the mean while I continued to feast good Papa on holy 
 families and churches. Ah, poor dear, how he yawned over 
 Caraccis and cupolas ! and how fervently he promised never 
 to fall in love again, if I would only take him back to Paris ! 
 
 We set our faces homeward a day or two after the receipt 
 of Oscar's letter. I left my reformed father resting his aching
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 133 
 
 old bones in his own easy-chair; capable perhaps, even yet, 
 of contracting a Platonic attachment to a lady of his own 
 time of life, but capable (us I firmly believed) of nothing 
 more. " Oh, my child, let me rest !" he said, when I wished 
 him good-by, " and never show me a church or a picture 
 again as long as I live !" 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST. 
 
 MADAME PRATOLUNGO RETURNS TO DIMCHURCH. 
 
 I REACHED London in the last week of Lucilla's residence 
 under her aunt's roof, and waited in town until it was time 
 to take her back to Dimchurch. 
 
 As soon as it had become obviously too late for Oscar to 
 risk the dreaded meeting with Lucilla, before strangers, his 
 correspondence had, as a matter of course, assumed a brighter 
 tone. She was in high spirits once more, poor thing, when 
 we met, and full of delight at having me near her agafn. 
 We thoroughly enjoyed our few days in London, and took 
 our fill of music at operas and concerts. I got on excellently 
 well with the aunt until the last day, when something hap- 
 pened which betrayed me into an avowal of my political 
 convictions. 
 
 The old lady's consternation, when she discovered that I 
 looked hopefully forward to a coining extermination of kings 
 and priests, and a general redistribution of property all over 
 the civilized globe, is unutterable in words. On that occa- 
 sion I mado one more aristocrat tremble. I also closed Miss 
 Batchford's door on me for the rest of my life. No matter! 
 The day is coming when the Batchford branch of humanity 
 will not possess a door to close. All Europe is drifting 
 nearer and nearer to the Pratolungo programme. Cheer up, 
 my brothers without land, and my sisters without money in 
 the Funds! We will have it out with the infamous rich yet. 
 Long live the Republic ! 
 
 Early in the month of April Lucilla and I took leave of 
 the Metropolis, and went back to Dimchurch. 
 
 As we drew nearer and nearer to the rectory, as Lucilla 
 began to flush and fidget in eager anticipation of her reunion 
 with Oscar, that uneasiness of mind which I had so readily
 
 134 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 dismissed while I was in Italy began to find its way back to 
 me again. My imagination now set to work at drawing 
 pictures startling pictures of Oscar as a changed being, as 
 a Medusa's head too terrible to be contemplated by mortal 
 eyes. Where would he meet us? At the entrance to the 
 village? No. At the rectory gate? No. In the quieter 
 part of the garden which was at the back of the house ? 
 Yes ! There he stood, waiting for us alone. 
 
 Lucilla flew into his arms with a cry of delight. I stood 
 behind and looked at them. 
 
 Ah, how vividly I remember at the moment when she 
 embraced him the first shock of seeing the two faces to- 
 gether! The drug had done its work. I saw her fair cheek 
 laid innocently against the livid blackish-blue of his discol- 
 ored skin. Heavens ! how cruelly that first embrace marked 
 the contrast between what he had been when I left him and 
 what he had changed to when I saw him now ! His eyes 
 turned from her face to mine, in silent appeal to me while lie 
 held her in his arms. Their look told me the thought in him, 
 as eloquently as if he had put it into words. "You, who 
 love her, say can we ever be cruel enough to tell her of 
 this?" 
 
 I approached to take his hand. At the same moment Lu- 
 cilla suddenly drew back from him, laid her It-It hand on his 
 shoulder, and passed her right hand rapidly over his face. 
 
 For an instant I felt my heart stand still. Her miraculous 
 sensitiveness of touch had detected the dark color of my 
 dress on the day when we first met. Would it serve her 
 this time as truly as it had served her then ? 
 
 She paused after the first passage of her fingers over his 
 face, with breathless attention to what she was about which, 
 in my own case, I remembered so well. A second time she 
 passed her hand over him considered again and turned 
 my way next. 
 
 "What does his face tell you?" she asked. "It tells me 
 that he has something on \\\x mind. What is it ?" 
 
 We were safe so far ! The hateful medicine, in altering 
 the color, had not affected the texture, of his skin. As her 
 touch had left it on her departure, so her touch found it again 
 on her return. 
 
 Before I could reply to Lucilla, Oscar answered for himself.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 137 
 
 " Nothing is wrong, my darling," he said. " My nerves 
 are a little out of order to-day ; and the joy of seeing you 
 has overcome me for the moment that is all." 
 
 She shook her head impatiently. 
 
 " No," she said, " it is not all." She touched his heart. . 
 " Why is it beating so fast ?" She took his hand in hers. 
 " Why has it turned so cold ? I must know. I will know ! 
 Come indoors." 
 
 At that awkward moment the most wearisome of all living 
 men suddenly proved himself to be the most welcome of liv- 
 ing men. The rector appeared in the garden to receive his 
 daughter on her return. Infolded in Reverend Finch's pa- 
 ternal embraces, harangued by Reverend Finch's prodigious 
 voice, Lucilla was effectually silenced the subject was inev- 
 itably changed. Oscar drew me aside out of hearing, while 
 her attention was diverted from him. 
 
 "I saw you !" he said. "You were horrified at the first* 
 sight of me. You were relieved when you found that her 
 touch told her nothing. Help me to keep her from suspect- 
 ing it for two months more and you will be the best friend 
 that man ever had." 
 
 " Two months ?" I repeated. 
 
 " Yes. If there is no return of the fits in two months, the 
 doctor will consider my recovery complete. Lucilla and I 
 may be married at the end of that time." 
 
 " My friend Oscar, are you contemplating a fraud on Lu- 
 cilla?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Come ! come ! you know what I mean ! Is it honorable 
 first to entrap her into marrying you and then to confess 
 to her the color of your face ? 
 
 He sighed bitterly. 
 
 "I shall fill her with horror of me if I confess it. Look at 
 me ! look at me !" he said, lifting his ghastly hands in de- 
 spair to his blue face. 
 
 I was determined not to give way even to that. 
 
 " Be a man !" I said. " Own it boldly. What is she going 
 to marry you for ? For your face that she can never see ? 
 No ! For your heart that is one with her own. Trust to 
 her natural good sense and, better than that, to the devoted 
 love that you have inspired in her. She will see her stupid
 
 138 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 prejudice in its true light when she feels it trying to part her 
 from yoM." 
 
 " No ! no ! no ! Remember her letter to her father. I 
 shall lose her forever if I tell her now." 
 
 I took his arm, and tried to lead him to Lucilla. She was 
 already trying to escape from her father; she was already 
 longing to hear the sound of Oscar's voice again. 
 
 He obstinately shrank back. I began to feel angry with 
 him. In another moment I should have said or done some- 
 thing that I might have repented of afterward if a new inter- 
 ruption had not happened before I could open my lips. 
 
 Another person appeared in the garden the man-servant 
 from Browndown, with a letter for his master in his hand. 
 
 " This has just come, Sir," said the man, " by the afternoon 
 post. It is marked ' Immediate.' I thought I had better 
 bring it to you here." 
 
 Oscar took the letter and looked at the address. " My 
 brother's writing !" he exclaimed. "A letter from Nugent !" 
 
 He opened the letter, and burst out with a cry of joy which 
 brought Lucilla instantly to his side. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked, eagerly. 
 
 " Nugent is coming back ! Nugent will be here in a 
 week ! Oh, Lucilla, my brother is coming to stay with me 
 at Browndown !" 
 
 He caught her in his arms and kissed her, in the first rapt- 
 ure of receiving that welcome news. She forced herself 
 away from him without answering a word. She turned her 
 poor blind face round and round, in search for me. 
 
 " Here I am !" I said. 
 
 She roughly and angrily put her arm in mine. I saw the 
 jealous misery in her face as she dragged me away with her 
 to the house. Never yet had Oscar's voice, in her experience 
 of him, sounded the note of happiness that she heard in it 
 now ! Never yet had she felt Oscar's heart on Oscar's lips 
 as she felt it when he kissed her in the first joy of anticipat- 
 ing Nugent's return ! 
 
 " Can he hear me ?" she whispered, when we had left the 
 lawn, and she felt the gravel under her feet. 
 
 " No. What is it ?" 9 
 
 " I hate his brother !"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 139 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND. 
 
 THE TWIN BROTHER'S LETTER. 
 
 LITTLE thinking what a storm he had raised, poor inno- 
 cent Oscar paternally escorted by the rector followed us 
 into the house, with his open letter in his hand. 
 
 Judging by certain signs visible in my reverend friend, I 
 concluded that the announcement of Nugent Dubourg's corn- 
 
 ~ o 
 
 ing visit to Dimchurch regarded by the rest of us as her- 
 alding the appearance of a twin brother was regarded l>y 
 Mr. Finch as promising the arrival of a twin fortune. Oscar 
 and Nugent shared the comfortable paternal inheritance. 
 Finch smelled money. 
 
 " Compose yourself," I whispered to Lucilla as the two 
 gentlemen followed us into the sitting-room. " Your jeal- 
 ousy of his brother is a childish jealousy. There is room 
 enough in his heart for his brother as well as for you." 
 
 She only repeated, obstinately, with a vicious pinch on my 
 arm, " I hate his brother !" 
 
 " Come and sit down by me," said Oscar, approaching her 
 on the other side. " I want to run over Nugent's letter. It's 
 so interesting ! There is a message in it to you." Too 
 deeply absorbed in his subject to notice the sullen submission 
 with which she listened to him, he placed her on a chair, and 
 began reading. "The first lines," he explained, " relate to 
 Nugent's return to England, and to his delightful idea of 
 coming to stay with me at Browndown. Then he goes on : 
 ' I found all your letters waiting for me on my return to 
 New York. Need I tell you, my dearest brother 
 
 Lucilla stopped him at those words by rising abruptly 
 from her seat. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked. 
 
 " I don't like this chair !" 
 
 Oscar got her another an easy-chair this time and re- 
 turned to the letter. 
 
 " * Need I tell you, my dearest brother, how deeply you 
 have interested me by the announcement of your contempla- 
 ted marriage ? Your happiness is my happiness. I feel with
 
 140 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 you ; I congratulate you ; I long to see my future sister-in- 
 law' " 
 
 Lucilla got up again. Oscar, in astonishment, asked what 
 was wrong now. 
 
 " I amnot comfortable at this end of the room." 
 
 She walked to the other end of the room. Patient Oscar 
 walked after her, with his precious letter in his hand. He 
 offered her a third chair. She petulantly declined to take 
 it, and selected another chair for herself. Oscar returned 
 to the letter : 
 
 " * How melancholy, and yet how interesting it is, to hear 
 that she is blind ! My sketches of American scenery hap- 
 pened to be lying about in the room when I read your letter. 
 The first thought that came to me on hearing of Miss Finch's 
 affliction was suggested by my sketches. I said to myself, 
 " Sad ! sad ! my sister-in-law will never see my Works." 
 The true artist, Oscar, is always thinking of his Works. I 
 shall bring back, let me tell you, some very remarkable stud- 
 ies for future pictures. They will not be so numerous, per- 
 haps, as you may expect. I prefer to trust to my intellectu- 
 al perception of beauty rather than to mere laborious tran- 
 scripts from Nature. In certain moods of mine (speaking as 
 an artist) Nature puts me out.' r There Oscar paused, and 
 appealed to me. " What writing ! eh? I always told you, 
 Madame Pratolungo, that Nugent was a genius. You see it 
 now ! Don't get up, Lucilla. I am going on. There is a 
 message to you in this part of the letter. So neatly ex- 
 pressed !" 
 
 Lucilla persisted in getting up ; the announcement of the 
 neatly expressed message to be read next produced no effect 
 on her. She walked to the window, and trifled impatiently 
 with the flowers placed in it. Oscar looked in mild astonish- 
 ment, first at me, then at the rector. Reverend Finch list- 
 ening thus far with the complimentary attention due to the 
 correspondence of one young man of fortune with another 
 young man of fortune interfered in Oscar's interests to se- 
 cure him a patient hearing. 
 
 " My dear Lucilla, endeavor to control your restlessness. 
 You interfere with our enjoyment of this interesting letter. 
 I could wish to see fewer changes of place, my child, and a 
 move undivided attention <c what Oscar is reading to you."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 141 
 
 " I am not interested in what he is reading to me." In the 
 nervous irritation which produced this ungracious answer she 
 overthrew one of the flower-pots. Oscar set it up again for 
 her with undimiiushed good temper. 
 
 " Not interested !" he exclaimed. " Wait a little. You 
 haven't heard Nugent's message yet. Listen to this ! ' Pre- 
 sent my best and kindest regards to the future Mrs. Oscar' 
 (dear fellow !),' and say that she has given me a new interest 
 in hastening my return to England.' There ! Isn't that 
 prettily put ? Come, Lucilla ! own that Nugent is worth 
 listening to when he writes about you /" 
 
 She turned toward him for the first time. The charm of 
 the tone in which he spoke those words subdued her in spite 
 of herself. 
 
 " I am much obliged to your brother," she answered, gen-' 
 tly, " and very much ashamed of myself lor what I said just 
 now." She stole her hand into his, :wid whispered, " You 
 are so fond of Nugent, I begin to be almost afraid there will 
 be no love left for me." 
 
 Oscar was enchanted. "Wait till you see him, and you 
 will be as fond of him as I am," he said. "Nugent is not 
 like me. He fascinates people the moment they come in con- 
 tact with him. Nobody can resist Nugent." 
 
 She still held his hand, with a perplexed and saddened 
 face. The admirable absence of any jealousy on his side 
 his large and generous confidence in her love for him was 
 
 O O 
 
 just the rebuke to her that she could feel ; just the rebuke, 
 also (in my opinion), that she had deserved. 
 
 " Go on, Oscar," said the rector, in his deepest notes of en- 
 couragement. " What next, dear boy ? what next ?" 
 
 " Another interesting bit, of quite a new kind," Oscar re- 
 plied. "There is a little mystery to stir us up on the last 
 page of the letter. Nugent says : ' I have become acquaint- 
 ed (here, in New York) with a very remarkable man, a Ger- 
 man who has made a great deal of money in the United 
 States. He proposes to visit England early in the present 
 year ; and he will write and let me know when he has ar- 
 rived. I shall feel particular pleasure in presenting him to 
 you and your future wife. It is quite possible that you may 
 have special reason to congratulate yourselves on making his 
 acquaintance 1 . For the present no more of my new friend
 
 142 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 until we meet at Browndown.' ' Special reason to congratu- 
 late ourselves on making his acquaintance !' " repeated Oscar, 
 folding up the letter. "Nugent never writes in that way 
 without a reason for it. Who can the German gentleman 
 be?" 
 
 Mr. Finch suddenly lifted his head, and looked at Oscar 
 with a certain appearance of alarm. 
 
 " Your brother mentions that he has made his fortune in 
 America," said the reverend gentleman. " I hope he is not 
 connected with the money market ! He might infect Mr. 
 Nugent with the spirit of reckless speculation which is, 
 so to speak, the national sin of the United States. Your 
 brother, having no doubt the same generous disposition as 
 yours 
 
 " A far finer disposition than mine, Mr. Finch," interposed 
 Oscar. 
 
 " Possessed, like you, of the gifts of fortune," proceeded 
 the rector, with mounting enthusiasm. 
 
 " Once possessed of them," said Oscar. " Far from being 
 overburdened with the gifts of fortune now !" 
 
 " What! !!" cried Mr. Finch, with- a start of consternation. 
 " Nugent has run through his fortune," proceeded Oscar, 
 quite composedly. " I lent him the money to go to America. 
 My brother is a genius, Mr. Finch. When did you ever hear 
 of a genius who could keep within limits? Nugent is not 
 content to live in my humble way. He has the tastes of a 
 prince money is nothing to him. It doesn't matter. He' 
 will make a new fortune out of his pictures ; and, in the 
 mean time, you know, I can always lend him something to go 
 on with." 
 
 Mr. Finch rose from his seat with the air of a man whose 
 just anticipations have not been realized whose innocent 
 confidence has been scandalously betrayed. Here was a pros- 
 pect ! Another person in perpetual want of money going to 
 settle under the shadow of the rectory ? Another man like- 
 ly to borrow of Oscar and that man his brother ! 
 
 " I fail to take your light view of your brother's extrava- 
 gance," said the rector, addressing Oscar with his loftiest se- 
 verity of manner, at the door. " I deplore and reprehend 
 Mr. Nugent's misuse of the bounty bestowed on him by an 
 all-wise Providence. You will do well to consider before
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 143 
 
 you encourage your brother's extravagance by lending him 
 money. What does the great poet of humanity say of lend- 
 ers? The Bard of Avon tells us that ' loan oft loses both it- 
 self and friend.' Lay that noble line to heart, Oscar ! Lu- 
 cilla, be on your guard against that restlessness which I have 
 already had occasion to reprove. I find I must leave you, 
 Madame Pratolungo. I had forgotten my parish duties. My 
 parish duties are waiting for me. Good-day ! good-day !" 
 
 He looked round on us all three, in turn, with a very sour 
 face, and walked out. " Surely," I thought to myself, " this 
 brother of Oscar's is not beginning well ! First the daughter 
 takes offense at him, and now the father follows her example. 
 Even on the other side of the Atlantic, Mr. Nugent Dubourg 
 exercises a malignant influence, and disturbs the family tran- 
 quillity before he has shown his nose in the house !" 
 
 Nothing more that is worth recording happened on that 
 day. We had a very dull evening. Lucilla was out of spirits. 
 As for me, I had not yet had time to accustom myself to the 
 shocking spectacle of Oscar's discolored face. I was serious 
 and silent. You Avould never have guessed me to be a 
 Frenchwoman, if you had seen me for the first time on the 
 occasion of my return to the rectory. 
 
 The next day a small domestic event happened which must 
 be chronicled in this place. 
 
 Our Dimchurch doctor, always dissatisfied with his posi- 
 tion in an obscure country place, had obtained an appoint- 
 ment in India which offered great professional advantages to 
 an ambitious man. He called to take leave of us on his de- 
 parture. I found an opportunity of speaking to him about 
 Oscar. He entirely agreed with me that the attempt to keep 
 the change produced in his former patient by the Nitrate 
 of Silver from Lucilla's knowledge was simply absurd. It 
 would come to her ears, he said, before many days were over 
 our heads. With that prediction, addressed to my private 
 car, he left us. The removal of him from the scene was, you 
 will please to bear in mind, the removal of an important local 
 witness to the medical treatment of Oscar, and was, as such, 
 an incident with a bearing of its own on the future, which 
 claims a place for it in the present narrative. 
 
 Two more days passed, and nothing happened. On the
 
 144 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 morning of tlio third day the doctor's prophecy was all but 
 fulfilled through the medium of the wandering Arab of the 
 family, our funny" little Jicks. 
 
 While Lucilla and I were strolling about the garden with 
 
 o o 
 
 Oscar, the child suddenly darted out on us from behind a 
 tree, and, seizing Oscar round the legs, hailed him affection- 
 ately at the top of her voice as "The Blue Man!" Lucilla 
 instantly stopped, and said, " Who do you call 'The Blue 
 Man?'" Jicks answered, boldly, " Oscar." Lucilla caught 
 the child up in her arms. "Why do you call Oscar ' The 
 Blue Man?'" she asked. Jicks pointed to Oscar's face, and 
 then, remembering Lucilla's blindness, appealed to me. "You 
 tell her," said Jicks, in high glee. Oscar seized my hand, 
 and looked at me imploringly. I determined not to inter- 
 fere. It was bad enough to remain passive, and to let her 
 be kept in the dark Actively, I was resolved to take no 
 part in deceiving her. Her color rose ; she put Jicks down 
 on the ground. "Are you both dumb?" she asked. "Os- 
 car, I insist on knowing it how have you got the nickname 
 of ' The Blue Man ?' " Left helpless, Oscar (to my disgust) 
 took refuge in a lie and, worse still, a clumsy lie. He de- 
 clared that he had got his nickname in the nursery, at the 
 time of Lucilla's absence in London, by one day painting his 
 face in the character of Blue-beard to amuse the children ! 
 If Lucilla had felt the faintest suspicion of the truth, blind as 
 she was, she must now have discovered it. As tilings were, 
 Oscar annoyed and irritated her. I could see that it cost 
 her a struggle to suppress something like a feeling of con- 
 tempt for him. " Amuse the children, the next time, in some 
 other way," she said. " Though I can't see you, still I don't 
 like to hear of your disfiguring your face by painting it blue." 
 With that answer she walked away a little by herself, evi- 
 dently disappointed in her betrothed husband for the first 
 time in her experience of him. 
 
 He cast another imploring look at me. "Did you hear 
 what she said about my face ?" he whispered. 
 
 "You have lost an excellent opportunity of speaking out," 
 I answered. " I believe you will bitterly regret the folly and 
 the cruelty of deceiving her." 
 
 He shook his head, with the immovable obstinacy of & 
 weak man.
 
 POOK MISS FINCH. 145 
 
 "Nugent doesn't think as you do," he said, handing me 
 the letter. " Read that bit there now Lucilla is out of 
 hearing." 
 
 I paused for a moment before I could read. The resem- 
 blance between the twins extended even to their handwrit- 
 ings ! If I had picked Nugent's letter up, I should have 
 handed it to Oscar as a letter of Oscar's own writing. 
 
 O 
 
 The paragraph to which he pointed only contained these 
 lines: "Your last relieves my anxiety about your health. 
 I entirely agree 'with you that any personal sacrifice which 
 cures you of those horrible attacks is a sacrifice wisely made. 
 As to your keeping the change a secret from the young lady, 
 I can only say I suppose you know best how to act in this 
 emergency. I will abstain from forming any opinion of my 
 own until we meet." 
 
 I handed Oscar back the letter. 
 
 "There is no very warm approval there of the course you 
 are taking," I said. " The only difference between your 
 brother and me is that he suspends his opinion, and that I 
 express mine." 
 
 "I have no fear of my brother." Oscar answered. "Nu- 
 gent will feel for me and understand me when he comes to 
 Browndown. In the mean time this shall not happen again." 
 
 He stooped over Jicks. The child, while \ve were talking, 
 had laid herself down luxuriously on the grass, and was sing- 
 ing to herself little snatches of a nursery song. Oscar pull- 
 ed her up on her legs rather roughly. He was out of temper 
 with her, as well as with himself. 
 
 " What are you going to do ?" I asked. 
 
 "I am going to see Mr. Finch," he answered, "and to have 
 Jicks kept for the future out of Lucilla's garden." 
 
 "Does Mr. Finch approve of your silence?" 
 
 " Mr. Finch, Madame Pratolungo, leaves me to decide on a 
 matter which concerns nobody but Lucilla and myself." 
 
 After that reply there was an end of all further remon- 
 strance from me, as a matter of course. Oscar walked off 
 with his prisoner to the house. Jicks trotted along by his 
 side, unconscious of the mischief she had done, singing an- 
 other verse of the nursery song. I rejoined Lucilla, with my 
 mind made up as to the line of conduct I should adopt in the 
 future. If Oscar did succeed in keeping the truth concealed 
 
 G
 
 14C POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 from her, I was positively resolved, come what might of it, to 
 enlighten her, before they were married, with my own lips. 
 What ! after pledging myself to keep the secret ? Yes. Per- 
 ish the promise that makes me false to a person whom I 
 love ! I despise such promises from the bottom of my heart. 
 Two more days slipped by and then a telegram found its 
 way to Browndown. Oscar came running to us, at the rec- 
 tory, with his news. Nugent had landed at Liverpool. Os- 
 car was to expect him at Dimchurch on the next day. 
 
 CHAPTER TFIE TWENTY-THIRD. 
 
 HE SETS US ALT, EIGHT. 
 
 I HAVE thus far quite inadvertently omitted to mention one 
 of the prominent virtues of Reverend Finch. He was an ac- 
 complished master of that particular form of human persecu- 
 tion which is called reading aloud; and he inflicted his accom- 
 plishment on his family circle at every available opportunity. 
 Of what we suffered on these occasions I shall say nothing. 
 Let it be enough to mention that the rector thoroughly en- 
 joyed the pleasure of hearing his own magnificent voice. 
 
 There was no escaping Mr. Finch when the rage for " read- 
 ing" seized on him. Now on one pretense, and now on an- 
 other, he descended on us unfortunate women, book in hand, 
 seated us at one end of the room, placed himself at the other, 
 opened his dreadful mouth, and fired words at us, like shots 
 at a target, by the hour together. Sometimes he gave us 
 poetical readings from Shakspeare or Milton ; and sometimes 
 Parliamentary speeches by Burke or Sheridan. Read what 
 he might, he made such a noise and such a fuss over it he 
 put his own individuality so prominently in the foremost 
 place, and lie kept the poets or the orators whom he was sup- 
 posed to be interpreting so far in the background that they 
 lost every trace of character of their own, and became one 
 and all perfectly intolerable reflections of Mr. Finch. I date 
 my first unhappy doubts of the supreme excellence of Shak- 
 speare's poetry from the rector's readings; and I attribute 
 to the same exasperating cause my implacable hostility (on 
 every question of the time) to the policy of Mr. Burke. 
 
 On the evening when Nugent Duboiirg was expected at
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 147 
 
 Browndown and when we particularly wanted to be left 
 alone to dress ourselves, and to gossip by anticipation about 
 the expected visitor Mr. Finch was seized with one of his 
 periodical rages for firing off* words at his family after tea. 
 He selected "Hamlet" as the medium for exhibiting his 
 voice on this occasion; and he declared, as the principal mo- 
 tive for taking his elocutionary exercise, that the object he 
 especially had in view was the benefit of poor Me. 
 
 "My good creature, I accidentally heard you reading to 
 Lucilla the other day. It was very nice, as far as it went 
 very nice indeed. But you will allow me as a person, Mad- 
 ame Pratolungo, possessing considerable practice in the art 
 of reading aloud to observe that you might be benefited 
 by a hint or two. I will give you a lew ideas. (Mrs. Finch ! 
 I propose giving Madame Pratolungo a few ideas.) Pay par- 
 ticular attention, if you please, to the Pauses, and to the 
 management of the Voice at the end of the lines. Lucilla, 
 my child, you are interested in this. The perfecting of Mad- 
 ame Pratolungo is a matter of considerable importance to 
 you. Don't go away." 
 
 Lucilla and I happened, on that evening, to be- guests at 
 the rectory table. It was one of the regular occasions on 
 which we left our own side of the house, and joined the fam- 
 ily at (what Mr. Finch called) "the pastor's evening meal." 
 He had got his wife; he had got his eldest daughter; he had 
 got your humble servant. A horrid smile of enjoyment over- 
 spread the reverend gentleman's face as he surveyed us from 
 the opposite end of the room, and opened his vocal fire on his 
 audience of three. 
 
 "'Hamlet :' Act the First; Scene the First. Elsinore. A 
 Platform before the Castle. Francisco on his post " (Mr. 
 Finch). "Enter to him Bernardo" (Mr. Finch). "Who's 
 there?" "Nay. answer me: stand, and unfold yourself." 
 (Mrs. Finch unfolds herself- she suckles the baby, and tries 
 to look as if she was having an intellectual treat). Fran- 
 cisco and Bernardo converse in bass Boom -boom -boom. 
 "Enter Horatio and Marcellus " (Mr. Finch and Mr. Finch). 
 "Stand, ho! Who is there?" "Friends to this ground." 
 "And liegemen to the Dane." (Madame Pratolungo begins 
 to feel the elocutionary exposition of Shakspeare, where she 
 always feels it, in her legs. She tries to sit still on her chair.
 
 148 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Useless ! She is suffering under the malady known to her 
 by bitter expeiience of Mr. Finch, as the Hamlet-Fidgets.) 
 Bernardo and Francisco, Horatio and Marcellus, converse 
 Boom-boom-boom. "Enter Ghost of Hamlet's Father." Mr. 
 Finch makes an awful pause. In the supernatural silence 
 we can hear the baby sucking. Mrs. Finch enjoys her intel- 
 lectual treat. Madame Pratolungo fidgets. Lucilla catches 
 the infection, and fidgets too. Marcellus -Finch goes on. 
 "Thou art a scholar, speak to it, Horatio." Bernardo-Finch 
 backs him: '"Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Hora- 
 tio." Lucilla-Finch inserts herself in the dialogue: "Papa, 
 I am very sorry ; I have had a nervous headache all day ; 
 please excuse me if I take a turn in the garden." The rec- 
 tor makes another awful pause, and glares at his daughter. 
 (Exit Lucilla.) Horatio looks at the Ghost, and takes up the 
 dialogue : " Most like ; it harrows me " Boom-boom-boom. 
 The baby is satiated. Mrs. Finch wants her handkerchief. 
 Madame Pratolungo seizes the opportunity of moving her 
 distracted legs, and finds the handkerchief. Mr. Finch pauses 
 glares goes on again reaches the second scene. " Enter 
 the King, Queen, Hamlet, Polonius, Laertes, Voltimand, Cor- 
 nelius, and Lords Attendant." All Mr. Finch ! Oh, my legs ! 
 my legs ! all Mr. Finch, and Boom-boom-boom. Third scene. 
 " Enter Laertes and Ophelia." (Both Rectors of Dimchurch ; 
 both with deep bass voices; both about five feet high, pitted 
 with the small-pox, and adorned around the neck with dingy 
 white cravats.) Mr. Finch goes on and on and on. Mrs. 
 Finch and the baby simultaneously close their eyes in slum- 
 ber. Madame Pratolungo suffers such tortures of restless- 
 ness in her lower limbs that she longs for a skilled surgeon 
 
 O O 
 
 to take out his knife and deliver her from her own legs. Mr. 
 Finch advances in deeper and deeper bass, in keener and 
 keener enjoyment, to the Fourth Scene. ("Enter Hamlet, 
 Horatio, and Marcellus.") Mercy ! what do I hear ! Is re- 
 lief approaching to us from the world outside? Are there 
 footsteps in the hall ? Yes ! Mrs. Finch opens her eyes ; 
 Mrs. Finch hears the footsteps, and rejoices in them as I do. 
 Reverend Hamlet hears nothing but his own voice. He be- 
 gins the scene: "The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold." 
 The door opens. The rector feels a gust of air, dramatically 
 appropriate, just at the right moment. He looks round. If
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 149 
 
 it is a servant, let that domestic person tremble ! No not 
 a servant. Guests heavens be praised, guests. Welcome, 
 gentlemen welcome ! No more "Hamlet" to-night, thanks 
 to You. Enter two Characters who must be instantly at- 
 tended to Mr. Oscar Dubourg, introducing his twin broth- 
 er from America, Mr. Nugent Dubourg. 
 
 Astonishment at the extraordinary resemblance between 
 them was the one impression felt by all three of us as the 
 brothers entered the room. 
 
 Exactly alike in their height, in their walk, in their feat- 
 ures, and in their voices. Both with the same colored hair 
 and the same beardless faces. Oscar's smile exactly reflect- 
 ed on Nugent's lips. Oscar's odd little semi-foreign tricks 
 of gesticulation with his hands, exactly reproduced in the 
 hands of Nugent. And, to crown it all, there was the com- 
 plexion which Oscar had lost forever (just a shade darker 
 perhaps) found again on Nugeut's cheeks ! The one differ- 
 ence which made it possible to distinguish between them, at 
 the moment when they first appeared together in the room, 
 was also the one difference which Lucilla was physically in- 
 capable of detecting the terrible contrast of color between 
 the brother who bore the blue disfigurement of the drug, and 
 the brother who was left as Nature had made him. 
 
 "Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Finch. I 
 have long wished for this pleasure. Thank you, Mr. Finch, 
 for all your kindness to my brother. Madame Pratolungo, I 
 presume? Permit me to shake hands. It is needless to say 
 I have heard of your illustrious husband. Aha ! here's a 
 baby. Yours, Mrs. Finch? Girl or boy, ma'am? A fine 
 child if a bachelor may be allowed to pronounce an opin- 
 ion. Tweet tweet tweet!" 
 
 He chirruped to the baby as if he had been a family man, 
 and snapped his fingers gayly. Poor Oscar's blue face turn- 
 ed in silent triumph toward me. "What did I tell you?" 
 his look asked. "Did I not say Nugent fascinated every 
 body at first sight?" Most true. An irresistible man. So 
 utterly different in his manner from Oscar, except when he 
 was in repose, and yet so like Oscar in other respects. I can 
 only describe him as his brother completed. He had the 
 pleasant, lively flow of spirits, the i-asy, winning, gentleman-
 
 150 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 like confidence in himself which Oscar Avanted ; find then 
 what excellent taste he possessed ! He liked children ; he 
 respected the memory of my glorious Pratolungo ! In half 
 a minute from the time when he entered the room, Nugent 
 Dubourg had won Mrs. Finch's heart and mine. 
 
 He turned from the baby to Mr. Finch, and pointed to the 
 open Shakspeare on the table. 
 
 "You were reading to the ladies?" he said. "lam afraid 
 \ve have interrupted you." 
 
 "Don't mention it," said the rector, with his loftiest polite- 
 ness. " Another time will do. It is a habit of mine, Mr. Nu- 
 gent to read aloud in my family circle. As a clergyman and 
 a lover of poetry (in both capacities) I have long cultivated 
 the art of elocution 
 
 "My dear Sir, excuse me: you have cultivated it all 
 wrong !" 
 
 Mr. Finch paused, thunderstruck. A man in his presence 
 presuming to have an opinion of his own ! a man in the rec- 
 tory parlor capable of interrupting the rector in the middle 
 of a sentence ! guilty of the insane audacity of telling him, 
 as a reader, with Shakspeare open before them, that he read 
 
 wrong 
 
 " Oh, we heard you as we came in !" proceeded Nugent, 
 with the most undiminished confidence, expressed in the 
 most gentleman-like manner. "You read it like this." He 
 took up "Hamlet," and read the opening line of the Fourth 
 Scene ("The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold") with an ir- 
 resistibly accurate imitation of Mr. Finch. "That's not the 
 way Hamlet would speak. No man in his position would 
 remark that it was very cold in that bow-wow manner. What 
 is Shakspeare before all things? True to nature always 
 true to nature. What condition is Hamlet in when he is ex- 
 pecting to sec the Ghost ? He is nervous, and he feels the 
 cold. Let him show it naturally ; let him speak as any other 
 man would speak under the circumstances. Look here ! 
 Quick and quiet like this: 'The air bites shrewdly' there 
 Hamlet stops and shivers pur-rer-rer! 'it is very cold.' 
 There ! That's the way to read Shakspeare." 
 
 Mr. Finch lifted his head into the air as high as it could 
 possibly go, and brought the flat of his hand down with a 
 solemn and sounding smack on the open book.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 151 
 
 "Allow me to say, Sir " he began. 
 
 Nugent stopped him again, more goocl-humoredly than 
 ever. 
 
 "You don't agree with me? All right. Quite useless to 
 dispute about it. I don't know what you may be. I am 
 the most opinionated man in existence. Sheer waste of time, 
 my dear Sir, to attempt convincing Me. Now just look at 
 that child !" Here Mr. Nugent Dubourg's attention was 
 suddenly attracted by the baby. He twisted round on his 
 heel, and addressed Mrs. Finch. " I take the liberty of 
 saying, ma'am, that a more senseless dress doesn't exist than 
 the dress that is put in this country on infants of tender 
 years. What are the three main functions which that child 
 that charming child of yours performs? He sucks, lie 
 sleeps, and he grows. At the present moment he isn't suck- 
 ing, he isn't sleeping he is growing with all his might. 
 Under those interesting circumstances what does he want to 
 do? To move his limbs freely in every direction. You let 
 him swing his arms to his heart's content, and you deny him 
 freedom to kick his legs. You clothe him in a dress three 
 times as long as himself. He tries to throw his legs up in 
 the air as he throws his arms, and he can't do it. There is 
 his senseless long dress entangling itself in his toes, and 
 making an effort of what Nature intended to be a luxury. 
 Can any thing be more absurd? What are mothers about? 
 Why don't they think for themselves? Take my advice 
 short petticoats, Mrs. Finch. Liberty, glorious liberty, for 
 my young friend's legs ! Room, heaps of room, for that 
 infant martyr's toes !" 
 
 Mrs. Finch listened helplessly ; lifted the baby's long pet- 
 ticoats, and looked at them; stared piteously at Nugent 
 Dubourg ; opened her lips to speak; and, thinking better of 
 it, turned her watery eyes on her husband, appealing to him 
 to take the matter up. Mr. Finch made another attempt to 
 assert his dignity a ponderously satirical attempt this time. 
 
 "In offering your advice to my wife, Mr. Nugent," said the 
 rector, " you must permit me to remark that it would have 
 had more practical force if it had been the advice of a mar- 
 ried man. I beg to remind you 
 
 " You beg to remind me that it is the advice of a bachelor? 
 Oh, come ! that really won't do at this time of day. Dr.
 
 ]52 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Johnson settled that argument at once and forever a centnry 
 since. 'Sir,' he said to somebody of your way of thinking, 
 'you may scold your carpenter when lie has made a bad 
 table, though you can't make a table yourself.' I say to 
 you, 'Mr. Finch, you may point out a defect in a baby's pet- 
 ticoats, though you haven't got a baby yourself!' Doesn't 
 that satisfy you? All right. Take another illustration. 
 Look at your room here. I can see in the twinkling of an 
 eye that it's badly lit. You have only got one window ; 
 you ought to have two. Is it necessary to be a practical 
 builder to discover that? Absurd! Are you satisfied now? 
 No ! Take another illustration. What's this printed paper 
 here on the chimney-piece? Assessed taxes. Ha! Assessed 
 taxes will do. You're not in the House of Commons; you're 
 not Chancellor of the Exchequer; but haven't you an opinion 
 of your own about taxation in spite of that ? Must you and 
 I be in Parliament before we can presume to see that the 
 feeble old British Constitution is at its last gasp?" 
 
 "And the vigorous young Republic drawing its first 
 breath of life !" I burst in, introducing the Pratolungo pro- 
 gramme (as my way is) at every available opportunity. 
 
 Nugent Dubourg instantly wheeled round in my direction, 
 and set me right on my subject, just as he had set the rector 
 right on reading "Hamlet," and Mrs. Finch right on clothing 
 babies. 
 
 "Not a bit of it!" he pronounced, positively. "The 'young 
 Republic' is the rickety child of the political family. Give 
 him up, ma'am. You will never make a man of him." 
 
 I tried to assert myself as the rector had tried before me 
 with precisely the same result. I appealed indignantly 
 to the authority of my illustrious husband. 
 
 "Doctor Pratolungo " I began. 
 
 "Was an honest man," interposed Nugent Dubourg. "I 
 am an advanced Liberal myself; I respect him. But he was 
 quite wrong. All sincere republicans make the same mis- 
 take. They believe in the existence of public spirit in Eu- 
 rope. Amiable delusion ! Public spirit is dead in Europe. 
 Public spirit is the generous emotion of young nations, of 
 new peoples. In selfish old Europe private interest has 
 taken its place. When your husband preached the republic, 
 on what ground did he put it ? On the ground that the re-
 
 1'OOR MISS FINCH. 153 
 
 public was going to elevate the nation. Pooh ! Ask me to 
 accept the republic on the ground that I elevate Myself 
 and, supposing you can prove it, I will listen to you. If you 
 are ever to set republican institutions going in the Old 
 World there is the only motive power that will do it!" 
 
 I was indignant at such sentiments. "My glorious hus- 
 band " I began, again. 
 
 "Would have died rather than appeal to the meanest 
 instincts of his fellow-creatures. Just so ! There was his 
 mistake. That's why he never could make any thipg of the 
 republic. That's why the republic is the rickety child of 
 the political family. Quod erat demonstrandum" said Nu- 
 gent Dubourg, finishing me off with a pleasant smile, and an 
 easy indicative gesture of the hand which said, "Now I have 
 settled these three people in succession, I am equally well 
 satisfied with myself and with them !" 
 
 His smile was irresistible. Bent as I was on disputing the 
 degrading conclusions at which he had arrived, I really had 
 not fire enough in me at the moment to feed my own indig- 
 nation. As to Reverend Finch, he sat silently swelling in a 
 corner; digesting as he best might the discovery that there 
 was another man in the world, besides the Rector of Dim- 
 church, with an excellent opinion of himself, and with per- 
 fectly unassailable confidence and fluency in expressing it. 
 In the momentary silence that now followed, Oscar got his 
 first opportunity of speaking. He had, thus far, been quite 
 content to admire his clever brother. He now advanced to 
 me, and asked what had become of Lucilla. 
 
 " The servant told me she was here," he said. " I am so 
 anxious to introduce her to Nugent." 
 
 Nugent put his arm affectionately round his brother's 
 neck, and gave him a hug. "Dear old boy! I am just as 
 anxious as you are." 
 
 "Lucilla went out a little while since," I said, "to take a 
 turn in the garden." 
 
 "I'll go and find her," said Oscar. "Wait here, Nugent. 
 I'll bring her in." 
 
 lie left the room. Before he could close the door one of 
 the servants appeared, to claim Mrs. Finch's private ear on 
 some mysterious domestic emergency. Nugent facetiously 
 entreated her, as she passed him, to clear her mind of preju- 
 
 (i -J
 
 154 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 dice, and consider the question of infant petticoats on its 
 own merits. Mr. Finch took offense at this second reference 
 to the subject. He rose to follow his wife. 
 
 " When you are a married man, Mr. Dubourg," said the 
 rector, severely, "you will learn to leave the management of 
 an infant in its mother's hands." 
 
 "There's another mistake!" remarked Nugent, following 
 him, with unabated good-humor, to the door. " A married 
 man's idea of another man as a husband, always begins and 
 ends with his idea of himself." He turned to me as the door 
 closed on Mr. Finch. "Now we are alone, Madame Prato- 
 lungo," he said, "I want to speak to you about Miss Finch. 
 There is an opportunity before she comes in. Oscar's letter 
 only told me that she was blind. I am naturally interested 
 in every thing that relates to my brother's future wife. I 
 am particularly interested about this affliction of hers. May 
 I ask how long she has been blind?" 
 
 "Since she was a year old," I replied. 
 
 "Through an accident?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "After a fever? or a disease of any other sort?" 
 
 I began to feel a little surprised at his entering into these 
 medical details. 
 
 "I never heard that it was through a fever or other ill- 
 ness," I said. "So far as I know, the blindness came on 
 unexpectedly, from some cause that did not express itself to 
 the people about her at the time." 
 
 He drew his chair confidentially nearer to mine. "How 
 old is she ?" he asked. 
 
 I began to feel more than a little surprised, and I showed 
 it, I suppose, on telling him Lucilla's age. 
 
 "As tilings are now," he explained, " there are reasons 
 which make me hesitate to enter on the question of Miss 
 Finch's blindness either with my brother or with any mem- 
 bers of the family. I must wait to speak about it to them 
 until I can speak to good practical purpose. There is no 
 harm in my starting the subject with you. When she first 
 lost her sight, no means of restoring it were left untried, of 
 course ?" 
 
 "I should suppose not," I replied. "It's so long since, I 
 have never asked."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 155 
 
 " So long since," he repeated ; and then considered for a 
 moment. 
 
 His reflections ended in a last question : 
 
 " She is resigned, I suppose and every body about her is 
 resigned to the idea of her being hopelessly blind for life?" 
 
 Instead of answering him, I put a question on my side. 
 My heart was beginning to beat rapidly, without my know- 
 ing why. 
 
 " Mr. Nugent Dubourg," I said, " what have you got in 
 your mind about Lucilla?" 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo," he replied, " I have got something 
 in my mind which was put into it by a friend of mine whom 
 I met in America." 
 
 " The friend you mentioned in your letter to your brother ?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 " The German gentleman whom you propose to introduce 
 to Oscar and Lucilla?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "May I ask who he is?" 
 
 Nugent Dubourg looked at me attentively, considered with 
 himself for the second time, and answered in these words : 
 
 " He is the greatest living authority and the greatest liv- 
 ing operator in diseases of the eye." 
 
 The idea in his mind burst its way into my mind in a 
 moment. 
 
 " Gracious God !" I exclaimed ; " are you mad enough to 
 suppose that Lucilla's sight can be restored, after a blindness 
 of one-and-twcnty years ?" 
 
 He suddenly held up his hand, in sign to me to be silent. 
 
 At the same moment the door opened, and Lucilla (follow- 
 ed by Oscar) entered the room. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH. 
 
 HE SEES LUCILLA. 
 
 THE first impression which Poor Miss Finch produced on 
 Nugent Dubourg was precisely the same as the first impres- 
 sion which she had produced on me. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" he cried. "The Dresden Madonna! 
 The Virgin of San Sisto !"
 
 156 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Lucilla had already heard from me of her extraordinary 
 resemblance to the chief figure in Raphael's renowned pic- 
 ture. Nugent's blunt outburst of recognition passed unno- 
 ticed by her. She stopped short in the middle of the room 
 startled, the instant he spoke, by the extraordinary simi- 
 larity of his tone and accent to the tone and accent of his 
 brother's voice. 
 
 " Oscar," she asked, nervously, " are you behind me ? or 
 in front of me?" Oscar laughed, and answered "Here!" 
 speaking behind her. She turned her head toward the place 
 in front of her, from which Nugent had spoken. "Your 
 voice is \vonderfully like Oscar's," she said, addressing him 
 timidly. "Is your face exactly like his face loo? May I 
 judge for myself of the likeness between you? I can only 
 do it in one way by my touch." 
 
 Oscar advanced, and placed a chair for his brother by Lu- 
 cilla's side. 
 
 "She has eyes in the tips of her fingers," he said. "Sit 
 down, Nugent, and let her pass her hand over your face." 
 
 Nugent obeyed him in silence. Now that the first im- 
 pression of surprise had passed away, I observed that a 
 marked change was beginning to assert itself in his manner. 
 
 Little by little, an unnatural constraint got possession of 
 him. His fluent tongue found nothing to talk about. His 
 easy movements altered in the strangest way until they al- 
 most became the movements of a slow, awkward man. He 
 was more like his brother than ever, as he sat down in the 
 chair to submit himself to Lucilla's investigation. She had 
 produced, at first sight as well as I could judge some im- 
 pression on him for which he had not been prepared ; caus- 
 ing some mental disturbance in him which he was for the 
 moment quite unable to control. His eyes looked up at her, 
 spell-bound ; his color came and went ; his breath quickened 
 audibly when her fingers touched his face. 
 
 "What's the matter?" said Oscar, looking at him in sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter," he answered, in the low absent 
 tone of a man whose mind was secretly pursuing its own 
 train of thought. 
 
 Oscar said no more. Once, twice, three times Lucilla's 
 hand passed slowly over Nugent's face. He submitted to it
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 157 
 
 silently, gravely, immovably a perfect contrast to the talk- 
 ative, lively young man of half an hour since. Lucilla em- 
 ployed a much longer time in examining him than she had 
 occupied in examining me. 
 
 While the investigation was proceeding, I had leisure to 
 think again over what had passed between Nugent and me 
 on the subject of Lucilla's blindness before she entered the 
 room. J\Iy mind had by this time recovered its balance. I 
 was able to ask myself what this young fellow's daring idea 
 was really worth. "Was it within the range of possibility 
 that a sense so delicate as the sense of sight, lost for one-and- 
 twenty years, could be restored by any means short of a mir- 
 acle? It was monstrous to suppose it: the thing could not 
 be. If there had been the faintest chance of giving my poor 
 dear back the blessing of sight, that chance would have been 
 tried by competent persons years and years since. I was 
 ashamed of myself for having been violently excited at the 
 moment by the new thought which Nugent had started in 
 my mind ; I was honestly indignant at his uselessly disturb- 
 ing me with the vainest of all vain hopes. The one wise 
 thing to do in the future was to caution this flighty and in- 
 consequent young man to keep his mad notion about Lucilla 
 to himself and to dismiss it from my own thoughts at once 
 and forever. 
 
 Just as I arrived at that sensible resolution, I was recalled 
 to what was going on in the room by Lucilla's voice, ad- 
 dressing me by my name. 
 
 "The likeness is wonderful," she said. "Still, I think I 
 can find a difference between them." 
 
 (The only difference between them was in the contrast of 
 complexion and in the contrast of manner both these being 
 dissimilarities which appealed more or less directly to the 
 eye.) 
 
 "What difference do you find?" I asked. 
 
 She slowly came toward me, with an anxious, perplexed 
 face, pondering as she advanced. 
 
 "I can't explain it," *he answered, after a long silence. 
 
 When Lucilla left him, Nugent rose from his chair. I'r 
 abruptly almost roughly took his brother's hand, lie 
 spoke to his brother in a strangely excited, feverish, head- 
 long way.
 
 158 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "My dear fellow, now I have seen her, I congratulate you 
 more heartily than ever. She is charming; she is unique. 
 Oscar ! I could almost envy you, if you were any one else !" 
 
 Oscar was radiant with delight. His brother's opinion 
 ranked above all human opinions in his estimation. Before 
 he could say a word in return, Nugent left him as abruptly 
 as he had approached him; walking away by himself to the 
 window and standing there, looking out. 
 
 Lucilla had not heard him. She was still pondering, with 
 the same perplexed face. The likeness between the twins 
 was apparently weighing on her mind an unsolved prob- 
 lem that vexed and irritated it. Without any thing said by 
 me to lead to resuming the subject, she returned obstinately 
 to the assertion that she had just made. 
 
 "I tell you again I am sensible of a difference between 
 them," she repeated "though you don't seem to believe 
 me." 
 
 I interpreted this uneasy reiteration as meaning that she 
 was rather trying to convince herself than to convince me. 
 In her blind condition it was doubly and trebly embarrassing 
 not to know one brother from the other. I understood her 
 unwillingness to acknowledge this I felt (in her position) 
 how it would have irritated me. She was waiting impa- 
 tiently waiting for me to say something on my side. I am, 
 as you know already, an indiscreet woman. I innocently 
 said one of my rash things. 
 
 "I believe whatever you tell me, my dear," I answered. 
 "You can find out a difference between them, I have no 
 doubt. Still, I own I should like to see it put to the proof." 
 
 Her color rose. "How?" she asked, abruptly. 
 
 "Try your touch alternately on both their faces," I sug- 
 gested, "without knowing beforehand which position they 
 each of them occupy. Make three trials leaving them to 
 change their places or not, between each trial, just as they 
 please. If you guess which is which correctly three times 
 following, there will be the proof that you can really lay 
 your hand on a difference between them." 
 
 Lucilla shrank from accepting the challenge. She drew 
 back a step, and silently shook her head. Nugent, who had 
 overheard me, turned round suddenly from the window, and 
 supported my proposal.
 
 PCOH MISS FINCH. 161 
 
 "A capitnl notion!" he burst out. "Let's try it! You 
 don't object, Oscar do you ?" 
 
 "I object?" cried Oscar, amazed at the bare idea of his op- 
 posing any assertion of his will to the assertion of his brother's 
 will. " If Lucilla is willing, I say Yes with all my heart." 
 
 The two brothers approached us, arm in arm. Lucilla, 
 very reluctantly, allowed herself to be persuaded into trying 
 the experiment. Two chairs, exactly alike, were placed in 
 front of her. At a sign from Nugent, Oscar silently took 
 the chair on her right. By this arrangement the hand which 
 she had used in touching Nugent's face would be now the 
 hand that she would employ in touching Oscar's face. When 
 they were both seated I announced that we were ready. Lu- 
 cilla placed her hands on their faces, right and left, without 
 the faintest idea in her mind of the positions which the two 
 relatively occupied. 
 
 After first touching them with both hands, and both to- 
 gether, she tried them separately next, beginning with Os- 
 car, and using her right hand only. She left him for Nu- 
 gent; again using her right hand then came back to him 
 again then returned to Nugent hesitated decided tap- 
 ped Nugent lightly on the head. 
 
 "Oscar!" she said. 
 
 Nugent burst out laughing. The laugh told her, before 
 any of us could speak, that she had made a mistake at the 
 first attempt. 
 
 "Try again, Lucilla," said Oscar, kindly. 
 
 "Never," she answered, angrily stepping back from both 
 of them. "One mystification is enough." 
 
 Nugent tried next to persuade her to renew the experi- 
 ment. She checked him sternly at the first word. 
 
 "Do you think, if I won't do it for Oscar," she said, "that 
 I would do it for you ? You laughed at me. What was 
 there to laugh at? Your brother's features are your feat- 
 ures ; your brother's hair is your hair ; your brother's height 
 is your height. What is there so very ridiculous with such 
 a resemblance as that in a poor blind girl like me mistak- 
 ing 'you one for the other? I wish to preserve a good opin- 
 ion of you, for Oscar's sake. Don't turn me into ridicule 
 again, or I shall be forced to think that your brother's good 
 lu-art is not yours also !"
 
 162 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Nugent and Oscar looked at each other, petrified by this 
 sudden outbreak; Nugent, of the two, being the most com- 
 pletely overwhelmed by it. 
 
 I attempted to interfere and put things right. My easy 
 philosophy and my volatile French nature failed to see any 
 adequate cause for this vehement exhibition of resentment 
 on Lucilla's part. Something in my tone, as I suppose, only 
 added to her irritation. I, in my turn, was checked sternly 
 at the first word. "You proposed it," sshe said; "you are 
 the most to blame." I hastened to make my apologies (in- 
 wardly remarking that the habit of raising a storm in a tea- 
 cup is a growing habit with the rising generation in En- 
 gland). Nugent followed me with more apologies on his 
 side. Oscar supported us with his superior influence. He 
 took Lucilla's hand, kissed it, and whispered something in 
 her ear. The kiss and the whisper acted like a charm. She 
 held out her hand to Nugent; she put her arm round my 
 neck and embraced me with all her own grace and sweet- 
 ness. "Forgive me," she said to us, gently. "I wish I 
 could learn to be patient. But oh, Mr. Nugent, it is some- 
 times so hard to be blind !" I can repeat the words; but I 
 can give no idea of the touching simplicity with which they 
 were spoken of her innocently earnest anxiety to win her 
 pardon. She so affected Nugent that he too after a look 
 at Oscar which said, "May I?" kissed the hand that she 
 offered to him. As his lips touched her she started. The 
 bright flush which always indicated the sudden rising of a 
 thought in her mind flew over her face. She unconsciously 
 held Nuo-ent's hand in her own, absorbed in the interest of 
 
 ~ ' 
 
 realizing the new thought. For a moment she stood, still as 
 a statue, consulting with herself. The moment passed, she 
 diopped Nugcnt's hand and turned brightly to me. 
 
 " Will you think me very obstinate ?" she asked. 
 
 " Why, my love ?" 
 
 "I am not satisfied yet. I want to try again." 
 
 " No ! no ! At any rate, not to-day." 
 
 "I want to try again," she repeated. "Not in your way. 
 In a way of my own that has just come into my head." She 
 turned to Oscar. " Will you humor me in this ?" It is need- 
 less to set down Oscar's reply. She turned to Nugent. "Will 
 you ?"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 163 
 
 "Only say wnat you wish me to do !" he answered. 
 
 " Go with your brother," she said, " to the other end of the 
 room. I know where you are each of you standing at this 
 end. Madame Pratolungo will lead me to the place, and 
 will put me just within reach of both your hands. I want 
 each of you in turn (arrange by a sign between yourselves 
 which is to begin) to take my hand, and hold it for a moment, 
 and then drop it. I have an idea that I can distinguish be- 
 tween you in that way and I want very much to try it." 
 
 The brothers went silently to the other end of the room. 
 I led Lucilla, after them, to the place in which they stood. 
 At my suggestion Nugent was the first to take her hand, 
 as she had requested, to hold it for a moment, and then to 
 drop it. 
 
 "Nugent !" she said, without the slightest hesitation. 
 
 " Quite right," I answered. 
 
 She laughed gayly. u Go on ! Puzzle me if you possibly 
 can." 
 
 The brothers noiselessly changed places. Oscar took her 
 hand, standing exactly where Nugent had stood. 
 
 " Oscar !" she said. 
 
 " Right again," I told her. 
 
 At a sign from Nugent, Oscar took her hand for the sec- 
 ond time. She repeated his name. At a sign from me the 
 brothers noiselessly placed themselves one on either side of 
 her Oscar on the left, Nugent on the right. I gave them 
 the signal, and they each took one of her hands at the same 
 moment. This time she waited a little longer before she 
 spoke. When she did speak she was right once more. She 
 turned, smiling, toward the left side, pointed to him as he 
 stood by her, and said, "Oscar!" 
 
 We were all three equally surprised. I examined Oscar's 
 hand and Nugent's hand alternately. Except the fatal dif- 
 ference in the color, they were, to all intents and purposes, 
 the same hands the same si./e, the same shape, the same 
 texture of skin; no scar or mark on the hand of one to dis- 
 tinguish it from the hand of the other. By what mysterious 
 process of divination had she succeeded in discovering which 
 was which ? 
 
 She was unwilling, or unable, to reply to that question 
 plainly.
 
 164 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Something in mo answers to one of them and not to the 
 other," she said. 
 
 "What is it?" I asked. 
 
 u I don't know. It answers to Oscar. It doesn't answer 
 to Nugent that's all." 
 
 She stopped any further inquiries by proposing that we 
 should finish the evening with some music in her own sitting- 
 room, on the other side of the house. When we were seated 
 together at the piano-forte with the twin brothers establish- 
 ed as our audience at the other end of the room she whis- 
 pered in my ear, 
 
 "I'll tellyow/" 
 
 "Tell me what?" 
 
 " How I know which is which, when they both of them 
 take my hand. When Oscar takes it, a delicious tingle runs 
 from his hand into mine, and steals all over me. I can't de- 
 scribe it any better than that." 
 
 " I understand. And when Nugent takes your hand, what 
 do you feel ?" 
 
 " Nothing !" 
 
 "And that is how you found out the difference between 
 them down stairs?" 
 
 " That is how I shall always find out the difference between 
 them. If Oscar's brother ever attempts to play tricks upon 
 my blindness (he is quite capable of it he laughed at my 
 blindness !), that is how I shall find him out. I told you be- 
 fore I saw him that I hated him. I hate him still." 
 
 "MydearLucillal" 
 
 " I hate him still !" 
 
 She struck the first chords on the piano with an obstinate 
 frown on her pretty brow. Our little evening concert began. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH. 
 
 HE PUZZLES MADAME PKATOLUNGO. 
 
 I WAS far from sharing Lucilla's opinion of Nugent Du- 
 bourg. 
 
 His enormous self-confidence was, to my mind, too amus- 
 ing to be in the least offensive. I liked the spirit and gayety 
 of the young fellow. He came much nearer than his brother
 
 POOK MISS FINCH. 1C5 
 
 did to my ideal of the dash and resolution which ought to 
 distinguish a man on the right side of thirty. So far as my 
 experience of them went, Nugent was (in the popular En- 
 glish phrase) good company, and Oscar was not. My na- 
 tionality leads me to attach great importance to social qual- 
 ities. The higher virtues of a man only show themselves oc- 
 casionally on compulsion. His social qualities come familiar- 
 ly in contact with us every day of our lives. I like to be 
 cheerful : I am all for the social qualities. 
 
 There was one little obstacle in those early days which set 
 itself up between my sympathies and Nugent. 
 
 I was thoroughly at a loss to understand the impression 
 which Lucilla had produced on him. 
 
 The same constraint which had, in such a marked manner, 
 subdued him at his first interview with her, still lettered him 
 in the time when they became better acquainted with one 
 another. He was never in high spirits in her presence. Mr. 
 Finch could talk him down without difficulty if Mr. Finch's 
 daughter happened to be by. Even when he was vaporing 
 about himself, and telling us of the wonderful things he 
 meant to do in Painting, Lucilla's appearance was enough to 
 check him, if she happened to come into the room. On the 
 first day when he showed me his American sketches (I de- 
 fine them, if you ask my private opinion, as false pretenses 
 of Art, by a dashing amateur) on that day he was in full 
 flow, marching up and down the room, smacking his fore- 
 head, and announcing himself quite gravely as " the coming 
 man " in landscape painting. " My mission, Madame Prato- 
 lungo, is to reconcile Humanity and Nature. I propose to 
 show (on an immense scale) how Nature (in her grandest as- 
 pects) can adapt herself to the spiritual wants of mankind. 
 In your joy or your sorrow Nature has subtile sympathies 
 with you, if you only know where to look for them. My pict- 
 ures no! my poems in color will show you. Multiply 
 my works, as they certainly will be multiplied, by means of 
 prints, and what does Art become in my hands? A Priest- 
 hood! In what aspect do I present myself to the public? 
 As a mere landscape painter? No! As Grand Consoler !" 
 In the midst of this rhapsody (how wonderfully he resem- 
 bled Oscar in his bursts of excitement while he was talking !) 
 in the full torrent of his predictions of his own coming
 
 166 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 greatness Lucilla quietly entered the room. The " Grand 
 Consoler" shut up his port-folio, dropped Painting on the 
 spot, asked for Music, and sat down, a model of conventional 
 propriety, in a corner of the room. I inquired afterward why 
 lie had checked himself when she came in. "Did I?" he said. 
 " I don't know why." The thing was really inexplicable. 
 He honestly admired her; one had only to notice him when 
 he was looking at her to see it. He had not the faintest sus- 
 picion of her dislike for him ; she carefully concealed it for 
 Oscar's sake. He felt genuine sympathy for her in her afflic- 
 tion : his mad idea that her sight might yet be restored was 
 the natural offspring of a true feeling for her. He was not 
 unfavorable to his brother's marriage on the contrary, he 
 ruffled the rector's dignity (he was always giving offense to 
 Mr. Finch) by suggesting that the marriage might be has- 
 tened. I heard him say the words myself: "The church is 
 close by. Why can't you put on your surplice and make Os- 
 car happy to-morrow after breakfast?" More even than this, 
 he showed the most vivid interest like a woman's interest 
 rather than a man's in learning how the love-affair between 
 Oscar and Lucilla had begun. 1 referred him, so far as Oscar 
 was concerned, to his brother as the fountain-head of infor- 
 mation. He did not decline to consult his brother. He did 
 not own to me that he felt any difficulty in doing so. He 
 simply dropped Oscar in silence, and asked about Lucilla. 
 How had it begun on her side ? I reminded him of his broth- 
 er's romantic position at Dimchurch, and told him to judge 
 for himself of the effect it would produce on the excitable 
 imagination of a young girl. He declined to judge for him- 
 self; he persisted in appealing to me. When I told the lit- 
 tle love-story of the two young people, one event in it ap- 
 peared to make a very strong impression on him. The effect 
 produced on Lucilla (when she first heard it) by the sound 
 of his brother's voice dwelt strangely on his mind. He fail- 
 ed to understand it ; he ridiculed it ; he declined to believe 
 it. I was obliged to remind him that Lucilla was blind, and 
 that love, which, in other cases, first finds its way to the heart 
 through the eyes, could only, in her case, first find its way 
 through the ears. My explanation, thus offered, had its ef- 
 fect : it set him thinking. " The sound of his voice !" lie said 
 to himself, still turning the problem over and over in his
 
 TOOK MISS FINCH. 167 
 
 mind. "People say ray voice is exactly like Oscar's," ho 
 added, suddenly addressing himself to me; "do you think 
 so too?" I answered that there could be no doubt of it. Ho 
 got up from his chair with a quick little shudder, like a man 
 who feels a chill, and changed the subject. On the next oc- 
 casion when he and Lucilla met, so far from being more fa- 
 miliar with her, he was more constrained than ever. As it 
 had begun between these two, so it seemed likely to continue 
 to the end. In my society he was always at his ease; in 
 Lucilla's society, never ! 
 
 What was the obvious conclusion which a person with my 
 experience ought to have drawn from all this? 
 
 I know well enough what it was, now. On my onth, as an 
 honest woman, I failed to see it at the time. We are not al- 
 ways (suffer me to remind you) consistent with ourselves. 
 The cleverest people commit occasional lapses into stupidity 
 just as the stupid people light up with gleams of intelli- 
 gence at certain times. You may have shown your usual 
 good sense in conducting your affairs on Monday, Tuesday, 
 and Wednesday in the week; but it doesn't at all follow 
 from this that you may not make a fool of yourself on Thurs- 
 day. Account for it as you may, for a much longer time than 
 it suits my self-esteem to reckon up I suspected nothing and 
 discovered nothing. I noted his behavior in Lucilla's pres- 
 ence as odd behavior and unaccountable behavior and that 
 was all. 
 
 During the first fortnight just mentioned the London doc- 
 tor came to see Oscar. 
 
 He left again, perfectly satisfied with the results of his , 
 treatment. The dreadful epileptic mnlady would torture 
 the patient and shock the friends about him no more: the 
 marriage might safely be celebrated at the time agreed on. 
 Oscar was cured. 
 
 The doctor's visit reviving our interest in observing the 
 effect of the medicine also revived the subject of Oscar's 
 false position toward Lucilla. Nugent and I held a debate 
 about it bet ween ourselves. I opened the interview by sug- 
 gesting that we should unite our forces to persuade his 
 brother into taking the frank and manly course. Nugent 
 neither said Yes nor No to that proposal at the outset. He,
 
 168 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 who inside up his mind at a moment's notice about every 
 thing else, took time to decide on this one occasion. 
 
 " There is something that I want to know first," lie said. 
 " I want to understand this curious antipathy of Lucilla's, 
 which my brother regards with so much alarm. Can you 
 explain it?" 
 
 "Has Oscar attempted to explain it?" I inquired on my 
 side. 
 
 "He mentioned it in one of his letters to me; and he tried 
 to explain it, when I asked (on my arrival at Browndown) if 
 Lucilla had discovered the change in his complexion. But 
 he failed entirely to meet my difficulty in understanding the 
 case." 
 
 " What is your difficulty ?" 
 
 "This. So far as I can see, she fails to discover intuitive- 
 ly the presence of dark people in a room, or of dark colors in 
 the ornaments of a room. It is only when s/ie is told that 
 such persons or such things are present that her prejudice 
 declares itself. In what state of mind does such a strange 
 feeling as this take its rise? It seems impossible that she 
 can have any conscious associations with colors, pleasant or 
 painful if it is true that she was blind at a year old. How 
 do you account for it? Can there be such a thing as a pure- 
 ly instinctive antipathy, remaining passive until external in- 
 fluences rouse it, and resting on no sort of practical experi- 
 ence whatever?" 
 
 " I think there may be," I replied. " Why, when I was a 
 child just able to walk, did I shrink away from the first dog 
 I saw who barked at me ? I could not have known at that 
 age, either by experience or teaching, that a dog's bark is 
 sometimes the prelude to a dog's bite. My terror, on that 
 occasion, was purely instinctive, surely ?" 
 
 "Ingeniously put," he said. " But I am not satisfied yet." 
 
 "You must also remember," I continued, " that she has a 
 positively painful association with dark colors on certain oc- 
 casions. They sometimes produce a disagreeable impression 
 on the nerves through her sense of touch. She discovered 
 in that way that I had a dark gown on on the day when I 
 first saw her." 
 
 "And yet she touches my brother's face, and fails to ens- 
 cover any alteration in it."
 
 roou MISS FINCH. 1C9 
 
 I met that objection also to my own satisfaction, though 
 not to his. 
 
 " I am far from sure that she might not have made the dis- 
 covery," I said, "if she had touched him for the first time 
 since the discoloration of his face. But she examines him 
 now with a settled impression in her mind, derived from pre- 
 vious experience of what she has felt in touching his skin. 
 Allow for the modifying influence of that impression on her 
 sense of touch and remember, at the same time, that it is the 
 color and not the texture of the skin that is changed and his 
 escape from discovery becomes, to my mind, intelligible." 
 
 He shook his head ; he owned he could not dispute my 
 view. But he was not content, for all that. 
 
 " Have you made any inquiries," he asked, " about the pe- 
 riod of her infancy before she was blind ? She may be still 
 feeling, indirectly and unconsciously, the effect of some shock 
 to her nervous system in the time when she could see." 
 
 " I have never thought of making inquiries." 
 
 "Is there any body within our reach who was familiarly 
 associated with her in the first year of her life? It is hardly 
 likely, I am afraid, at this distance of time." 
 
 "There is a person now in the house," I said. "Her old 
 nurse is still living." 
 
 " Send for her directly." 
 
 Zillah appeared. After first explaining what he wanted 
 with her, Nugent went straight to the inquiry which he had 
 in view. 
 
 "Was your young lady ever frightened when she was a 
 baby by any dark person, or any dark thing, suddenly ap- 
 pearing before her?" 
 
 " Never, Sir ! I took good care to let nothing come near 
 her that could frighten her so long, poor little thing, as she 
 could see." 
 
 "Are you quite sure you can depend on your memory?" 
 
 " Quite sure, Sir when it's a long time ago." 
 
 Zillah was dismissed. Nugent thus far unusually grave 
 and unusually anxious turned to me with an air of relief. 
 
 "When you proposed to me to join you in forcing Oscar 
 to speak out," he said, "I was not quite easy in my mind 
 about the consequences. After what I have just heard, my 
 tear is removed." 
 
 H
 
 170 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "What fear?" I asked. 
 
 " The fear of Oscar's confession producing an estrangement 
 between them which might delay the marriage. I am against 
 all delay. I am especially anxious that Oscar's marriage 
 should not be put off. When we began our conversation I 
 own to you I was of Oscar's opinion that he would do wise- 
 ly to let marriage make him sure of his position in her affec- 
 tions before he risked the disclosure. Now after what the 
 nurse has told us I see no risk worth considering." 
 
 " In short," I said, " you agree with me." 
 
 "I agree with you though I am the most opinionated 
 man living. The chances now seem to me to be all in Os- 
 car's favor. Lucilla's antipathy is not what I feared it was 
 an antipathy firmly rooted in a constitutional malady. It is 
 nothing more serious," said Nugent, deciding the question, 
 at once and forever, with the air of a man profoundly versed 
 in physiology " it is nothing more serious than a fanciful 
 growth, a morbid accident, of her blindness. She may live 
 to get over it she would, I believe, certainly get over it if 
 she could see. In two words, after what I have found out 
 this morning, I say as you say Oscar is making a mountain 
 out of a mole-hill. He ought to have put himself right with 
 Lucilla long since. I have unbounded influence over him. 
 It shall back your influence. Oscar shall make a clean breast 
 of it before the week is out." 
 
 We shook hands on that bargain. As I looked at him 
 bright and dashing and resolute Oscar, as I had always 
 wished Oscar to be I own, to my shame, I privately regret- 
 ted that we had not met Nugent in the twilight on that 
 evening walk of ours which had opened to Lucilla the gates 
 of a new life. 
 
 Having said to each other all that we had to say our two 
 lovers being away together, at the time, for a walk on the 
 hills we separated, as I then supposed, for the rest of the 
 day. Nugent went to the inn to look at a stable which he- 
 proposed converting into a studio : no room at Browndown 
 being half large enough for the first prodigious picture with 
 which the "Grand Consoler" in Art proposed to astonish 
 the world. As for me, having nothing particular to do, I 
 went out to see if I could meet Oscar and Lucilla on their 
 return from their walk.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 173 
 
 Failing to find them, I strolled back by way of Brown- 
 dowiL Nugent was sitting alone on the low wall in front 
 ol the house, smoking a cigar. He rose and came to meet 
 me, with liis finger placed mysteriously on his lips. 
 
 " You mustn't come in," he said ; " and you mustn't speak 
 loud enough to be heard." He pointed round the corner of 
 the house to the little room at the side, already familiar to 
 you in these pages. " Oscar and Lucilla are shut up together 
 there. And Oscar is making his confession to her at this 
 moment." 
 
 I lifted my hands and eyes in astonishment. Nugent 
 went on : 
 
 "I see you want to know how it has all come about. You 
 shall know. While I was looking at the stable (it isn't half 
 big enough for a studio for Me !) Oscar's servant brought 
 me a little pencil note, entreating me, in Oscar's name, to go 
 to him directly at Browndown. I found him Availing out 
 here, dreadfully agitated. He cautioned me (just as I have 
 cautioned you) not to speak loud. For the same reason too. 
 Lucilla was in the house 
 
 " I thought they had gone out for a walk," I interposed. 
 
 "They did go out for a walk. But Lucilla complained of 
 fatigue ; and Oscar brought her back to Browndown to rest. 
 Well, I inquired what was the matter. The answer informed 
 me that the secret of Oscar's complexion had forced its way 
 out, for the second time, in Lucilla's hearing." 
 
 " Jicks again !" I exclaimed. 
 
 " No not Jicks. Oscar's own man-servant this time." 
 
 " How did it happen ?" 
 
 "It happened through one of the boys in the village. 
 Oscar and Lucilla found the little imp howling outside the 
 house. They asked what was the matter. The imp told 
 them that the servant at Browndown had beaten him. Lu- 
 cilla was indignant. She insisted on having the tiling in- 
 quired into. Oscar left her in the drawing-room (unluckily, 
 as it turned out, without shutting the door), called the man 
 up into the passage, and asked what he meant by ill-using 
 the boy. The man answered, 'I boxed his ears, Sir, as an 
 example to the rest of them.' ' What did he do ?' ' Rapped 
 :vt the door, Sir, with a stick (lie is not the first who has done 
 it when you are out), and asked if Blue Face was at horn; 1 ,'
 
 174 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Lucilla heard every word of it through the open door. Need 
 I tell you what happened next?" 
 
 It was quite needless to relate that part of the story. I 
 remembered too well what had happened on the former oc- 
 casion in the garden. I saw too plainly that Lucilla must 
 have connected the two occurrences in her mind, and must 
 have had her ready suspicion roused to serious action on the 
 necessary result. 
 
 " I understand," I said. " Of course she insisted on an 
 explanation. Of course Oscar compromised himself by a 
 clumsy excuse, and wanted you to help him. What did you 
 do?" 
 
 " What I told you I should do this morning. He had 
 counted confidently on my taking his side it was pitiable 
 to see him, poor fellow ! Still, for his own sake, I refused to 
 yield. I left him the choice of giving her. the true explana- 
 tion himself, or of leaving me to do it. There wasn't a 
 moment to lose ; she was in no humor to be trifled with, I 
 can tell you ! Oscar behaved very well about it he always 
 behaves well when I drive him into a corner. In one word, 
 he was man enough to feel that he was the right person to 
 make a clean breast of it not I. I gave the poor old boy a 
 .hug to encourage him, pushed him into the room, shut the 
 door on him, and came out here. He ought to have done it 
 by this time. He has done it ! Here he comes !" 
 
 Oscar ran out, bare-headed, from the house. There were 
 signs of disturbance in him as he approached us, which warned 
 me that something had gone wrong before he opened his lips. 
 
 Nugent spoke first. 
 
 "What's amiss now?" he asked. "Have you told her the 
 truth ?" 
 
 "I have tried to tell her the truth." 
 
 " Tried ? What do you mean ?" 
 
 Oscar put his arm round his brother's neck, and laid his 
 head on his brother's shoulder, without answering a word. 
 
 I put a question to him on my side. 
 
 "Did Lucilla refuse to listen to you?" I asked. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Has she said any thing, or done any thing " 
 
 He lifted his head from his brother's shoulder, and stopped 
 me before I could finish the sentence.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 175 
 
 "You need feel no anxiety about Lucilla. Lucilla's curios- 
 ity is satisfied." 
 
 "Is she satisfied with you?" 
 
 He dropped his head back on his brother's shoulder, and 
 answered, faintly, "Perfectly satisfied." 
 
 Nugent and I gazed at one another in complete bewildei'- 
 rnent. Lucilla had heard it all; Lucilla was on the same 
 good terms with him as ever. He had that incredibly happy 
 result to communicate to us, and he announced it with a 
 look of humiliation, in a tone of despair ! Nugent's patience 
 gave way. 
 
 "Let us have an end of this mystification," he said, putting 
 Oscar back from him, sharply, at arms-length. " I want a 
 plain answer to a plain question. She knows that the boy 
 knocked at the door and asked if Blue Face was at home. 
 Does she know what the boy's impudence meant? Yes or 
 no?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Does she know that it is you who are Blue Face?" 
 
 4 < No." 
 
 " No ! ! ! Who else does she think it is ?" 
 
 As he asked the question Lucilla appeared at the door of 
 the house. She moved her blind face inquiringly first one 
 way, then the other. " Oscar !" she called out, " why have 
 you left me alone ? where are you ?" 
 
 Oscar turned, trembling, to his brother. 
 
 "For God's sake forgive me, Nugent!" he said. "She 
 thinks it's You." 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY- SIXTH. 
 
 HE PROVES EQUAL TO THE OCCASION. 
 
 AT that astounding confession, abruptly revealed in those 
 plain words, even resolute Nugent lost all power of self-con- 
 trol. He burst out with a cry which reached Lucilla's ears. 
 She instantly turned toward us, and instantly assumed that 
 the cry had come from Oscar's lips. 
 
 " Ah ! there you arc !" she exclaimed. " Oscar ! Oscar ! 
 what /* the matter with you to-day?" 
 
 Oscar was incapable of answering her. He had cast one
 
 176 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 glance of entreaty at his brother as Lucilla came nearer to 
 us. The mute reproach which had answered him, in Nu- 
 gent's eyes, had broken down his last reserves of endurance. 
 He was crying silently crying like a woman on Nngent's 
 breast. 
 
 It was necessary that somebody should break the silence. 
 I spoke first. 
 
 "Nothing is the matter, my dear," I said, advancing to 
 meet Lucilla. "We were passing the house, and Oscar ran 
 out to stop us and bring us in." 
 
 My excuse roused a new alarm in her. 
 
 " Us ?" she replied. " Who is with you ?" 
 
 " Nugent is with me." 
 
 The result of the deplorable misunderstanding which had 
 taken place instantly declared itself. She turned deadly 
 pale under the horror of feeling blindly that she was in the 
 presence of the man with the blue face. 
 
 "Take me near enough to speak to him, but not to touch 
 him," she whispered. "I have heard what he is like. (Oh, 
 if you saw him, as I see him, in the dork/) I must control 
 myself. I must speak to Oscar's brother, for Oscar's sake." 
 
 She seized my arm and held me close to her. What ought 
 I to have said? What ought I to have, done? I neither 
 knew what to say nor what to do. I looked from Lucilla to 
 the twin brothers. There was Oscar the Weak overwhelmed 
 by the humiliating position in which he had placed himself 
 toward the woman whom he was to marry, toward the broth- 
 er whom he loved ! And there was Nugent the Strong, mas- 
 ter of himself with his arm around his brother, Avith his 
 head erect, with his hand signing to me to keep silence. He 
 was right. I had only to look back at Lucilla's face to see 
 that the delicate and perilous work of undeceiving her was 
 not work to be done at a moment's notice, on the spot. 
 
 "You are not yourself to-day," I said to her. "Let us go 
 home." 
 
 "No!" she answered. "I must accustom myself to speak 
 to him. I will begin to-day. Take me to him but don't 
 let him touch me !" 
 
 Nugent disengaged himself from Oscar whose unfitness 
 to help us through our difficulties was too manifest to be 
 mistaken as he saw us approaching. lie pointed to the
 
 II 2
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 170 
 
 low wall in front of the bouse, and motioned to his brother 
 to wait there out of the way before Lucilla could speak to 
 him again. The wisdom of this proceeding was not long in 
 asserting itself. Lucilla asked for Oscar the moment after 
 he had left us. Nugent answered that Oscar had gone back 
 to the house to get his hat. 
 
 The sound of Nugent's voice helped her to calculate her 
 distance from him without assistance from me. Still hold- 
 ing my arm, she stopped and spoke to him. 
 
 " Nugent," she said, " I have made Oscar tell me what 
 he ought to have told me long since." (She paused between 
 each sentence, painfully controlling herself, painfully catch- 
 ing her breath.) "He has discovered a foolish antipathy of 
 mine. I don't know how; I tried to keep it a secret from 
 him. I need not tell you what it is." 
 
 She made a longer pause at those words, holding me 
 closer and closer to her ; struggling more and more painful- 
 ly against the irresistible nervous loathing that had got pos- 
 session of her. He listened, on his side, with the constraint 
 which always fell upon him in her presence more marked 
 than ever. His eyes were on the ground. He seemed re- 
 luctant even to look at her. 
 
 " I think I understand," she went on, " why Oscar was un- 
 willing to tell me" she stopped, at a loss how to express 
 herself without running the risk of hurting his feelings "to. 
 tell me," she resumed, " what it is in you which is not like 
 other people. He was afraid my stupid weakness might 
 prejudice me against you. I wish to say that I won't let it 
 do that. I never was more ashamed of it than now. I, too, 
 have my misfortune. I ought to sympathize with you, in- 
 stead of" 
 
 Her voice had been growing fainter and fainter as she 
 proceeded. She leaned against me heavily. One glance at 
 her told me that if I let it go on any longer she would fall 
 into a swoon. "Tell your brother that we have gone back 
 to the rectory," I said to Nugent. He looked up at Lucilla 
 for the first time. "You are right," he answered. "Take 
 her home." He repeated the sign by which he had already 
 hinted to me to be silent, and joined Oscar at the wall in 
 front of the house. 
 
 " Has he gone ?" she asked.
 
 180 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 " He has gone." 
 
 The moisture stood thick on her forehead. I passed 
 my handkerchief over her face, and turned her toward the 
 wind. 
 
 " Are you better now ?" 
 
 41 Yes." 
 
 " Can you walk home ?" 
 
 " Easily." 
 
 I put her arm in mine. After advancing with me a few 
 steps she suddenly stopped with a blind apprehension, as it 
 seemed, of something in front of her. She lifted her little 
 walking-cane, and moved it slowly backward and forward in 
 the empty air, with the action of some one who is clearing 
 away an incumbrance to a free advance say the action of a 
 person walking in a thick wood, and pushing aside the lower 
 twigs and branches that intercept the way. 
 
 "What are you about?" I asked. 
 
 "Clearing the air," she answered. "The air is full of him. 
 I am in a forest of hovering figures, with faces of black-blue. 
 Give me your arm. Come through !" 
 
 "Lucilla!" , 
 
 " Don't be angry with me. I am coming to my senses 
 again. Nobody knows what folly, what madness it is, bet- 
 ter than I do. I have a will of my own : suffer as I may, I 
 promise to break myself of it this time. I can't and won't 
 let Oscar's brother see that he is an object of horror to me." 
 She stopped once more, and gave me a little propitiatory 
 kiss. "Blame my blindness, dear, don't blame me. If I 
 could only see Ah, how can I make you understand me, 
 you who don't live in the dark?" She went on a few paces, 
 silent and thoughtful, and then spoke again. " You won't 
 laugh at me if I say something?" 
 
 " You know I won't." 
 
 " Suppose yourself to be in bed at night." 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " I have heard people say that they have sometimes woke 
 in the middle of the night, on a sudden, without any noise 'to 
 disturb them. And they have fancied (without any thing 
 particular to justify it) that there was something, or some- 
 body, in the dark room. Has that ever happened to you ?" 
 
 "Certainly, my love. It has happened to most people to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 181 
 
 fancy what you say when their nerves are a little out of 
 order." 
 
 "Very well. There is my fancy, and there are my nerves. 
 When it happened to you, what did you do?" 
 
 "I struck a light, and satisfied myself that I was wrong." 
 
 "Suppose yourself without candle- or matches, in a night 
 without end, left alone with your fancy in the dark. There 
 you have Me ! It would not be easy, would it, to satisfy 
 yourself if you were in that helpless condition ? You might 
 suffer under it, very unreasonably, and yet very keenly for 
 all that." She lifted her little cane with a sad smile. "You 
 might be almost as great a fool as poorLucilla, and clear the 
 air before you with this !" 
 
 The charm of her voice and the manner added to the 
 touching simplicity, the pathetic truth, of those words. She 
 made me realize, as I had never realized before, what it is to 
 have, at one and the same time, the blessing of imagination 
 and the curse of blindness. For a moment, I was absorbed 
 in my admiration and my love for her. For a moment, I 
 forgot the terrible position in which we were all placed. 
 She unconsciously recalled it to me when she spoke next. 
 
 "Perhaps I was wrong to force the truth out of Oscar," 
 she said, putting her arm again in mine, and walking on. "I 
 might have reconciled myself to his brother, if I had never 
 known what his brother was like. And yet I felt there was 
 something strange in him, without being told, and without 
 knowing what it was. There must have been a reason in 
 me for the dislike that I felt for him from the first." 
 
 Those words appeared to me to indicate the state of mind 
 which had led to Lucilla's deplorable mistake. I cautiously 
 put some questions to her to test the correctness of my own 
 idea. 
 
 'You spoke just now of forcing the truth out of Oscar," 
 I said. " What made you suspect that he was concealing 
 the truth from you ?" 
 
 " He was so strangely embarrassed and confused," she 
 answered. "Any body in my place would have suspected 
 him of concealing the truth." 
 
 So far the answer was conclusive. "And how came you 
 to find out what the truth really was?" I asked next. 
 
 "I guessed at it," she replied, " from something he saici in
 
 182 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 referring to his brother. You know that I took a fanciful 
 dislike to Nugent Dubourg before he came to Dirnchurch?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And you remember that my prejudice against him was 
 confirmed, on the first day when I passed my hand over his 
 face to compare it with his brother's?" 
 
 " I remember." 
 
 " Well while Oscar was rambling and contradicting him- 
 self he said something (a mere trifle) which suggested to 
 me that the person with the blue face must be his brother. 
 There was the explanation that I had sought for in vain 
 the explanation of my persistent dislike to Nugent ! That 
 horrid dark face of his must have produced some influence 
 on me when I first touched it, like the influence which your 
 horrid purple dress produced on me, when I first touched 
 that. Don't you see ?" 
 
 I saw but too plainly. Oscar had been indebted for his 
 escape from discovery entirely to Lucilla's misinterpretation 
 of his language. And Lucilla's misinterpretation now stood 
 revealed as the natural product of her anxiety to account for 
 her prejudice against Nugent Dubourg. Although the mis- 
 chief had been done still, for the quieting of my own con- 
 science, I made an attempt to shake her faith in the false 
 conclusion at which she had arrived. 
 
 "There is one thing I don't see yet," I said. "I don't 
 understand Oscar's embarrassment in speaking to you. As 
 you interpret him, he had nothing to be afraid of, and nothing 
 to make him doubt how you would receive what he said. 
 Why should he be embarrassed ?" 
 
 She smiled satirically. 
 
 "What has become of your memory, my dear?" she asked. 
 " You forget that in speaking to Me of his brother, Oscar 
 was placed between a choice of difficulties. On one side, my 
 dislike of dark colors and dark people warned him to hoM 
 his tongue. On the other, my hatred of having advantage 
 taken of my blindness to keep things secret from me, pressed 
 him to speak out. Isn't that enough with his shy dis- 
 position, poor fellow to account for his being embarrassed? 
 Besides," she added, speaking more seriously, " I let him see 
 in my manner toward him that he had disappointed and 
 pained me."
 
 POOll MISS FINCH. 183 
 
 " How ?" I asked. 
 
 "Don't you remember his once acknowledging in the 
 garden that lie had painted his face, in the character of Blue- 
 beard, to amuse the children ? It was not delicate, it was not 
 affectionate it was not like him to show such insensibility 
 as that to his brother's shocking disfigurement. lie ought to 
 have remembered it, he ought to have respected it. There ! 
 we will say no more. We will go indoors and open the 
 piano and try to forget !" 
 
 Even Oscar's clumsy excuse in the garden instead of 
 arousing her suspicion had lent itself to strengthen the 
 foregone conclusion rooted in her mind ! At that critical 
 moment before I had consulted with the twin-brothers as 
 to what was to be done next it was impossible to say more. 
 I own I felt alarmed when I thought of the future. When 
 she was told as told she must be of the dreadful delusion 
 into which^he had fallen, what would be the result to Oscar? 
 what would be the effect on herself? I own I shrank from 
 pursuing the inquiry. 
 
 When we reached the turn in the valley I looked back at 
 Browndown for the last time. The twin brothers were still 
 in the place at which we had left them. Though the faces 
 were indistinguishable, I could still see tiie figures plainly 
 Oscar sitting crouched upon the wall ; Nugent erect at his 
 Bide, with one hand laid on his shoulder! Even at that dis- 
 tance the types of the two characters were expressed in the 
 attitudes of the two men. As we entered the new winding 
 of the valley which shut them out from view I felt (so easy 
 is it to comfort a woman !) that the commanding position of 
 Nugent had produced its encouraging impression on my 
 mind. "He will find a way out of it," I said to myself. 
 "Nugent will help us through !" 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY- SEVENTH. 
 
 HE FINDS A WAY OUT OF IT. 
 
 WE sat down at the piano, as Lucilla had proposed. She 
 wished me to play first, and to play alone. I was teaching 
 her, at the time, one of the Sonatas of Mozart, and I now 
 tried to go on with the lesson. Never, before or since, have
 
 184 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I played so badly as on that day. The divine serenity and 
 completeness by which Mozart's music is, to my mind, raised 
 above all other music that ever was written can only be 
 worthily interpreted by a player whose whole mind is given 
 undividedly to the work. Devoured as I then was by my 
 own anxieties, I might profane those heavenly melodies I 
 could not play them. Lucilla accepted my excuses, and took 
 my place. 
 
 Half an hour passed without news from Browndown. 
 
 Calculated by reference to itself half an hour is, no doubt, 
 a short space of time. Calculated by reference to your own 
 suspense, while your own interests are at stake, half an horn- 
 is an eternity. Every minute that passed, leaving Lucilla 
 still undisturbed in her delusion, was a minute that pricked 
 me in the conscience. The longer we left her in ignorance, 
 the more painful to all of us the hard duty of enlightening 
 her would become. I began to get restless. Luoilla, on her 
 side, began to complain of fatigue. After the agitation that 
 she had gone through, the inevitable reaction had come. I 
 recommended her to go to her room and rest. She took my 
 advice. In the state of my mind at that time, it was an in- 
 expressible relief to me to be left by myself. 
 
 After pacing backward and forward for some little time 
 in the sitting-room, and trying vainly to see my way through 
 the difficulties that' now beset us, I made up my mind to 
 wait no longer for the news that never came. The brothers 
 were still at Browndown. To Browndown I determined to 
 return. 
 
 I peeped quietly into Lucilla's room. She was asleep. 
 After a word to Zillah, recommending her young mistress to 
 her care, I slipped out. As I crossed the lawn I heard the 
 garden gate opened. In a minute more the man of all others 
 whom I most wanted to see presented himself before mo in 
 the person of Nugent Dubourg. He had borrowed Oscar's 
 key, and had set off alone for the rectory to tell me what had 
 passed between his brother and himself. 
 
 "This is the first stroke of luck that has fallen to me to- 
 day," he said. "I was wondering how I should contrive to 
 speak to you privately. And here you are accessible and 
 alone. Where is Lucilla? Can we depend on having the 
 garden to ourselves'?"
 
 POOR M RS FINCH. 185 
 
 I satisfied him on both those points. He looked sadly pale 
 and worn. Before he opened his lips I saw that he too had 
 had his mind disturbed and his patience tried since I had left 
 him. There was a summer-house at the end of the garden, 
 with a view over the breezy solitude of the Downs. Here 
 we established ourselves ; and here, in my headlong way, I 
 opened the interview with the one formidable question, 
 "Who is to tell her of the mistake that she has made?" 
 
 "Nobody is to tell her." 
 
 That answer staggered me at the outset. I looked at Nu- 
 gent in silent astonishment. 
 
 "There is nothing to be surprised at," he said. "Let me 
 put my point of view before you in two words. I have had 
 a serious talk with Oscar " 
 
 Women are proverbially bad listeners, and I am no better 
 than the rest of them. I interrupted him before he could 
 get any further. 
 
 "Did Oscar tell you how the mistake happened?" I asked. 
 
 "He could no more tell me than you can. He owns 
 when he found himself face to face with her that his pres- 
 ence of mind completely failed him: he didn't himself know 
 what he was saying at the time. He lost his head, and she 
 lost her patience. Think of his nervous confusion in collision 
 with her nervous irritability, and the result explains itself: 
 nothing could come of it but misapprehension and mistake. 
 I turned the thing over in my mind after you had left us; 
 and the one course to take that I could see was to accept 
 the position patiently, and to make the best instead of the 
 worst of it. Having reached this conclusion, I settled the 
 matter (as I settle most other difficulties) by cutting the 
 Gordian knot. I said to Oscar, 'Would it be a relief to your 
 mind to leave her present impression undisturbed until you 
 are married ?' You know him I needn't tell you what his 
 answer was. 'Very well,' I said. 'Dry your eyes and com- 
 pose yourself. I have begun as Blue Face. As Blue Face I 
 will go on till further notice.' I spare you the description 
 of Oscar's gratitude. I proposed, and he accepted. There 
 is the way out of the difficulty as I see it." 
 
 "Your way out of the difficulty is an unworthy way and 
 a false way," I answered. " I protest against taking that 
 cruel advantage of Lucilla's blindness. I refuse to have any 
 thiusr to do with it."
 
 1 8(3 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 He opened his case and took out a cigar. 
 
 " Do as you please," he said. " You saw the pitiable state 
 she was in when she forced herself to speak to me. You saw 
 how her disgust and horror overpowered her at the end. 
 Transfer that disgust and horror to Oscar (with indignation 
 and contempt added in his case) ; expose him to the result 
 of rousing those feelings in her, before he is fortified by a 
 husband's influence over her mind, and a husband's place in 
 her affections if you dare. I love the poor fellow, and 
 Z daren't. May I smoke ?" 
 
 I gave him his permission to smoke by a gesture. Before 
 I said any thing more to this inscrutable gentleman I felt the 
 necessity of understanding him if I could. 
 
 There was no difficulty in accounting for his readiness to 
 sacrifice himself in the interests of Oscar's tranquillity. He 
 never did things by halves he liked dashing at difficulties 
 which would have made other men pause. The same zeal in 
 his brother's service which had saved Oscar's life at the Tri- 
 al, might well be the zeal that animated him now. The per- 
 plexity that I felt was not roused in me by the course that he 
 had taken, but by the language in which he justified himself, 
 and, more still, by his behavior to me while he was speaking. 
 The well-bred, brilliant young fellow of my previous experi- 
 ence had now turned as dogged and as ungracious as a man 
 could be. He waited to hear what I had to say to him next 
 with a hard defiance and desperation of manner entirely un- 
 called for by the circumstances, and entirely out of harmony 
 with his character so far as I had observed it. That there 
 was something lurking under the surface, some inner motive 
 at work in him which he was concealing from his brother 
 and concealing from me, was as plainly visible as the sun- 
 shine and shade on the view that I was looking at from the 
 summer-house. But what that something was, or what that 
 inner motive might be, it baffled my utmost sagacity to 
 guess. Not the faintest idea of the terrible secret that he 
 was hiding from me crossed my mind. Innocent of all sus- 
 picion of the truth, there I sat opposite to him, the uncon- 
 scious witness of that unhappy man's final struggle to be 
 true to the brother whom he loved, and to master the devour- 
 ing passion that consumed him. So long as Lucilla falsely 
 believed him to be disfigured by the drug, so long the com-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 187 
 
 monest consideration for her tranquillity would, in the estima- 
 tion of others, excuse and explain his keeping out of her pres- 
 ence. In that separation lay his last chance of raising an in- 
 surmountable barrier between Lucilla and himself. He had 
 already tried uselessly to place another obstacle in the way 
 lie had vainly attempted to hasten the marriage, which 
 would have made Lucilla sacred to him as his brother's wife. 
 That eftbrt having failed, there was but one honorable alter- 
 native left to him to keep out of her society until she was 
 married to Oscar. He had accepted the position in which 
 Oscar had placed him as the one means of reaching the end 
 in view without exciting suspicion of the truth, and he had 
 encountered, as his reward for the sacrifice, my ignorant pro- 
 test, my stupid opposition, set as obstacles in his way ! 
 There were the motives the pure, the noble motives 
 which animated him, as I know them now. There is the 
 right reading of the dogged language that mystified me, of 
 the defiant manner that offended me, interpreted by the one 
 light that I have to guide my pen the light of later events ! 
 
 " Well ?" he said. " Are we allies, or not ? Are you with 
 me, or against me ?" 
 
 I gave up attempting to understand him, and answered 
 that plain question plainly. 
 
 " I don't deny that the consequences of undeceiving her 
 may be serious," I said. " But, for all that, I will have no 
 share in the cruelty of keeping her deceived." 
 
 Nugent held up his forefinger warningly. 
 
 " Pause and reflect, Madame Pratolungo ! The mischief 
 that you may do, as matters stand now, may be mischief 
 that you can never repair. It's useless to ask you to alter 
 your mind. I only ask you to wait a little. There is plenty 
 of time before the wedding-day. Something may happen 
 which will spare you the necessity of enlightening Lucilla 
 with your own lips." 
 
 " What can happen ?" I asked. 
 
 "Lucilla may yet see him as we see him," Nugent answer- 
 ed. "Lncilla's own eyes may discover the truth." 
 
 " What ! have you not abandoned your mad notion of 
 curing her blindness yet?" 
 
 "I will abandon my notion when the German surgeon tells 
 me it is mad. Not before."
 
 18^ POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Have yon said any thing about it to Oscar?" 
 
 '*" Not a word. I shall say nothing about it to any body 
 but you until the German is safe on the shores of England." 
 
 " Do you expect him to arrive before the marriage?" 
 
 " Certainly. He would have left New York with me, but 
 for one patient who still required his care. No new patients 
 will tempt him to stay in America. His extraordinary suc- 
 cess has made his fortune. The ambition of his life is to see 
 England, and he can afford to gratify it. He may be here 
 by the next steamer that reaches Liverpool." 
 
 "And when he does come, you mean to bring him to Dim- 
 church?" 
 
 " Yes unless Lucilla objects to it." 
 
 " Suppose Oscar objects ? She is resigned to be blind for 
 life. If you disturb that resignation with no useful result, 
 you may make an unhappy woman of her for the rest of her 
 days. In your brother's place, I should object to running 
 that risk." 
 
 "My brother is doubly interested in running the risk. I 
 repeat what I have already told you. The physical result 
 will not be the only result, if her sight can be restored. 
 There will be a new mind put into her as well as*a new sense. 
 Oscar has every thing to dread from this morbid fancy of 
 hers as long as she is blind. Only let her eyes correct her 
 fancy only let her see him as we see him, and get used to 
 him, as we have got used to him, and Oscar's future with 
 her is safe. Will you leave things as they are for the pres- 
 ent, on the chance that the German surgeon may get here 
 before the wedding-day?" 
 
 I consented to that ; being influenced, in spite of myself, 
 by the remarkable coincidence between what Nugent had 
 just said of Lucilla, and what Lucilla had said to me of her- 
 self earlier in the day. It was impossible to deny that Nu- 
 gent's theory, wild as it sounded, found its confirmation, so 
 far, in Ludilla's view of her own case. Having settled the 
 difference between us in this way, for the time being, I shift- 
 ed our talk next to the difficult question of Nugent's relations 
 toward Lucilla. " How are you to meet her again," I said, 
 "after the effect vou produced on her at the meeting to- 
 day ?" 
 
 He spoke far more pleasantly in discussing this side of
 
 rooii MISS FiN'cu. 189 
 
 the subject. His language and his manner both improved 
 together. 
 
 " If I could have had my own way," he said, " Lucilla 
 would have been relieved, by this time, of all fear of meeting 
 with me again. She would have heard from you or from 
 Oscar that business had obliged me to leave Dimchurch." 
 
 " Does Oscar object to let you go ?" 
 
 " He won't hear of my going. I did my best to persuade 
 him I promised to return for the marriage. Quite useless! 
 ' If you leave me here by myself,' he said, 'to think over the 
 mischief I have done, and the sacrifices I have forced on you, 
 you will break my heart. You don't know what an encour- 
 agement your presence is to me ; you don't know what a 
 blank you will leave in my life if you go !' I am as weak as 
 Oscar is, when Oscar speaks to me in that way. Against my 
 own convictions, against my own wishes, I yielded. I should 
 have been better away far, far better away." 
 
 He said those closing words in a tone which startled me. 
 It was nothing less than a tone of despair. How little I un- 
 derstood him then ! how well I understand him now ! In those 
 melancholy accents spoke the last of his honor, the last of his 
 truth. Miserable, innocent Lucilla ! Miserable, guilty Nu- 
 gent ! 
 
 " And now you remain at Dimchurch," I resumed, " what 
 are you to do ?" 
 
 " I must do my best to spare her the nervous suffering 
 which I unwillingly inflicted on her to-day. The morbid re- 
 pulsion that she feels in my presence is not to be controlled 
 I can see that plainly. I shall keep out of her way, grad- 
 ually withdrawing myself, so as not .to force my absence on 
 her attention. I shall pay fewer and fewer visits at the rec- 
 tory, and remain longer and longer at Browndown every day. 
 After they are married He suddenly stopped; the words 
 seemed to stick in his throat. He busied himself in relight 
 ing his cigar, and took a long time to do it. 
 
 "After they are married," I repeated : " what then ?" 
 
 "When Oscar is married, Oscar will not find my presence 
 indispensable to his happiness. I shall leave Dimchurch." 
 
 "You will have to give a reason." 
 
 1 shall give the true reason. I can find no studio here 
 bj<jr enouurh for Me as I have told vou. And even if I could
 
 190 POOR MISS FIXCII. 
 
 find a studio, I should be doing no good if I remained at 
 Dimcliurch. My intellect would contract, my brains would 
 rust, in this remote place. Let Oscar live his quiet married 
 life here. And let me go to the atmosphere that is litter for 
 me the atmosphere of London or Paris." 
 
 He sighed, and fixed his eyes absently on the open hilly 
 view from the summer-house door. 
 
 " It's strange to see you depressed," I said. " Your spirits 
 seemed to be quite inexhaustible on that first evening, when 
 you interrupted Mr. Finch over ' Hamlet.' " 
 
 He threw away the end of his cigar, and laughed bitterly. 
 
 " We artists are always in extremes," he said. " What 
 do you think I was wishing just before you spoke to me?" 
 
 " I can't guess." 
 
 " I was wishing I had never come to Dimchurch !" 
 
 Before I could return a word on my side, Lucilla's voice 
 reached our ears, calling to me from the garden. Nugent 
 instantly sprang to his feet. 
 
 " Have we said all we need say ?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes for to-day, at any rate." 
 
 " For to-day, then good-by !" 
 
 He leaped up, caught the cross-bar of wood over the en- 
 trance to the summer-house, and, swinging himself on to the 
 low garden wall beyond, disappeared in the field on the oth- 
 er side. I answered Lucilla's call, and hastened away to find 
 her. We met on the lawn. She looked wild and pale, as if 
 something had frightened her. 
 
 "Any tiling wrong at the rectory ?" I asked. 
 
 "Nothing wrong," she answered, " except with Me. The 
 next time I complain of fatigue, don't advise me to go and 
 lie down on my bed." 
 
 " Why not ? I looked in at you before I came out here. 
 You were fast asleep- the picture of repose." 
 
 "Repose? You were never more mistaken in your life. 
 I was in the agony of a horrid dream." 
 
 "You were perfectly quiet when I saw you." 
 
 " It must have been after you saw me, then. Let me come 
 and sleep with you to-night. I daren't be by myself if I 
 dream of it again." 
 
 " W T hat did you dream of?" 
 
 "I dreamed that I was standing, in my wedding-dress, be-
 
 I'OOK MISS FINCH. 191 
 
 fore the altar of a strange church ; and that a clergy- 
 man, whose voice I had never heard before, was marrying 
 me" 
 
 She stopped, impatiently waving her hand before her 
 in the air. " Blind as I am," she said, " I see him again 
 now !" 
 
 "The bridegroom?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Oscar?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Who, then ?" 
 
 " Oscar's brother. Nugent Dubourg." 
 
 (Haven't 1 mentioned before that I am sometimes a great 
 fool? If I have not, I beg to mention it now. I burst out 
 laughing.) 
 
 " What is there to laugh at?" she asked, angrily. "I saw 
 his hideous, discolored face I am never blind in my dreams. 
 I felt his blue hand put the ring on my finger. Wait ! The 
 worst part of it is to come. I married Nugent Dubourg will- 
 ingly married him without a thought of my engagement 
 to Oscar. Yes ! yes ! I know it's only a dream. I can't 
 bear to think of it, for all that. I don't like to be false to 
 Oscar even in a dream. Let us go to him. I want to hear 
 him tell me that he loves me. Come to Browndown. I'm 
 so nervous, I don't like going by myself. Come to Brown- 
 down !" 
 
 I have another humiliating confession to make I tried to 
 get otFgoing to Browndown. (So like those unfeeling French 
 people, isn't it ?) 
 
 But I had my reason, too. If I disapproved of the resolu- 
 tion at which Nugent had arrived, I viewed far more unfa- 
 vorably the selfish weakness on Oscar's part, which had al- 
 lowed his brother to sacrifice himself. Lucilla's lover hod 
 sunk to something very like a despicable character in my es- 
 timation. I felt that I might let him see what I thought of 
 him if I found myself in his company at that moment. 
 
 "Considering the object that you have in view, my dear," 
 I said to Lucilla, "do you think you want me at Brown- 
 down ?" 
 
 "Haven't I already told you?" she asked, impatiently. 
 "I am so nervous so completely upset that I don't feel
 
 192 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 equal to going out by myself. Have you no sympathy for 
 me? Suppose you had dreamed that you were marrying 
 Nugent instead of Oscar?" 
 
 "Ah, bah! what of that? I should only have dreamed 
 that I was marrying the most agreeable man of the two." 
 
 "The most agreeable man of the two! There you are 
 again always unjust to Oscar." 
 
 "My love ! if you could see lor yourself, you would learn 
 to appreciate Nugent's good qualities as I do." 
 
 " I prefer appreciating Oscar's good qualities." 
 
 "You are prejudiced, Lucilla." 
 
 "So are you." 
 
 "You happen to have met Oscar first." 
 
 "That has nothing to do with it." 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! If Nugent had followed us instead of Oscar; 
 if, of those two charming voices which are both the same, 
 one had spoken instead of the other " 
 
 "I won't hear a word more!" 
 
 " Tra-la-la-la ! It happens to have been Oscar. Turn it 
 the other way, and Nugent might have been the man." 
 
 "Madame Pratolungo, I am not accustomed to be insulted ! 
 I have no more to say to you." 
 
 With that dignified reply, and with the loveliest color in 
 her face that you ever saw in your life, my darling Lucilla 
 turned her pretty back on me, and set off for Browndown by 
 herself. 
 
 Ah, my rash tongue ! Ah, my nasty foreign temper ! 
 Why did I let her irritate me ? I, the elder of the two 
 why did I not set her an example of self-control ? Who can 
 tell? When does a woman know why she does any thing? 
 Did Eve know, when Mr. Serpent offered her the apple, why 
 she ate it? Not she! 
 
 What was to be done now ? Two tilings were to be done. 
 First thing : to cool myself down. Second thing: to follow 
 Lucilla, and kiss and make it up. 
 
 Either I took some time to eool or, in the irritation of the 
 moment, Lucilla walked faster than usual. She had got to 
 Browndown before I could overtake her. On opening the 
 house door I heard them talking. It would hardly do to dis- 
 turb them especially now I was in disgrace. While I was 
 hesitating, and wondering what my next proceeding had
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 193 
 
 better be, my eye was attracted by a letter lying on the hall 
 table. I looked (one is always inquisitive in those idle mo- 
 ments when one doesn't know what to do) I looked at the 
 address. The letter was directed to Nugent, and the post- 
 mark was Liverpool. 
 
 I drew the inevitable conclusion. The German oculist 
 was in England ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY -EIGHTH. 
 
 HE CROSSES THE RUBICON. 
 
 I WAS still in doubt whether to enter the room or to wait 
 outside until she left Browndown to return to the rectory, 
 when Lucilla's keen sense of hearing decided the question 
 which I had been unable to settle for myself. The door of 
 the room opened, and Oscar advanced into the hall. 
 
 "Lucilla insisted that she heard somebody outside," lie 
 said. "Who could have guessed it was you? Why did 
 you wait in the hall ? Come in ! come in !" 
 
 He held open the door for me, and I went in. Oscar an- 
 nounced me to Lucilla. "It was Madame Pratolun^o you 
 
 O * 
 
 heard," he said. She took no notice either of him or of me. 
 A heap of flowers from Oscar's garden lay in her lap. With 
 the help of her clever lingers she was sorting them to make 
 a nosegay as quickly and as tastefully as if she had possessed 
 the sense of sight. In all my experience of that charming 
 lace it had never looked so hard as it looked now. Nobody 
 would have recognized her likeness to the Madonna of Ra- 
 phael's "picture. Offended mortally offended with me I 
 saw it at a glance. 
 
 "I hope you will forgive my intrusion, Lucilla, when you 
 know my motive," I said. "I have followed you here io 
 make my excuses." 
 
 "Oh, don't think of making excuses?" she rejoined, giving 
 three fourths of her attention to the flowers, and one fourth 
 to me. "It's a pity you took the trouble of coming here. 
 I quite agree with what you said in the garden. Consider- 
 ing the object I had in view at Browndown,! could not pos- 
 sibly expect you to accompany me. True ! quite true!" 
 
 I kept my temper. Not thai I am a patient woman; 1:0', 
 
 1
 
 19 1 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 that I possess a meek disposition. Very far from it, I regret 
 to say ! Nevertheless, I kept my temper so far. 
 
 "I wish to apologize for what I said in the garden," I re- 
 sumed. "I spoke thoughtlessly, Liicilla. It is impossible 
 that I could intentionally often d you." 
 
 I might as well have spoken to one of the chairs. The 
 whole of her attention became absorbed in the breathless in- 
 terest of making her nosegay. 
 
 " Was I offended ?" she said, addressing herself to the 
 flowers. "Excessively foolish of me, if I was." She sudden- 
 ly became conscious of my existence. " You had a perfect 
 right to express your opinion," she said, loftily. "Accept 
 my excuses if I appeared to dispute it." 
 
 She tossed her pretty head ; she showed her brightest 
 color; she tapped her nice little foot briskly on the floor. 
 (Oh, Lucilla! Lucilla !) I still kept my temper. More, by 
 this time (I admit), for Oscar's sake than for her sake. He 
 looked so distressed, poor fellow so painfully anxious to in- 
 terfere, without exactly knowing how. 
 
 "My dear Lucilla!" he began. "Surely you might an- 
 swer Madame Pratolungo 
 
 She petulantly interrupted him with another toss of the 
 head a little higher than the last. 
 
 "I don't attempt to answer Madame Pratolungo! I pre- 
 fer admitting that Madame Pratolmigo may have been quite 
 right. I dare say I am ready to fall in love with the first 
 man who comes my way. I dare say if I had met your 
 brother before I met you I should have fallen in love with 
 him. Quite likely !" 
 
 "Quite likely as you say," answered poor Oscar, humbly. 
 "I am sure I think it very lucky for me that you didn't 
 meet Nugent first." 
 
 She threw her lapful of flowers away from her on the ta- 
 ble at which she was sitting. She became perfectly furious 
 with him for taking my side. I permitted myself (the poor 
 child could not see it, remember) the harmless indulgence of 
 a smile. 
 
 "You agree with Madame Pratolungo," she said to him, 
 viciously. " Madame Pratolungo thinks your brother :i 
 much more agreeable man than you." 
 
 Humble Oscar shook his head in melaiifholy acknowledg-
 
 POOtt MISo FINCH. 195 
 
 incut of tliis self-evident fact. "There can be no two opin- 
 ions about that," he said, resignedly. 
 
 She stamped her foot on the carpet, and raised quite a lit- 
 tle cloud of dust. My lungs are occasionally delicate. I 
 permitted myself another harmless indulgence indulgence 
 in a slight cough. She heard the second indulgence, and 
 suddenly controlled herself the instant it reached her ears. 
 I am afraid she took my cough as my commentary on what 
 was going on. 
 
 " Come here, Oscar," she said, with a complete change of 
 tone and manner. "Come and sit down by me." 
 
 Oscar obeyed. 
 
 "Put your arm round my waist." 
 
 Oscar looked at me. Having the use of his sight, he was 
 
 o o * 
 
 sensible of the absurd side of the demonstration required of 
 him in the presence of a third person. /She, poor soul, strong 
 in her blind insensibility to all shafts of ridicule shot from 
 the eye, cared nothing for the presence of a third person. 
 She repeated her commands, in a tone which said, sharply, 
 "Embrace me I am not to be trifled with !" 
 
 Oscar timidly put his arm round her waist with an ap- 
 pealing look at me. She issued another command instantly. 
 
 " Say you love me." 
 
 Oscar hesitated. 
 
 " Say you love me !" 
 
 Oscar whispered it. 
 
 " Out loud !" 
 
 Endurance has its limits. I began -to lose my temper. 
 She could not have been more superbly indifferent to my 
 presence if there had been a cat in the room instead of a 
 lady. 
 
 "Permit me to inform you," I raid, "that I have not (as 
 you appear to suppose) left the room." 
 
 She took no notice. She went on with her commands, ris- 
 ing irrepressibly from one amatory climax to another. 
 
 " Give me a kiss !" 
 
 Unhappy Oscar sacrificed between us blushed. Stop ! 
 Don't revel prematurely in the greatest enjoyment a reader 
 has namely, catching a writer out in a mistake. I have not 
 forgotten that his disfigured complexion would prevent his 
 blush from showing on the surface. I ben to sav I saw it
 
 190 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 under the surface saw it in his expression. I repeat, he 
 blushed. 
 
 I felt it necessary to assert myself for the second time. 
 
 "I have only one object in remaining in the room, Miss 
 Finch. I merely wish to know whether you refuse to accept 
 my excuses." 
 
 " Oscar, give me a kiss !" 
 
 He still hesitated. She threw her arm round his neck. 
 My duty to myself was plain my duty was to go. 
 
 "Good afternoon, Mr. Dubourg," I said, and turned to the 
 door. She heard me cross the room, and -called to me to 
 stop. I paused. There was a glass on the wall opposite to 
 me. On the authority of the glass, I beg to mention that I 
 paused in my most becoming manner. Grace tempered with 
 dignity ; dignity tempered with grace. 
 
 "Madame Pratolungo !" 
 
 " Miss Finch ?" 
 
 "This is the man who is not half so agreeable as his broth- 
 er. Look !" 
 
 She tightened her hold round his neck, and gave him os- 
 tentatiously gave him the kiss which he was ashamed to 
 give her. I advanced, in contemptuous silence, to the door. 
 My attitude expressed disgust accompanied by sorrow ; sor- 
 row accompanied by disgust. 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo !" 
 
 I made no answer. 
 
 "This is the man whom I should never have loved if I had 
 happened to meet his brother first. Look !" 
 
 She put both arms round his neck, and gave him a shower 
 of kisses all in one. The door had been imperfectly closed 
 when I had entered the room. It was ajar. I pulled it open 
 walked out into the hall and found myself face to face 
 with Xugent Dubourg, standing by the table, with his let- 
 ter from Liverpool in his hand ! He must have certainly 
 heard Lucilla cast my own words back in my teeth if he 
 had heard no more. 
 
 I stopped short; looking at him in silent surprise. He 
 smiled, and held out the open letter to me. Before we could 
 speak we heard the door of the room closed. Oscar had fol- 
 lowed me out (shutting the door behind him) to apologize 
 for Lucilla's behavior to me. lie explained what had hap-
 
 roon MISS FINCH. 197 
 
 pened to his brother. Nugent nodded, and tapped his open 
 letter smartly. "Leave me to manage it. I shall give you 
 something better to do than quarreling among yourselves. 
 You will hear what it is directly. In the mean time, I have 
 got a message for our friend at the inn. Gootheridge is on 
 his way here to speak to me about altering the stable. Run 
 and tell him I have other business on hand, and I can't keep 
 my appointment to-day. Stop! Give him this at the same 
 time, and ask him to leave it at the rectory." 
 
 He took one of his visiting cards out of the case, wrote a 
 few lines on it in pencil, and handed it to his brother. Os- 
 car (always ready to go on errands for Nugent) hurried out 
 to meet the landlord. Nugent turned to me. 
 
 " The German is in England," he said. " Now I may open 
 my lips." 
 
 " At once !" I exclaimed. 
 
 " At once. I have put off my own business (as you heard) 
 in favor of this. My friend will be in London to-morrow. I 
 mean to get my authority to consult him to-day, and to start 
 to-morrow for town. Prepare yourself to meet one of the 
 strangest characters you ever set eyes on ! You saw me 
 write on my card. It was a message to Mr. Finch, asking 
 him to join us immediately (on important family business) at 
 Browndown. As Lucilla's father, he has a voice in the mat- 
 ter. When Oscar comes back, and when the rector joins us, 
 our domestic privy council will be complete." 
 
 He spoke with his customary spirit; he moved with his 
 customary briskness: he had become quite himself again 
 since I had seen him last. 
 
 " I am stagnating in this place," he went on, seeing that I 
 noticed the change in him. "It puts me in spirits again, 
 having something to do. I am not like Oscar; I must have 
 action to stir my blood action to keep me from fretting 
 over my anxieties. How do you think I found the witness 
 to my brother's innocence at the Trial '? In that way. I said 
 to myself, 'I shall go mad if I don't do something.' I did 
 something and saved Oscar. I am going to do something 
 again. Mark my words! Now I am stirring in it, Lucilla 
 will recover her sight." 
 
 "This is a serious matter," I said. "Pray give it serious 
 consideration."
 
 198 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 " Consideration ?" he repeated. " I hate the word. I al- 
 ways decide on the instant. If I am wrong in my view of 
 Lucilla's case, consideration is of no earthly use. If I am 
 right, every day's delay is a day of sight lost to the blind. 
 I'll wait for Oscar and Mr. Finch ; and then I'll open the bus- 
 iness. Why are we talking in the hall ? Come in !" 
 
 He led the way to the sitting-room. I had a new interest 
 now in going back. Still Lucilla's behavior hung on my 
 mind. Suppose she treated me with renewed coldness and 
 keener contempt? I remained standing at the table in the 
 hall. .Nugent looked back at me over his shoulder. 
 
 " Nonsense !" he said. " I'll set things right. It's beneath 
 a woman like you to take notice of what a girl says in a pet. 
 Come in.!" 
 
 I doubt if I should have yielded to please any other living 
 man. But, there is no denying it, some people have a mag- 
 netic attracting power over others. Nugent had that power 
 over me. Against my own will for I was really hurt and 
 offended by her usage of me I went back with him into the 
 room. 
 
 Lucilla was still sitting in the place which she had occu- 
 pied when I withdrew. On hearing the door open, and a 
 man's footsteps entering, she, of course, assumed that the 
 man was Oscar. She had penetrated his object in leaving 
 her to follow me out, and it had not improved her temper. 
 
 " Oh !" she said. " You have come back at last ? I thought 
 you had offered yourself as Madame Pratolungo's escort to 
 the rectory." She stopped, with a sudden frown. Her quick 
 ears had detected my return into the room. " Oscar !" she 
 exclaimed, " what does this mean ? Madame Pratolungo and 
 I have nothing more to say to each other. What has she 
 come back for? Why don't you answer? This is infamous! 
 I shall leave the room !" 
 
 The utterance of that final threat was followed so rapidly 
 by its execution that before Nugent (standing between her 
 and the door) could get out of her way she came in violent 
 contact with him. She instantly caught him by the arm, 
 and shook him angrily. " What does your silence mean? Is 
 ; .t at Madame Pratol tin "jo's instigation that you are insulting 
 me?" 
 
 I had just opened my lips to make one more attempt at rec-
 
 POOR MISS FIXC'H. 199 
 
 onciliation, by saying some pacifying words to her, when 
 she planted that last sting in me. French flesh and blood 
 (whatever English flesh and blood might have done) could 
 bear no more. I silently turned my back on her, in a rage. 
 
 At the same moment Nugent's eyes brightened as if a new 
 idea had struck him. He gave me one significant look and 
 
 o o 
 
 answered her in his brother's character. Whether he was 
 possessed at the moment by some demon of mischief, or 
 whether he had the idea of trying to make Oscar's peace for 
 him before Oscar returned, is more than I can say. I ought to 
 have stopped it, I know. But my temper was in a flame. I 
 was as spiteful as a cat and as fierce as a bear. I said to 
 myself (in your English idiom), She wants taking down a 
 peg; quite right, Mr. Nugent ; doit. Shocking! shameful! 
 no words are bad enough for me: give it me well. Ah, 
 Heaven! what is a human being in a rage? On my sacred 
 word of honor, nothing but a human beast! The next time 
 it happens to You, look at yourself in the glass, and you will 
 find your soul gone out of you at your face, and nothing left 
 but an animal and a bad, a villainous bad animal too ! 
 
 "You ask what my silence means?" said Nugent. 
 
 He had only to model his articulation on his brother's 
 slower manner of speaking, as distinguished from his own, to 
 be his brother himself. In saying those lew words he did it 
 so dexterously that I could have sworn if I had not seen 
 him standing before me Oscar was in the room. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I ask that." 
 
 " I am silent," he answered, " because I am waiting." 
 
 " What are you waiting for?" 
 
 "To hear you make your apologies toMadamcPratolungo." 
 
 She started back a step. Submissive Oscar was taking a 
 peremptory tone with her for the first time in his life. Sub- 
 missive Oscar, instead of giving her time to speak, sternly 
 went on. 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo has made her excuses to yon. You 
 ought to receive them; you ought to reciprocate them. It 
 is distressing to see you and hear von. You are behaving 
 
 O > * *7 
 
 ungratefully to your best friend." 
 
 She raised her face, she raised her hands, in blank amaze- 
 ment: she looked as if she distrusted her own ears. 
 
 "Oscar!" she exclaimed.
 
 200 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 " Here I am," said Oscar, opening the door at the same 
 moment. 
 
 She turned like lightning toward the place from which he 
 had spoken. She detected the deception which Nugent had 
 practiced on her with a cry of indignation that rang through 
 the room. 
 
 Oscar ran to her in alarm. She thrust him back violently. 
 
 " A trick !" she cried. " A mean, vile, cowardly trick play- 
 ed upon my blindness ! Oscar ! your brother has been imita- 
 ting you; your brother has been speaking to me in your voice. 
 And that woman who calls herself my friend that woman 
 stood by and heard him, and never told me. She encouraged 
 it ; she enjoyed it. The wretches ! Take me away from them. 
 They are capable of any deceit. She always hated you, dear, 
 from the first she took up with your brother the moment he 
 came here. When you marry me, it mustn't be at Dimchurch ; 
 it must be in some place they don't know of. There is a con- 
 spiracy between them against you and against me. Beware 
 of them ! beware of them ! She said I should have fallen in 
 love with your brother if I had met him first. There is a 
 deeper meaning in that, my love, than you can see. It means 
 that they will part us if they can. Ha ! I hear somebody 
 moving! Has he changed places with you? Is it 7/owwhom 
 I am speaking to now? Oh, my blindness! my blindness! 
 
 God ! of all your creatures the most helpless, the most 
 miserable, is the creature who can't see." 
 
 I never heard any thing in all my life so pitiable and so 
 dreadful as the frantic suspicion and misery which tore their 
 way out from her in those words. She cut me to the heart. 
 
 1 had spoken rashly I had behaved badly; but had I de- 
 served this? No! no! no! I had nut deserved it. I threw 
 myself into a chair and burst out crying. My tears scalded 
 me; my sobs choked me. If I had had poison in my hand, I 
 would have drunk it, I was so furious and so wretched; so 
 hurt in my honor, so wounded at my heart. 
 
 The only voice that answered her was Nugent's. Reck- 
 less what the consequences might be speaking in his own 
 proper person from the opposite end of the room he asked 
 the all-important question which no human being had ever 
 put to her yet. 
 
 ''Are you sure, Lucilla, that you are blind for life?"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 201 
 
 A dead silence followed the utterance of those words. 
 
 I brushed away the tears from my eyes, and looked up. 
 
 Oscar had been as I supposed holding her in his arms, 
 silently soothing her, when his brother spoke. At the mo- 
 ment when I saw her she had just detached herself from him. 
 She advanced a step toward the part of the room in which 
 Nugent stood, and stopped, with her face turned toward him. 
 Every faculty in her seemed to be suspended by the silent 
 passage into her mind of the new idea that he had called up. 
 Through childhood, girlhood, womanhood, never once, wak- 
 ing or dreaming, had the prospect of restoration to sight 
 presented itself within her range of contemplation until now. 
 Not a trace was left in her countenance of the indignation 
 which Nugent had roused in her hardly more than a mo- 
 ment since. Not a sign appeared indicating a return of the 
 nervous suffering which the sense of his presence had inflict- 
 ed on her earlier in the day. The one emotion in possession 
 of her was astonishment astonishment that had struck her 
 dumb; astonishment that had waited, helplessly and mechan- 
 ically, to hear more. 
 
 I observed Oscar next. His eyes were fixed on Lucilla 
 absorbed in watching her. He spoke to Nugent without 
 looking at him ; animated, as it seemed, by a vague fear for 
 Lucilla, which was slowly developing into a vague fear for 
 himself. 
 
 "Mind what you are doing !" he said. "Look at her, Nu- 
 gent look at her !" 
 
 Nugent approached his brother circuitously, so as to place 
 Oscar between Lucilla and himself. 
 
 " Have I offended you ?" he asked. 
 
 Oscar looked at him in surprise. " Offended with you," he 
 answered, " alter what you have forgiven and what you have 
 suffered for my sake ?" 
 
 "Still," persisted the other, "there is something wrong/' 
 
 " I am startled, Nugent." 
 
 " Startled by what ?" 
 
 "By the question you have just put to Lucilla." 
 
 "You will understand me, and she will understand me, di- 
 rectly." 
 
 While those words were passing between the brothers, my 
 attention remained fixed on Lucilla. Her head had turned 
 
 T2
 
 202 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 slowly toward the new position which Nugent occupied 
 when he spoke to Oscar. With this exception, no other 
 movement had escaped her. No sense of what the two men 
 were saying to each other seemed to have entered her mind. 
 To all appearance, she had heard nothing since Nugent had 
 started the first doubt in her whether she was blind for life. 
 
 " Speak to her," I said. " For God's sake, don't keep her 
 in suspense now /" 
 
 Nugent spoke. 
 
 "You have had" reason to be offended with me, Lucilla. 
 Let me, if I can, give you reason to be grateful to me before 
 I have done. When I was in New York I became acquaint- 
 ed with a German surgeon who had made a reputation and 
 a fortune in America by his skill in treating diseases of the 
 eye. He had -been especially successful in curing cases of 
 blindness given up as hopeless by other surgeons. I men- 
 tioned your case to him. He could say nothing positively 
 (as a matter of course) without examining you. All he could 
 do w r as to place his services at my disposal when he came to 
 England. I, for one, Lucilla, decline to consider you blind 
 for life until this skillful man sees no more hope for you than 
 the English surgeons have seen. If there is the faintest 
 chance still left of restoring your sight, his is, I firmly be- 
 lieve, the one hand that can do it. He is now in England. 
 Say the word, and I will bring him to Dimchurch." 
 
 She slowly lifted her hands to her head, and held it as if 
 she was holding her reason in its place. Her color changed 
 from pale to red from red to pale once more. She drew a 
 long, deep, heavy breath, and dropped her hands again, re- 
 covering from the shock. The change that followed held us 
 
 o o 
 
 all three breathless. It was beautiful to see her. It was 
 awful to see her. A mute ecstasy of hope transfigured her 
 face; a heavenly smile played serenely on her lips. She was 
 among us, and yet apart from us. In the still light of even- 
 in" 1 , shining in on her from the window, she stood absorbed 
 
 ~ / O * 
 
 in her own rapture the silent creature of another sphere ! 
 There was a moment when she overcame me with admira- 
 tion, and another moment when she overcame me with fear. 
 Both the n;en felt it. Both signed to me to speak to her first. 
 I advanced a few steps. I tried to consider with myself 
 what I should say. It was useless. I could neither think
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 203 
 
 nor speak. I could only look at her. I could only say, 
 nervously, 
 
 " Lucilla." 
 
 She came back to the world she came back to tis with 
 a little start, t and a faint flush of color in her cheeks. She 
 turned herself toward the place from which I had spoken, 
 and whispered, 
 
 " Come." 
 
 In a moment my arms were round her. Her head sank on 
 my bosom. We were reconciled without a word. Wj were 
 friends again, sisters again, in an instant. 
 
 "Have I been fainting? have I been sleeping?" she said 
 to me, in faint, bewildered tones. "Am I just awake? Is 
 this Browndown ?" She suddenly lifted her head. " Nu- 
 gent ! are you there ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 She gently withdrew herself from me, and approached NIH 
 gent. 
 
 "Did you speak to me just now? Was it you w-ho put 
 the doubt into my mind whether I am really doomed to be 
 blind for life? Surely I have not fancied it? Surely you 
 said the man was coming, and the time coming?" Her voice 
 suddenly rose. "The man who may cure me! the time 
 when I may see !" 
 
 "I said it, Lucilla. I meant it, Lucilla !" 
 
 "Oscar! Oscar!! Oscar!!!" 
 
 I stepped forward to lead her to him. Nugent touched 
 me, and pointed to Oscar, as I took her hand. He was stand- 
 ing before the glass, with an expression of despair which I 
 see again while I write these lines he was standim* close to 
 
 CP O 
 
 the glass, looking in silence at the hideous reflection of his 
 face. In sheer pity, I hesitated to take her to him. She 
 stepped forward, and, stretching out her hand, touched his 
 shoulder. The reflection of her charming face appeared 
 above his face in the glass. She bent gayly over, with both 
 hands on him, and said, " The time is coming, my darling, 
 when I may sec You !" 
 
 With a cry of joy, she drew his face up to her and kissed 
 him on the forehead. His head fell on his breast when she 
 released it; he covered his face with his hands, and stifled, 
 for the moment, all outward expression of the pang that
 
 204 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 wrung him. I drew her rapidly away, before her quick sen- 
 sibilities had time to warn her that something was wron<> - . 
 
 o o 
 
 Even as it w 7 as, she resisted me. Even as it was, she asked, 
 suspiciously, "Why do you take me away from him?" 
 
 What excuse could I make? I was at my wit's end. 
 
 She repeated the question. For once Fortune favored us. 
 A timely knock at the door stopped her just as she was try- 
 ing to release herself from me. " Somebody coming in," I 
 said. The servant entered as I spoke with a letter from the 
 rectory. 
 
 CHAPTER THE TWENTY-NINTH. 
 
 PARLIAMENTARY SUMMARY. 
 
 On, the welcome interruption. After the agitation that 
 \ve had suffered we all stood equally in need of some such re- 
 lief as this. It was absolutely a luxury to fall back again 
 into the commonplace daily routine of life. I asked to whom 
 the letter was addressed. Nugent answered, " The letter is 
 addressed to me ; and the writer is Mr. Finch." 
 
 Having read the letter, he turned to Lucilla. 
 
 " I sent a message to your father, asking him to join us 
 here," he said. "Mr. Finch writes back to say that his duties 
 keep him at home, and to suggest that the rectory is the fitter 
 place for the discussion of family matters. Have you any 
 objection to return to the house ? And do you mind going 
 on first with Madame Pratoliingo?" 
 
 O 
 
 Lucilla's quick suspicion was instantly aroused. 
 
 "Why not with Oscar?" she asked. 
 
 " Your father's note suggests to me," replied Nugent, " that 
 he is a little hurt at the short notice I gave him of our dis- 
 cussion here. I thought if you and Madame Pratolungo 
 went on first that you might make our peace with the rec- 
 tor, and assure him that we meant no disrespect, before Os- 
 car and I appeared. Don't you think yourself you would 
 make it easier for ?<s, if you did that?" 
 
 Having contrived in this dexterous way to separate Oscar 
 and Lucilla, and to gain time for composing and fortifying 
 his brother before they met again, Nugent opened the door 
 for us to go out. Lucilla and I left the twins together in the
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 205 
 
 modest little room which had witnessed a scene alike memo- 
 rable to all of us for its interest at the time, and for the re- 
 sults which were to come of it in the future. 
 
 Half an hour later we were all assembled at the rectory. 
 
 Our adjourned debate excepting one small suggestion 
 emanating from myself wu,s a debate which led to nothing 
 It may be truly described as resolving itself into the delivery 
 of an Oration by Mr. Finch. Subject, the assertion of Mr. 
 Finch's dignity. 
 
 On this occasion (having matters of more importance on- 
 hand) I take the liberty of cutting the reverend gentleman's 
 speech by the pattern of the reverend gentleman's stature. 
 Short in figure, the rector shall be here, for the first time in 
 his life, short in language too. 
 
 Reverend Finch rose and said he objected to every thing. 
 To receiving a message on a card instead of a proper note. 
 To being expected to present himself at Browndown at a mo- 
 ment's notice. To being the last person informed (instead 
 of the first) of Mr. Nugent Dubourg's exaggerated and ab- 
 surd view of the case of his afflicted child. To the German 
 surgeon, as being certainly a foreigner and a stranger, and 
 possibly a quack. To the slur implied on British Surgery by 
 bringing the foreigner to Dimchureh. To the expense in- 
 volved in the same proceeding. Finally, to the whole scope 
 and object of Mr. Nugent Dubourg's proposal, which had for 
 its origin rebellion against the decrees of an all-wise Provi- 
 dence, and for its result the disturbance of his daughter's 
 mind " under My influence, Sir, a mind in a state of Chris- 
 tian resignation : under Your influence, a mind in a state of 
 infidel revolt." With those concluding remarks, the rev- 
 erend gentleman sat down and paused for a reply. 
 
 A remarkable result followed, which might be profitably 
 permitted to take place in some other Parliaments. Nobody 
 replied. 
 
 Mr. Nugent Dubourg rose no! sat and said he declined 
 to take any part in the proceedings. lie was quite ready to 
 wait until the end justified the means which he proposed to 
 employ. For the rest, his conscience was at ease; and lie 
 was entirely at Miss Finch's service. (Memorandum in pa- 
 renthesis: Mr. Finch might not have got oft* so easily as this
 
 206 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 but for one circumstance. I have already mentioned it as 
 part of the strange constraint which Lucilla innocently im- 
 posed on Nugent that her father could always talk him down 
 in her presence. She was present on this occasion. And 
 Reverend Finch reaped the benefit.) 
 
 Mr. Oscar Dubourg, sitting hidden from notice behind his 
 brother, followed his brother's example. The decision in the 
 'matter under discussion rested with Miss Finch alone. He 
 hud no opinion of his own to offer in it. 
 
 Miss Finch herself, appealed to next: Had but one reply 
 to give. If her whole fortune was involved in testing her 
 chance of recovering her sight, she would cheerfully sacrifice 
 her whole fortune to that one object. With all possible re- 
 spect to her father, she ventured to think that neither he nor 
 any one possessing the sense of vision could quite enter into 
 her feelings as the circumstances then were. She entreated 
 Mr. Nugent Dubourg not to lose one unnecessary moment in 
 bringing the German surgeon to Di fn church. 
 
 Mrs. Finch, called upon next. Spoke after some little delay, 
 caused by the loss of her pocket-handkerchief. Would not 
 presume to differ in opinion with her husband, whom she had 
 never yet known to be otherwise than perfectly right about 
 every thing. But, if the German surgeon did come, and if Mr. 
 Finch saw no objection to it, she would much like to consult 
 him (gratis, if possible) on the subject of "baby's eyes." 
 Mrs. Finch was proceeding to explain that there was happily 
 nothing the matter, that she could see, with the infant's eyes 
 at that particular moment, and that she merely wished to 
 take a skilled medical opinion, in the event of something 
 happening on some future occasion, when she was called to 
 order by Mr. Finch. The reverend gentleman, at the same 
 time, appealed to Madame Pratolungo to close the debate by 
 giving frank expression to her own opinion. 
 
 Madame Pratolungo, speaking in conclusion, remarked': 
 
 That the question of consulting the German surgeon ap- 
 peared (after what had fallen from Miss Finch) to be a ques- 
 tion which had passed beyond the range of any expression 
 of feeling on the part of other persons. That she proposed, 
 accordingly, to look beyond the consultation at the results 
 which might follow it. That, contemplating these possible 
 results, she held very strong views of her own, and would
 
 POOR MISS PINCH. 207 
 
 proceed to give frank expression to them as follows. That, 
 in her opinion, the proposed investigation of the chanceu 
 which might exist of restoring Miss Finch's sight involved 
 consequences far too serious to be trusted to the decision of 
 any one' man, no matter how skillful or how famous he might 
 be. That, in pursuance of this view, she begged to suggest 
 (l) the association of an eminent English oculist with the 
 eminent German oculist; (2) an examination of Miss Finch's 
 case by both the professional gentlemen, consulting on it to- 
 gether; and (3) a full statement of the opinions at which 
 they might respectively arrive to be laid before the meeting 
 now assembled, and to become the subject of a renewed dis- 
 cussion, before any decisive measures were taken. Lastly, 
 that this proposal be now submitted in the form of a resolu- 
 tion, and forthwith (if necessary) put to the vote. 
 
 Resolution, as above, put to the vote. 
 
 Majority Ayes. 
 
 Miss Finch. 
 
 Mr. Nugent Dubourg. 
 
 o o 
 
 Mr. Oscar Dubourg. 
 
 Madame Pratolungo. 
 Minority Noes. 
 
 No (on the score of expense), Mr. Finch. 
 No (because Mr. F. says No), Mrs. Finch. 
 Resolution carried by a majority of two. Debate adjourn- 
 ed to a day to be hereafter decided on. 
 
 Bv the first train the next morning Nugent Dubourg start- 
 
 > o o o 
 
 ed for London. 
 
 At luncheon, the same day, a telegram arrived reporting 
 his proceedings in the following terms: 
 
 " I have seen my friend. lie is at our service. He is also 
 quite willing to consult with any English oculist whom we 
 may choose. I am just off to find the man. Expect a sec- 
 ond telegram later in the day." 
 
 The second telegram reached us in the evening, and ran 
 thus : 
 
 " Every tiling is settled. The German oculist and the En- 
 glish oculist leave London with me by the twelve-forty train 
 to-morrow afternoon." 
 
 Aftc r .reading this telegram to Lucilla T sent it to Oscar at
 
 208 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Browndown. Judge for yourself how he slept, and how ice 
 slept, that night. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTIETH. 
 
 HERE GROSSE. 
 
 SEVERAL circumstances deserving to be mentioned here 
 took place in the early part of the day on which we expected 
 the visit of the two oculists. I have all the will to relate 
 them, but the capacity to do it completely fails me. 
 
 When I look back at that eventful morning I recall a scene 
 of confusion and suspense, the bare recollection of which 
 seems to upset my mind again, even at this distance of time. 
 Things and persons all blend distractedly one with another. 
 I see the charming figure of my blind Lucilla, robed in rose- 
 color and white, flitting hither and thither, in the house and 
 out of the house at one time mad with impatience for the 
 arrival of the surgeons; at another, shuddering with appre- 
 hension of the coming ordeal, and the coming disappoint- 
 ment which might follow. A moment more, and, just as my 
 mind has seized it, the fair figure melts and merges into the 
 miserable apparition of Oscar, hovering and hesitating be- 
 tween Browndown and the rectory, painfully conscious of 
 the new complications introduced into his position toward 
 Lucilla by the new state of things, and yet not man enough, 
 even yet, to seize the opportunity and set himself right. An- 
 other moment passes, and a new figure a little strutting, 
 consequential figure forces its way into the foreground be-- 
 fore I am ready for it. I hear a big voice booming in my 
 ear, with big language to correspond. "No, Madame Prato- 
 lungo, nothing will induce me to sanction by my presence 
 this insane medical consultation, this extravagant and pro- 
 fane attempt to reverse the decrees of an all-wise Providence 
 by purely human means. My foot is down I use the Ian 
 guage of the people, observe, to impress it the more strongly 
 on your mind MY FOOT is down !" Another moment yet, 
 and Finch and Finch's Foot disappear over my mental hori- 
 zon just as 7ny eye has caught them. Damp Mrs. Finch 
 and the baby, whose everlasting programme is suction and 
 sleep, take the vacant place. Mrs. Finch pledges me with
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 209 
 
 watery earnestness to secrecy, and then confides her inten- 
 tion of escaping her husband's supervision if she can, and 
 bringing British surgery and German surgery to bear both 
 together (gratis) on baby's eyes. Conceive these persons all 
 twisting and turning in the convolutions of my brains, as if 
 those brains were a labyrinth, with the sayings and doings 
 of one confusing themselves with the sayings and doings 
 of the other with a thin stream of my own private anxieties 
 (comprehending luncheon on a side-table for the doctors) 
 trickling at intervals through it all and you will not won- 
 der if I take a jump, like a sheep, over some six hours of pre- 
 cious time, and present my solitary self to your eye, posted 
 alone in the sitting-room to receive the council of surgeons 
 on its arrival at the house. 
 
 I had but two consolations to sustain me. 
 
 First, a Mayonnaise of chicken of my own making on the 
 luncheon-table, which, as a work of Art, was simply adorable 
 I say no more. Secondly, my green silk dress, trimmed 
 with my mother's famous lace another work of Art, equally 
 adorable with the first. Whether I looked at the luncheon- 
 table, or whether L looked in the glass, I could feel that I 
 worthily asserted my nation ; I could say to myself, Even in 
 this remote corner of the earth the pilgrim of civilization 
 searching for the elegant luxuries of life looks and sees 
 France supreme ! 
 
 The clock chimed the quarter past three. Lucilla, wearying 
 for the hundredth time of waiting in her own room, put her 
 head in at the door, and still repeated the never-changing 
 question, 
 
 "No signs of them yet?" 
 
 " None, my love." 
 
 "Oh, how much longer will they keep us waiting!" 
 
 "Patience, Lucilla patience !" 
 
 She disappeared again with a weary sigh. Five minutes 
 more passed, and old Zillah peeped into the room next. 
 
 " Here they are, ma'am, in a chaise at the gate !" 
 
 I shook out the skirts of my green silk, I cast a last in- 
 spiriting glance at the Mayonnaise. N agent's cheerful voice 
 reached us from the garden, conducting the strangers. "This 
 way, gentlemen follow me." A pause. Steps outside. The 
 door opened. Nugent brought them in.
 
 210 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 He IT Grosse, from America. Mr. Sebright, of London. 
 
 The German gave a little start when my name was men- 
 tioned. The Englishman remained perfectly unaffected by 
 it. II err Grosse had heard of my glorious Pratolungo. Mr. 
 Sebright was barbarously ignorant of his existence. I shall 
 describe He IT Grosse first, and shall take the greatest pains 
 with him. 
 
 A squat, broad, sturdy body, waddling on a pair of short 
 bandy - legs ; slovenly, shabby, unbrushed clothes ; a big, 
 square, bilious-yellow face, surmounted by a mop of thick 
 iron-gray hair; dark beetle-brows; a pair of staring, fierce, 
 black, goggle eyes, with huge circular spectacles standing up 
 like fortifications in front of them ; a shaggy beard and mus- 
 tache of mixed black, white, and gray ; a prodigious cameo 
 ring on the forefinger of one hairy hand ; the other hand al- 
 ways in and out of a deep silver snuff-box like a small tea- 
 caddy ; a rough, rasping voice; a diabolically humorous 
 smile; a curtly confident way of speaking; resolution, inde- 
 pendence, power, expressed all over him from head to foot 
 there is the portrait of the man who held in his hands (if 
 Nugent was to be trusted) the restoration ot'Lucilla's sight! 
 
 The English oculist was as unlike his German colleague as 
 it is possible for one human being to be to another. 
 
 Mr. Sebright was slim and spare, and scrupulously (pain- 
 fully) clean and neat. His smooth light hair was carefully 
 parted; his well-shaved face exhibited two little crisp mor- 
 sels of whisker about two inches long, and no hair more. 
 His decent black clothes were perfectly made ; he wore no 
 ornaments,. not even a watch-chain; he moved deliberately; 
 he spoke gravely and quietly; disciplined attention looked 
 coldly at you out of his light gray eyes, and said, Here I am 
 if you want me, in every movement of his thin, finely <"it lips. 
 A thoroughly capable man, beyond all doubt but defend me 
 from accidentally sitting next to him at dinner, or traveling 
 with him for my only companion on a long journey ! 
 
 I received these distinguished persons with my best grace. 
 He IT Grosse complimented me in return on my illustrious 
 name, and shook hands. Mr. Sebright said it was a beautiful 
 day, and bowed. The German, the moment he was at liberty 
 to look about him, looked at the luncheon-table. The En- 
 glishman looked out of window.
 
 PCOK MISS FINCH. 211 
 
 "Will you take some refreshment, gentlemen?" 
 
 He rr G rosso nodded his shock head in high approval. His 
 wild eyes glared greedily at the Mayonnaise through his 
 prodigious spectacles. "Aha! I like that," said the illustri- 
 ous surgeon, pointing at the dish with his ringed forefinger. 
 "You know how to make him you make him with creams. 
 Is he chickens or lobsters? I like lobsters best, but chick- 
 ens is goot too. The garnish is lofely anchovy, olive, beet- 
 roots; brown, green, red on the fat white sauce. This I call 
 a heavenly dish. He is nice-cool in two different ways 
 nice-cool to the eye, nice-cool to the taste. Soh ! we will 
 break into his inside. Madame Pratolungo, you shall begin. 
 Here goes for the liver-wings !" 
 
 In this extraordinary English turning words in the sin- 
 gular into words in the plural, and banishing from the British 
 vocabulary the copulative conjunction "and" Herr Grosse 
 announced his readiness to sit down to lunch. He was po- 
 litely recalled from the Mayonnaise to the patient by his 
 discreet English colleague. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," said Mr. Sebright. "Would it not 
 be advisable to see the young lady before we do any thing 
 else ? I am obliged to return to London by the next train." 
 
 Herr Grosse with a fork in one hand and a spoon in the 
 .other, and a napkin tied round his neck stared piteously, 
 shook his shock head, and turned his back on the Mayon- 
 naise, with a heavy heart at parting. 
 
 u Goot. We shall do our works first : then eat our lunches 
 afterward. Where is the patients? Come-begin-bcgin !" 
 He removed the napkin, blew a sigh (there is no other way 
 of expressing it), and plunged his finger and thumb into his 
 tea-caddy snuff-box. "Where is the patients?" he repeated, 
 irritably. " AVhy is she not close-handy in here?" 
 
 "She is waiting in the next room," I said. "I will bring 
 her in directly. You will make allowances for her, gentle- 
 men, I am sure, if you find her a little nervous?" I added, 
 looking at both the oculists. Silent Mr. Sebright bowed. 
 Herr Grosse grinned diabolically, and said, "Make your 
 mind easy, my goot creature. I am not such a brutes as I 
 look !" 
 
 "Where is Oscar?" asked Nugent, as I passed him on my 
 way to Lucilla's room.
 
 212 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 " After altering his mind a dozen times at least," I replied, 
 " lie has decided on not being present at the examination." 
 
 I had barely said the words before the door opened, and 
 Oscar entered the room. He had altered his mind for the 
 thirteenth time and here he was, as the result of it! 
 
 He IT Grosse burst out with an exclamation in his own lan- 
 guage at the sight of Oscar's face. " Ach Gott !" lie ex- 
 claimed, "he has been taking Nitrates of Silvers. His com- 
 plexions is spoilt. Poor boys! poor boys!" He shook his 
 shaggy head turned and spat compassionately into a cor- 
 ner of the room. Oscar looked offended ; Mr. Sebright look- 
 ed disgusted ; Nugent thoroughly enjoyed it. I left the 
 room, and closed the door behind me. 
 
 I had not taken two steps in the corridor when I heard 
 the door opened again. Looking back directly, I found my- 
 self, to my amazement, face to face with Herr Grosse star- 
 ing ferociously at me through his spectacles, and offering me 
 his arm. 
 
 "Hosh!" said the famous oculist, in a heavy whisper. 
 "Say nothing to nobody. I am come to help you." 
 
 " To help me ?" I repeated. 
 
 Herr Grosse nodded vehemently so vehemently that his 
 prodigious spectacles hopped up and down on his nose. 
 
 "What did you tell me just now?" he asked. "You told 
 me the patients was nervous. Goot ! I am come to go with 
 you to the patients, and help you to fetch her. Soh ! soh ! 
 I am not such a brutes as I look. Come-begin-begin ! Where 
 is she ?" 
 
 I hesitated for a moment about introducing this remarka- 
 ble embassador into Lucilla's bedroom. One look at him de- 
 cided me. After all, he was a doctor and such an ugly 
 one ! I took his arm. 
 
 We went together into Lucilla's room. She started up 
 from the sofa on which she was reclining when she heard 
 the strange footsteps entering side by side with mine. 
 
 " Who is it ?" she cried. 
 
 "It is me, my dears," said Herr Grosse. "Ach Gott! 
 what a pretty girls! Here is jost the complexions I like 
 nice-fair! nice-fair! I am cotne to see what I can do, my 
 pretty miss, for this eyes of yours. If I can let the light in 
 on you hey? you will lofe mo, won't you? You will kccs
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 213 
 
 even an ugly Germans like me. Soh ! Come under my 
 arm. We will go back into the odder rooms. There is an- 
 odder one waiting to let the light in too Mr. Sebrights. 
 Two surgeon-optic to one pretty miss English surgeon-oj>- 
 tic; German surgeon-optic hey! between us we shall cure 
 this nice girls. Madame Pratolungo, here is my odder arms 
 at your service. Hey! what? You look at my coat sleeve. 
 He is shabby-greasy I am ashamed of him. No matter! 
 You have got Mr. Sebrights to look at in the odder rooms. 
 He is spick-span, beautiful-new. Come! Forwards! Marsch!" 
 
 Nugent, waiting in the corridor, threw the door open for 
 us. " Isn't he delightful ?" Nugent whispered behind me, 
 pointing to his friend. Escorted by He IT Grosse, we made 
 a magnificent entry into the room. Our German doctor had 
 done Lucilla good already. The examination was relieved 
 of all its embarrassments and its terrors at the outset. Herr 
 Grosse had made her laugh Herr Grosse had set her com- 
 pletely at her case. 
 
 Mr. Scbright and Oscar were talking together in a perfect- 
 ly friendly way when we returned to the sitting-room. The 
 reserved Englishman appeared to have his attraction for the 
 shy Oscar. Even Mr. Sebright was struck by Lucilla. His 
 cold face lit up with interest when he was presented to her. 
 He placed a chair for her in front of the window. There 
 was a warmth in his tone which I had not heard yet when 
 he begged her to be seated in that place. She took the 
 chair. Mr. Sebright thereupon drew back, and bowed to 
 Herr Grosse, with a courteous wave of his hand toward Lu- 
 cilla which signified," You first!" 
 
 Herr Grosse met this advance with a counter wave of the 
 hand, and a vehement shake of his shock head, which signi- 
 fied, " I couldn't think of such a thing !" 
 
 "Pardon me," entreated Mr. Sebright. "As my senior, as 
 a visitor to England, as a master in our art." 
 
 Herr Grosse responded by regaling himself with three 
 pinches of snuff in rapid succession a pinch .is senior, a 
 pinch as visitor to England, a pinch as master in the art. An 
 awful pause followed. Neither of the surgeons would take 
 precedence of the other. Nugent interfered. 
 
 "Miss Finch is waiting," lie said. "Come, Grosse, you 
 were first presented to her. You examine her first."
 
 214 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 He IT Grosse took Nugcnt's ear between his finger and 
 thumb, and gave it a good-humored pinch. "You clever 
 boys!" he said. "You have the right word always at the 
 tips of your -tongue." He waddled to Lucilla's chair, and 
 stopped short with a scandalized look. Oscar was bending 
 over her, and whispering to her with her hand in his. " Hey ! 
 what?" cried Herr .Grosse. "Is this a third surgeon-optic! 
 What, Sir? you treat young miss's eyes by taking hold of 
 young miss's hand? You are a Quack. Get out!" Oscar 
 withdrew not very graciously. Herr Grosse took a chair 
 in front of Lucilla, and removed his spectacles. As a short- 
 sighted man, he had necessarily excellent eyes for all objects 
 which were sufficiently near to him. He bent forward, with 
 his face close to Lucilla's, and parted her eyelids alternately, 
 with his finger and thumb, peering attentively first into one 
 eye, then into the other. 
 
 It was a moment of breathless interest. Who could say 
 v.'hat an influence on her future life might be exercised by 
 this quaint, kindly, uncouth little foreign man? How anx- 
 iously we watched those shaggy eyebrows, those piercing 
 goggle eyes! And, O Heavens! how disappointed we were 
 at the first result ! Lucilla suddenly gave a little irrepressi- 
 ble shudder of disgust. Herr Grosse drew back from her, 
 and glared at her benignantly with his diabolical smile. 
 
 "Aha!" he said. "I see what it is. I snuff, I smoke, I 
 reek of tobaccos. The pretty miss smells me. She says in 
 her inmost heart Ach Gott, how he stink !" 
 
 Lucilla burst into a fit of laughter. Herr Grosse, unaffect- 
 edly amused on his side, grinned with delight, and snatched 
 her handkerchief out of her apron pocket. "Gif me scents," 
 said this excellent German. "I shall stop up her nose with 
 her handkerchiefs. So she will not smell my tobacco-stinks 
 all will be nice-right again we shall go on." I gave him 
 some lavender-water from a scent-bottle on the table. He 
 gravely drenched the handkerchief with it, and popped it sud- 
 denly on Lucilla's nose. "Hold him there, miss. You can 
 not for the life of you smell Grosse now. Goot ! We may 
 go on again." 
 
 He took a magnifying-glass out of his waistcoat pocket, 
 and waited till Lucilla had fairly exhausted herself 'with 
 laughing. Then the examination so cruelly grotesque in
 
 POOU MISS FINCH. 217 
 
 itself, so terribly serious in the issues which it involved re- 
 sumed its course: Ilerr Grosse glaring at his patient through 
 his magnify ing-glass; Lucilla leaning back in the chair, hold- 
 ing the handkerchief over her nose. 
 
 A minute or more passed, and the ordeal of the examina- 
 tion came to au end. 
 
 Ilerr Grosse put back his magnifying-glass with a grunt 
 which sounded like a grunt of relief, and snatched the hand- 
 kerchief away from Lucilla. "Ach! what a nasty smell!" 
 lie said, holding the handkerchief to his nose with a grimace 
 of disgust. "Tobaccos is much better than this." He sol- 
 aced his nostrils, offended by the lavender-water, with a 
 huge pinch of snuff'. "Now I am going to talk," he went 
 on. "See ! I keep my distance. You don't want your hand- 
 kerchiefs you smell me no more." 
 
 "Am I blind for life?" said Lucilla. "Pray, pray tell me, 
 Sir! Am I blind for life?" 
 
 " Will you kees me if I tell you ?" 
 
 " Oh, do consider how anxious I am ! Pray, pray, pvay tell 
 me !" 
 
 She tried to go down on her knees before him. He held 
 her back firmly and kindly in her chair. 
 
 "Now! now! now! you be nice-goot, and tell me this 
 first. When you are out in the garden, taking your little 
 lazy lady's walks on a shiny-sunny day, is it all the same to 
 your eyes as if you were lying in your bed in the middles of 
 the night ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Hah ! You know it is nice-light at one time? you know 
 it is horrid-dark at the odder ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Then why you ask me if you are blind for life? If you 
 can see as much as that, you are not properly blind at all !" 
 
 She clasped her hands, with a low cry of delight. " Oh, 
 where is Oscar?" she said, softly. "Where is Oscar?" I 
 looked round for him. He was gone. While his brother 
 and I had been hanging spell-bound over the surgeon's ques- 
 tions and the patient's answers, he must have stolen silently 
 out of the room. 
 
 Ilerr Grosse rose and vacated the chair in favor of Mr 
 Sebright. In the ecstasy of the new hope now confirmed in 
 
 K
 
 218 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 her, Lucilla seemed to be unconscious of the presence of the 
 English oculist when lie took his colleague's place. His 
 grave face looked more serious than ever as he, too, produced 
 a magnifying-glass from his pocket, and, gently parting the 
 patient's eyelids, entered on the examination of her blind- 
 ness, in his turn. 
 
 The investigation by Mr. Sebright lasted a much longer 
 time than the investigation by Herr Grosse. He pursued it 
 in perfect silence. When he had done, he rose without a 
 word, and left Lucilla as he had found her, rapt in the trance 
 of her own happiness thinking, thinking, thinking of the 
 time when she should open her eyes in the new morning, 
 and see! 
 
 "Well?" said Nugent, impatiently addressing Mr. Se- 
 bright. " What do you say ?" 
 
 "I say nothing yet." With that implied reproof to Nu- 
 gent, he turned to me. " I understand that Miss Finch was 
 blind or as nearly blind as could be discovered at a year 
 old ?" 
 
 "I have always heard so," I replied. 
 
 "Is there any person in the house parent, or relative, or 
 servant who can speak to the symptoms noticed when she 
 was an infant?" 
 
 I rang the bell for Zillah. " Her mother is dead," I said, 
 " and there are reasons which prevent her father from being 
 present to-day. Her old nurse will be able to give you all 
 the information you want." 
 
 Zillah appeared. Mr. Sebright put his questions. 
 
 " Were you in the house when Miss Finch was born ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir." 
 
 " Was there any thing wrong with her eyes at her birth, 
 or soon afterward ?" 
 
 "Nothing, Sir." 
 
 "How did you know?" 
 
 " I knew by seeing her take notice, Sir. She used to stare 
 at the candles, and clutch at things that were held before 
 her, 'as other babies do." 
 
 "How did you discover it when she began to get 
 blind?" 
 
 "In the same way, Sir. There came a time, poor little 
 thing ! when her eyes looke- 1 glazed like, and try her as we
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 219 
 
 might, morning or evening, it was all the same she noticed 
 nothing." 
 
 44 Did the blindness come on gradually ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir bit by bit, as you may say. Slowly worse and 
 worse one week after another. She was a little better than 
 :i year old before we clearly made it out that her sight was 
 gone." 
 
 " Was her father's sight, or her mother's sight, ever affect- 
 ed in any way?" 
 
 " Never, Sir, that I heard of." 
 
 Mr. Sebright turned to Herr Grosse, sitting at the lunch- 
 eon-table resignedly contemplating the Mayonnaise. "Do 
 you wish to ask the nurse any questions?" he said. 
 
 Herr Grosse shrugged his shoulders, and pointed backward 
 with his thumb at the place in which Lucilla was sitting. 
 
 "Her case is as plain to me as twos and twos make fours. 
 Ach Gott ! what do I want with the nurse?" He turned 
 again longingly toward the Mayonnaise. "My fine appe- 
 tites is going ! When shall we lonch ?" 
 
 o o 
 
 Mr. Sebright dismissed Zillah with a frigid inclination of 
 the head. His discouraging manner made me begin to feel 
 a little uneasy. I ventured to ask if he had arrived at a con- 
 clusion yet. "Permit me to consult with my colleague be- 
 fore I answer you," said the impenetrable man. I roused 
 Lucilla. She again inquired for Oscar. I said I supposed 
 we should find him in the garden and so took her out. Nu- 
 gent followed us. I heard Herr Grosse whisper to him, pit- 
 eously, as we passed the luncheon-table, "For the lofe of 
 Heaven, come back soon, and let us lonch !" We left the ill- 
 assorted pair to their consultation in the sitting-room. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY- FIRST. 
 
 41 WHO SHALL DECIDE WHEN DOCTORS DISAGREE?" 
 
 WE had certainly not been more than ten minutes in the 
 garden when we were startled by an extraordinary outbreak 
 of shouting in broken English proceeding from the window 
 of the sitting-room. "Ili-hi-hoi! hoi-hi ! hoi-hi !" We look- 
 ed up, and discovered Herr Grosse frantically waving a huge 
 red silk handkerchief at the window. "Lonch! lonch!"
 
 220 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 cried the German surgeon. "The consultations is done. 
 Come-begin-begin !" 
 
 Obedient to this peremptory summons, Lucilla, Nugent, 
 and I returned to the'sitting-room. We had, as I had fore- 
 seen, found Oscar wandering alone in the garden. He had 
 entreated me, by a sign, not to reveal our discovery of him 
 to Lucilla, and had hurried away to hide himself in one of 
 the side walks. His agitation was pitiable to see. He was 
 totally unfit to be trusted in Lucilla's presence at that anx- 
 ious moment. 
 
 When we had left the oculists together I had sent Zillah 
 with a little written message to Reverend Finch, entreating 
 him (if it was only for form's sake) to reconsider his resolu- 
 tion, and be present on the all-important occasion to his 
 daughter of the delivery of the medical opinions on her case. 
 At the bottom of the stairs (on our return) my answer was 
 handed to me on a slip of sermon paper. "Mr. Finch de- 
 clined to submit a question of principle to any considera- 
 tions dictated by mere expediency. He desired seriously to 
 remind Madame Pratolungo of what he had already told her. 
 In other words, he would repeat, and he would beg her to re- 
 member this time, that his Foot was down." 
 
 On re-entering the room we found the eminent oculists 
 seated as far apart as possible one from the other. Both 
 gentlemen were engaged in reading. Mr. Sebright was read- 
 ing a book. Herr Grosse was reading the Mayonnaise. 
 
 I placed Lucilla close by me, and took her hand. It was 
 as cold as ice. My poor dear trembled pitiably. For her, 
 what moments of unutterable suffering were those moments 
 of suspense before the surgeons delivered their sentence! I 
 pressed her little cold hand in mine, and whispered, "Cour- 
 age !" Truly, I can say it (though I am not usually one of 
 the sentimental sort), my heart bled for her. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen," said Nugent, " what is the result ? 
 Are you both agreed ?" 
 
 " No," said Mr. Sebright, putting aside his book. 
 
 "No," said Herr Grosse, ogling the Mayonnaise. 
 
 Lucilla turned her face toward me her color shifting and 
 changing, her bosom rising and falling more and more rapid- 
 ly. I whispered to her to compose herself. "One of them, 
 at any rate," I said, " thinks you will recover your sight."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 221 
 
 She understood me, and became quieter directly. Nugent 
 went on with his questions, addressed to the two oculists. 
 
 "What do you differ about?" he asked. "Will you let 
 us hear your opinions?" 
 
 The wearisome contest of courtesy was renewed between 
 our medical advisers. Mr. Sebright bowed to He IT Grosse : 
 " You first." Herr Grosse bowed to Mr.' Sebright : " No 
 you !" My impatience broke through this cruel and ridicu- 
 lous professional restraint. " Speak both together, gentle- 
 men, if you like !" I said, sharply. "Do any thing, for God's 
 sake, but keep us in suspense ! Is it, or is it not, possible to 
 restore her sight ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Herr Grosse. 
 
 Lucilla sprang to her feet, with a cry of joy. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Sebright. 
 
 Lucilla dropped back again into her chair, and silently 
 laid her head on my shoulder. 
 
 " Are you agreed about the cause of her blindness?" asked 
 Nugent. 
 
 " Cataracts is the cause," answered Herr Grosse. 
 
 "So far, I agree," said Mr. Sebright. "Cataract is the 
 cause." 
 
 " Cataracts is curable," pursued the German. 
 
 "I agree again," continued the Englishman "with a res- 
 ervation. Cataract is sometimes curable." 
 
 " Tliis cataracts is curable!" cried Herr Grosse. 
 
 " With ail possible deference," said Mr. Sebright, " I dis- 
 pute that conclusion. The cataract in Miss Finch's case is 
 not curable." 
 
 "Can you give us your reasons, Sir, for saying that?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 "My reasons are based on surgical considerations which 
 it requires a professional training to understand," Mr. Se- 
 bright replied. "I can only tell you that I am convinced ' 
 after the most minute and careful examination that Miss 
 Finch's sight is irrevocably gone. Any attempt to restore 
 it by an operation would be, in my opinion, an unwarrantable 
 proceeding. The young lady would not only have the oper- 
 ation to undergo, she would be kept secluded afterward, for 
 at least six weeks or two months, in a darkened room. Dur- 
 ing that time, it is needless for me to remind you that she
 
 222 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 would inevitably form the most confident hope of her resto- 
 ration to sight. Remembering this, and believing as I do 
 that the sacrifice demanded of her will end in failure,! think 
 it most undesirable to expose our patient to the moral con- 
 sequences of a disappointment which must seriously try her. 
 She lias been resigned from childhood to her blindness. As 
 an honest man, who feels bound to speak out, and to speak 
 strongly, I advise you not further to disturb that resigna- 
 tion. I declare it to be, in my opinion, certainly useless, and 
 possibly dangerous, to allow her to be operated on for the 
 restoration of her sight." 
 
 In those uncompromising words the Englishman delivered 
 his opinion. 
 
 Lucilla's hand closed fast on mine. " Cruel ! cruel !" she 
 whispered to herself, angrily. I gave her a little squeeze, 
 recommending patience, and looked in silent expectation 
 (just as Nugent was looking too) at Herr Grosse. The Ger- 
 man rose deliberately to his feet, and waddled to the place 
 in which Lucilla and I were sitting together. 
 
 " Has goot Mr. Sebrights done ?" he asked. 
 
 Mr. Sebright only replied by his everlasting, never-chang- 
 ing bow. 
 
 " Goot ! I have now my own word to put in," said Herr 
 Grosse. " It shall be one little word no more. With my 
 best compliments to Mr. Sebrights, I set up against Avhat he 
 only thinks what I Grosse with these hands of mine have 
 done. The cataracts of miss there is a cataracts that I have 
 cut into before, a cataracts that I have cured before. Now 
 look !" He suddenly wheeled round to Lucilla, tucked up 
 his cuffs, laid a forefinger of each hand on either side of her 
 forehead, and softly turned down her eyelids with his two 
 big thumbs. "I pledge you my word as surgeon-optic," he 
 resumed, " my knife shall let the light in here. This lofable- 
 nice girls shall be more lofable-nicer than ever. My pretty 
 Feench must be first in her best goot health. She must next 
 gifme my own ways with her and then one, two, three 
 ping ! my pretty Feench shall see!" He lifted Lucilla's eye- 
 lids again as he said the last word glared fiercely at her 
 through his spectacles gave her the loudest kiss, on the 
 forehead, that I ever heard given in my life laughed till the 
 room rang again and returned to his post as sentinel on
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 223 
 
 guard over the Mayonnaise. "Now," cried Ilerr Grosse, 
 cheerfully, "the talkiugs is all done. Gott be thanked, the 
 eatings may begin !" 
 
 Lucilla left her chair for the second time. 
 
 "Herr Grosse," she said, "where are yon?" 
 
 "Here, my dears." 
 
 She crossed the room to the table at which he was sitting, 
 already occupied in carving his favorite dish. 
 
 "Did you say you must use a knife to make me see?" she 
 asked, quite calmly. 
 
 " Yes, yes. Don't you be frightened of that. Not much 
 pains to bear not much pains." 
 
 She tapped him smartly on the shoulder with her hand. 
 
 " Get up, He rr Grosse," she said. " If you have your 
 knife about you, here am I do it at once!" 
 
 Nugent started. Mr. Sebright started. Her daring 
 
 o C* 
 
 amazed them both. As for me, I am the greatest coward 
 living, in the matter of surgical operations performed on my- 
 self or on others. Lncilla terrified me. I ran headlong 
 across the room to her. I was even fool enough to scream. 
 
 Before I could reach her Herr Grosse had risen, obedient 
 to command, with a choice morsel of chicken on the end of 
 his fork. "You charming little fools," he said, "I don't cut 
 into cataracts in such a hurry as that. I perform but one 
 operations on you to-day. It is this !" He unceremoniously 
 popped the morsel of chicken into Lucilla's mouth. "Aha! 
 Bite him well. lie is nice-goot ! Now, then ! Sit down all 
 of you. Lonch ! lonch !" 
 
 He was irresistible. We all sat down at table. 
 
 The rest of us ate. Herr Grosse gobbled. From Mayon- 
 naise to marmalade tart. From marmalade tart back again 
 to Mayonnaise. From Mayonnaise forward again to ham 
 sandwiches and blanc-mango ; and then back once more (on 
 the word of an honest woman) to Mayonnaise! His drink- 
 ing was on the same scale as his eating. Beer, wine, brandy 
 nothing came amiss to him : he mixed them all. As for 
 the lighter elements in the feast the almonds and raisins, 
 the preserved ginger and the crystallized fruits he ate them 
 as accompaniments to every thing. A dish of olives espe- 
 cially won his favor. He plunged bopi hands into it, and de- 
 posited his fistfuls of olives in the pockets of his trowsers.
 
 224 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "In this ways," he explained, "I shall trouble nobody to 
 pass the dish I shall have by me continually all the olives 
 that I want." When he could eat and drink no more, he roll- 
 ed up his napkin into a ball, and became devoutly thankful. 
 " How goot of Gott," he remarked, " when he invented the 
 worlds to invent eatings and drinkings too ! Ah !" sighed 
 Herr Grosse, gently laying his outspread fingers on the pit 
 of his stomach, " what immense happiness there is in This !"' 
 
 Mr. Sebright looked at his watch. 
 
 "If there is any thing more to be said on the question of 
 the operation," he announced, "it must be said at once. We 
 have barely five minutes more to spare. You have heard my 
 opinion. I hold to it." 
 
 Herr Grosse took a pinch of snuff. " I also," he said, " hold 
 to mine." 
 
 Lucilla turned toward the place from which Mr. Sebright 
 had spoken. 
 
 " I am obliged to you, Sir, for your opinion," she said, very 
 quietly and firmly. "I am determined to try the operation. 
 If it does fail, it will only leave me what I am now. If it 
 succeeds, it gives me a new life. I will bear any thing and 
 risk any thing on the chance that I may see." 
 
 So she announced her decision. In those memorable words 
 she cleared the way for the coming Event in her life and in 
 our lives which it is the purpose of these pages to record. 
 
 Mr. Sebright answered her, in Mr. Sebright's discreet way. 
 
 " I can not affect to be surprised at your decision," he said. 
 "However sincerely I may regret it, I admit that it is the 
 natural decision in your case." 
 
 Lucilla addressed herself next to Herr Grosse. 
 
 "Choose your own day," she said. "The sooner the bet- 
 ter. To-morrow, if you can.'.' 
 
 " Answer me one little thing, miss," rejoined the German, 
 with a sudden gravity of tone and manner, which was quite 
 new in our experience of him. " Do you mean what you say ?" 
 
 She answered him gravely on her side. "I mean what I 
 say." 
 
 "Goot. There is times, my lofe, to be funny. There is also 
 times to be grave. It is grave times now. I have my last 
 word to say to you before I go." 
 
 With his wild black eyes staring through his owlish spec-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 225 
 
 tacles at Lucilla's face, speaking earnestly in his strange 
 broken English, he now impressed on his patient the neces- 
 sity of gravely considering and preparing for the operation 
 which he had undertaken to perform. I was greatly relieved 
 by the tone he took with her. lie spoke with authority : she 
 would be obliged to listen to him. 
 
 In the first place, he warned Lucilla, if the operation fail- 
 ed, that there would be no possibility of returning to it and 
 trying it again. Once done, be the results what they might, 
 it was done for good. 
 
 In the second place, before he would consent to operate, 
 he must insist on certain conditions, essential to success, be- 
 ing rigidly complied with on the part of the patient and 
 her friends. Mr. Sebright had by no means exaggerated the 
 length of the time of trial which would follow the operation, 
 in the darkened room. Under no circumstances could she 
 hope to have her eyes uncovered, even for a lew moments, to 
 the light, after a shorter interval than six weeks. During the 
 
 O t O 
 
 whole of that time, and probably during another six weeks 
 to follow, it was absolutely necessary that she should be kept 
 in such a state of health as would assist her, constitution- 
 ally, in her gradual progress toward complete restoration of 
 sight. If body and mind both were not preserved in their 
 best and steadiest condition, all that his skill could do might 
 be done in vain. Nothing to excite or to agitate her must 
 be allowed to find its way into the quiet daily routine of her 
 life until her medical attendant was satisfied that her sight 
 was safe. The success of Ilerr Grosse's professional career 
 had been due, in no small degree, to his rigid enforcement of 
 these rules, founded on his own experience of the influence 
 which a patient's general health, moral as well as physical, 
 exercised on that patient's chance of profiting under an oper- 
 ation more especially an operation on an organ so delicate 
 as the organ of sight. 
 
 Having spoken to this effect, lie appealed to Lucilla's own 
 good sense to recognize the necessity of taking time to con- 
 sider her decision, and to consult on it with her relatives and 
 friends. In plain words, for at least three months the family 
 arrangements must be so shaped as to enable the surgeon in 
 attendance on her to hold the absolute power of regulating 
 her life, and of deciding on nny changes introduced into it. 
 
 K >
 
 226 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 When she and the members of her family circle were sure of 
 being able to comply with these conditions, Lucilla had only 
 to write to him at his hotel in London. On the next day he 
 would undertake to be at Dimchurch. And then and there 
 (if he was satisfied with the state of her health at the time) 
 he would perform the operation. 
 
 After pledging himself in those terms, Herr Grosse puffed 
 out his remaining breath in one deep guttural "Hah!" and 
 got briskly on his short legs. At the same moment Zillah 
 knocked at the door, and announced that the chaise was 
 waiting for the two gentlemen at the rectory gate. 
 
 Mr. Sebright rose in some doubt, apparently, whether his 
 colic-ague had done talking. "Don't let me hurry you," he 
 said. " I have business in Loifrdon ; and I must positively 
 catch the next train." 
 
 " Soh !" I have my business in London too," answered his 
 brother oculist "the business of pleasure." (Mr. Sebright 
 looked scandalized at the frankness of this confession, com- 
 ing from a professional man.) "I am so passion-fond of mu- 
 sics," Herr Grosse went on, "I want to be in goot times for 
 the opera. Ach Gott ! musics is expensive in England ! I 
 climb to the gallery, and pay my five silver shillingses even 
 there. For five copper pences, in my own country, I can get 
 the same thing only better done. From the deep bottoms 
 of my heart," proceeded this curious man, taking a cordial 
 leave of me, "I thank you, dear madam, for the Mayonnaise. 
 When I come again, I pray you more of that lofely dish." 
 He turned to Lucilla and popped his thumbs on her eyelids 
 for the last time at parting. "My swcet-Feench, remember 
 what your surgeon-optic has said to you. I shall let the 
 light in here but in my own way, at my own time. Pretty 
 lofe! Ah, how infinitely much prettier she will be when she 
 can see!" He took Lucilla's hand, and put it sentimentally 
 inside the collar of his waistcoat, over the region of the heart, 
 laying his other hand upon it as if he was keeping it warm. 
 In this tender attitude he blew a prodigious sigh, recov- 
 ered himself with a shake of his shock- head, winked at me 
 through his spectacles, and waddled out after Mr. Sebright, 
 who was already at the bottom of the stairs. Who would 
 have guessed that this man held the key which was to open 
 for mv blind Lucilla the irates of a new life!
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 227 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY- SECOND. 
 
 ALAS FOR THE MARRIAGE ! 
 
 WE were left together: Nugent having accompanied the 
 two oculists to the garden gate. 
 
 Now that we were alone, Oscar's absence could hardly fail 
 to attract Lucilla's attention. Just as she was referring to 
 him, in terms which made it no easy task for me to quiet her 
 successfully, we were interrupted by the screams of the baby, 
 ascending from the garden below. I ran to the window and 
 looked out. 
 
 Mrs. Finch had actually effected her desperate purpose of 
 waylaying the two surgeons in the interests of " baby's eyes." 
 There she was, in a skirt and a shawl with her novel drop- 
 ped in one part of the lawn, and her handkerchief in the 
 other pursuing the oculists on their way to the chaise. 
 Reckless of appearances, HerrGrosse had taken to his heels. 
 He was retreating from the screeching infant (with his fin- 
 gers stuffed into his ears) as fast as his short legs would let 
 him. Nugent was ahead of him, hurrying on to open the gar- 
 den gate. Respectable Mr. Sebright (professionally incapa- 
 ble of running) brought up the rear. At short intervals Mrs. 
 Finch, close on his heels, held up the baby for inspection. At 
 short intervals Mr. Sebright held up his hands in polite pro- 
 test. Nugent, roaring with laughter, threw open the garden 
 gate. Ilerr Grosse rushed through the opening and disap- 
 peared. Mr. Sebright followed Herr Grosse ; and Mrs. Finch 
 attempted to follow Mr. Sebright when a new personage 
 appeared on the scene. Startled in the sanctuary of his study 
 by the noise, the rector himself strutted into the garden, and 
 brought his wife to a sudden stand-still, by inquiring in his 
 deepest bass notes, " What does this unseemly disturbance 
 mean ?" 
 
 The chaise drove off; and Nugent closed the garden gate. 
 
 Some words, inaudible to my ears, passed between Nugent 
 and the rector referring, as I could only suppose, to the 
 visit of the two departing surgeons. After a while Mr. Finch 
 turned away (to all appearance offended by something which
 
 228 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 had been said to him), and addressed himself to Oscar, who 
 now re-appeared on the lawn, having evidently only waited 
 to show himself until the chaise drove away. The rector 
 fraternally took his arm ; and, beckoning to his wife with the 
 other hand, took Mrs. Finch's arm next. Majestically march- 
 ing back to the house between the two, Reverend Finch as- 
 serted himself and his authority alternately, now to Oscar and 
 now to his wife. His big booming voice reached my ears 
 distinctly, accompanied in sharp discord by the last wailings 
 of the exhausted child. 
 
 In these terrible words the Pope of Dimchurch began: 
 "Oscar! you are to understand distinctly, if you please, 
 that I maintain my protest against this impious attempt to 
 meddle with my afflicted daughter's sight. Mrs. Finch ! you 
 are to understand that I excuse your unseemly pursuit of 
 two strange surgeons in consideration of the state that I find 
 you in at this moment. After your last confinement but 
 eight you became, I remember, hysterically irresponsible. 
 Hold your tongue. You are hysterically irresponsible now. 
 Oscar ! I decline, in justice to myself, to be present at any 
 discussion which may follow the visit of these two profes- 
 sional persons. But I am not averse to advising you for 
 your own good. My Foot is down. Put your foot down too. 
 Mrs. Finch ! how long is it since you ate last ! Two hours? 
 Are you sure it is two hours? Very good. You require a 
 sedative application. I order you, medically, to get into a 
 warm bath, and stay there till I come to you. Oscar ! you 
 are deficient, my good fellow, in moral weight. Endeavor to 
 oppose yourself resolutely to any scheme, on the part of my 
 unhappy daughter or of those who advise her, which involves 
 more expenditure of money in. fees, and new appearances of 
 professional persons. Mrs. Finch ! the temperature is to be 
 ninety-eight, and the position partially recumbent. Oscar! 
 I authorize you (if you can't stop it in any other way) to 
 throw My moral weight into the scale. You arc free to say 
 'I oppose This, with Mr. Finch's approval : I am, so to speak, 
 backed by Mr. Finch.' Mrs. Finch! I wish you to under- 
 stand the object of the bath. Hold your tongue. The ob- 
 ject is to produce a gentle action on your skin. One of the 
 women is to keep her eye on your forehead. The instant 
 she perceives an appearance of moisture she is to run for me.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 229 
 
 Oscar! you will let me know at what decision they arrive 
 np stairs in my daughter's room. Not after they have mere- 
 ly heard what you have to say, but after My Moral Weight 
 has been thrown into the soak-. Mrs. Finch ! on leaving the 
 bath, I shall have you only lightly clothed. I forbid, with 
 a view to your head, all compression, whether of stays or 
 strings, round the waist. I forbid garters with the same 
 object. You will abstain from tea and talking. You will 
 lie, loose, on your back. You will 
 
 What else this unhappy woman was to do I failed to hear. 
 Mr. Finch disappeared with her round the corner of the 
 house. Oscar waited at the door of our side of the rectory 
 until Nugent joined him on their way back to the sitting- 
 room in which we were expecting their return. 
 
 After an interval of a few minutes the brothers appeared. 
 
 Throughout the whole of the time during which the sur- 
 geons had been in the house I had noticed that Nugent per- 
 sisted in keeping himself scrupulously in the background. 
 Having assumed the responsibility of putting the serious 
 question of Lucilla's sight scientifically to the test, he ap- 
 peared to be resolved to pause there, and to interfere no fur- 
 ther in the affair after it had passed its first stage. And now 
 again, when we were met in our little committee to discuss, 
 and possibly to combat, Lucilla's resolution to proceed to ex- 
 tremities, he once more refrained from interfering actively 
 with the matter in hand. 
 
 "I have brought Oscar back with me," he said to Lucilla, 
 " and I have told him how widely the two oculists differ in 
 opinion on your case. He knows also that you have decided 
 on being guided by the more favorable view taken by Her: 1 
 Grosse and he knows no more." 
 
 There he stopped abruptly, and seated himself apart from 
 us, at the lower end of the room. 
 
 Lucilla instantly appealed to Oscar to explain his conduct. 
 
 " Why have you kept out of the way ?" she asked. " Why 
 have you not been with me at the most important moment of 
 my lite ?'' 
 
 " Because I felt your anxious position too keenly," Oscar 
 answered. "Don't think me inconsiderate toward you, Lu- 
 cilla. If I had not kept away, I might not have been able to 
 control mvself."
 
 230 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I thought that reply far too dexterous to have come from 
 Oscar on the spur of the moment. Besides, he looked at his 
 brother when he said the last words. It seemed more than 
 likely short as the interval had been before they appeared 
 in the sitting-room that Nugent had been advising Oscar, 
 and had been telling him what to say. 
 
 Lucilla received his excuses with the readiest grace and 
 kindness. 
 
 "Mr. Sebright tells me, Oscar, that my sight is hopelessly 
 gone," she said. " Herr Grosse answers for it that an opera- 
 tion will make me see. Need I tell you which of the two I 
 believe in ? If I could have had my own way, Herr Grosse 
 should have operated on my eyes before he went back to 
 London." 
 
 " Did he refuse ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 Lucilla told him of the reasons which the German oculist 
 had stated as unanswerable reasons for delay. Oscar listened 
 attentively, and looked at his brother again before he re- 
 plied. 
 
 "As I understand it," he said, "if you decide on risking 
 the operation at once, you decide on undergoing six weeks' 
 imprisonment in a darkened room, and on placing yourself 
 entirely at the surgeon's disposal for six weeks more after 
 that. Have you considered, Lucilla, that this means putting 
 off our marriage again for at least three months?" 
 
 "If you were in my place, Oscar, you would let nothing, 
 not even your marriage, stand in the way of your restoration 
 to sight. Don't ask me to consider, love. I can consider 
 nothing but the prospect of seeing You !" 
 
 That fearlessly frank confession silenced him. He hap- 
 pened to be sitting opposite to the glass, so that he could see 
 his face. The poor wretch abruptly moved his chair, so as 
 to turn his back on it. 
 
 I looked at Nugent, and surprised him trying to catch his 
 brother's eye. Prompted by him, as I could now no longer 
 doubt, Oscar had laid his finger on a certain domestic diffi- 
 culty which I had had in my mind from the moment when 
 the question of the operation had been first agitated among 
 us.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 231 
 
 (The marriage of Oscar and Lucilla it is here necessary 
 to explain had encountered another obstacle, and undergone 
 a new delay, in consequence of the dangerous illness of Lu- 
 cilla's aunt. Miss Batchford, invited to the ceremony as a 
 matter of course, had most considerately sent a message beg- 
 ging that the marriage might not be deferred on her account. 
 Lucilla, however, had refused to allow her wedding to be cel- 
 ebrated while the woman who had been a second mother to 
 her lay at the point of death. The rector (with an eye to 
 rich Miss Batchford's money) had supported his daughter's 
 decision, and Oscar had been compelled to submit. These 
 domestic events had taken place about three weeks since; 
 and we were now in receipt of news which not only assured 
 us of the old lady's recovery, but informed us also that she 
 would be well enough to make one of the wedding-party in a 
 fortnight's time. The bride's dress was in the house; the 
 bride's lather was ready to officiate and here, like a fatality, 
 was the question of the operation unexpectedly starting up, 
 and threatening another delay yet for a period which could 
 not possibly be shorter than a period of three months ! Add 
 to this, if you please, a new element of embarrassment as fol- 
 lows. Supposing Lucilla to persist in her resolution, and 
 Oscar to persist in concealing from her the personal change 
 in him produced by the medical irc-ajjncnt of the fits, what 
 would happen? Nothing less than this: Lucilla, if the oper- 
 ation succeeded, would find out for herself before instead 
 of after her marriage the deception that had been practiced 
 on her. And how she might resent that deception, thus dis- 
 covered, the cleverest person among us could not pretend to 
 foresee. There was our situation, as we sat in domestic par- 
 liament assembled, when the surgeons had left us!) 
 
 Finding it impossible to attract his brother's attention, 
 Nugent had no alternative but to interfere actively for the 
 first time. 
 
 "Let me suggest, Lucilla," he said, "that it is your duty 
 to look at the other side of the question before you make up 
 your mind. In the first place, it is surely hard on Oscar to 
 postpone the wedding-day again. In the second place, clever 
 as he is, Ilerr Grosse is not infallible. It is just possible that 
 the operation may fail, and that you may find you have put 
 off your marriage for three months to no purpose. Do think
 
 232 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 of it ! If you defer the operation on your eyes till after your 
 marriage, you conciliate all interests, and you only delay by 
 a month or so the time when you may see." 
 
 Lucilla impatiently shook her head. 
 
 " If you were blind," she answered, you would not willing- 
 ly delay by a single hour the time when you might see. 
 You ask me to think of it. I 'isk you to think of the years I 
 have lost. I ask you to think of the exquisite happiness I 
 shall feel when Oscar and I are standing at the altar; if I can 
 see the husband to whom I am giving myself for life ! Put 
 it off for a month? You might as well ask me to die for a 
 month. It is like death to be sitting here blind, and to know 
 that a nun is within a few hours' reach of me who can give 
 me my sight ! I tell you all plainly, if you go on opposing 
 me in this, I don't answer for myself. If He IT Grosse is not 
 recalled to Dimcluirch before the end of the weok I am my 
 own mistress I will go to him in London !" 
 
 Both the brothers looked at me. 
 
 "Have you nothing to say, Madame Pratolungo?" asked 
 Nugent. 
 
 Oscar was too painfully agitated to speak. He softly 
 crossed to my chair; and, kneeling by me, put my hand en- 
 treatingly to his lips. 
 
 You may consider me a heartless woman if you will. I 
 remained entirely unmoved even by this. Lucilla's interests 
 and my interests, you will observe, were now one. I had re- 
 solved, from the first, that she should not be married in ig- 
 norance of which was the man who was disfigured by the 
 blue face. If she took the course which would enable her to 
 make that discovery for herself, at the right time, she would 
 spare me the performance of a vey painful and ungracious 
 duty, and she would marry, as I was determined she should 
 marry, with a full knowledge of the truth. In this position 
 of affairs it was no business of mine to join the twin brothers 
 in trying to make her alter her resolution. On the contrary, 
 it was my business to confirm her in it. 
 
 " I can't see that I have any right to interfere," I said. 
 " In Lucilla's place after one-and-twenty years of blindness 
 I too should sacrifice every other consideration to the con- 
 sideration of recovering my siixht." 
 
 Oscar instantly rose, offended with me, and walked away
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 233 
 
 to the window. Lucilla's face brightened gratefully. "Ah !" 
 she said, " you understand me !" Nugent, in his turn, left 
 his chair He had confidently calculated, in his brother's in- 
 terests, on Lucilla's marriage preceding the recovery of Lu- 
 cilla's sight. That calculation was completely baffled. The 
 marriage would now depend on the state of Lucilla's feelings 
 after she had penetrated the truth for herself. I saw Nu- 
 gent's face darken as he walked to the door. 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo," he said, " you may, one day, re- 
 gret the course you have just taken. Do as you please, Lu- 
 cilla I have no more to say." 
 
 He left the room, with a quiet submission to circumstances 
 which became him admirably. Now, as always, it was im- 
 possible not to compare him advantageously with his vacil- 
 lating brother. Oscar turned round at the window, appar- 
 ently with the idea of following Nugent out. At the first 
 step he checked himself. There was a last effort still left to 
 make. Reverend Finch's " moral weight " had not been 
 thrown into the scale yet. 
 
 " There is one thing more, Lucilla," he said, " which you 
 ought to know before you decide. I have seen your father. 
 He desires me to tell you that he is strongly opposed to the 
 experiment which you are determined to try." 
 
 Lucilla sighed wearily. "It is not the first time that I 
 find my father failing to sympathize with me," she said. "I 
 am distressed but not surprised. It is you who surprise 
 me !" she added, suddenly raising her voice. " You, who 
 love me, are not one with me, when I am standing on the 
 brink of a new life. Good Heavens ! are my interests not 
 your interests in this? Is it not worth your while to wait 
 till I can look at you when I vow before God to love, honor, 
 and obey you? Do you understand him?" she asked, ap- 
 pealing abruptly to me. "Why does he try to start diffi- 
 culties? why is he not as eager about it as I am?" 
 
 I turned to Oscar. Now was the time for him to fall at 
 her feet and own it ! Here was the golden opportunity that 
 might never come again. I signed to him impatiently to 
 take it. He tried to take it let me do him the justice now 
 which I failed to do him at the time he tried to take it. 
 He advanced toward her; he struggled with himself; he said, 
 "There is a motive for my conduct, Lucilla " and r.topped.
 
 234 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 His breath failed him ; lie struggled again ; he forced out a 
 word or two more: "A motive," he went on, " which I have 
 been afraid to confess He paused again, with the perspi- 
 ration pouring over his livid face. 
 
 Lucilla's patience failed her. " What is your motive ?" she 
 asked, sharply. 
 
 The tone in which she spoke broke down his last reserves 
 of resolution. He turned his head suddenly so as not to see 
 her. At the final moment miserable, miserable man ! at 
 the final moment he took refuge in an excuse. 
 
 " I don't believe in Herr Grosse," he said, faintly, " as you 
 believe in him." 
 
 Lucilla rose, bitterly disappointed, and opened the door 
 that led into her own room. 
 
 "If it had been you who were blind," she answered, ''your 
 belief would have been tny belief, and your hope my hope. 
 It seems I have expected too much from you. Live and 
 learn ! live and learn !" 
 
 She went into her room and closed the door on us. I could 
 bear it no longer. I got up, with the firm resolution in me 
 to follow her and say the words he had failed to say for him- 
 self. My hand was on the door, when I was suddenly pulled 
 back from it by Oscar. I turned and faced him in silence. 
 
 "No!" he said, with his eyes fixed on mine, and his hand 
 still on my arm. "If I don't tell her, nobody shall tell her 
 for me." 
 
 " She shall be deceived no longer she must and shall hear 
 it," I answered. " Let me go !" 
 
 "You have given me your promise to wait for my leave 
 before you open your lips. I forbid you to open your lips." 
 
 I snapped the fingers of my hand that was free in his face. 
 ''That for my promise !" I said. "Your contemptible weak- 
 ness is putting her happiness in peril as well as yours." I 
 turned my head toward the door, and called to her. "Lu- 
 cilla P 
 
 His hand closed fast on my arm. Some lurking devil in 
 him that I had never seen yet leaped up and looked at me 
 out of his eyes. 
 
 "Tell her," he whispered, savagely, between his teeth, 
 "and I will contradict you to your face ! If you are desper- 
 ate, I am desperate too. I don't rare what meanness I am
 
 POOR 5IISS FINCH. 235 
 
 guilty of! I will deny it on my honor; I will deny it on my 
 oath. You heard what she said about you at Browndown. 
 She will believe me before yon" 
 
 Lucilla opened her door, and stood waiting on the threshold. 
 
 " What is it?" she asked, quietly. 
 
 A moment's glance at Oscar warned me that he would do 
 
 o 
 
 what he had threatened if I persisted in my resolution. The 
 desperation of a weak man is, of all desperations, the most 
 unscrupulous and the most unmanageable when it is once 
 roused. Angry as I was, I shrank from degrading him, as I 
 must now have degraded him if I matched my obstinacy 
 against his. In mercy to both of them, I gave way. 
 
 " I may be going out, my dear, before it gets dark," I said 
 to Lucilla. " Can I do any thing for you in the village?" 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " if you will wait a little, you can take a 
 letter for me to the post." 
 
 She went back into her room, and closed the door. 
 
 I neither looked at Oscar nor spoke to him when we were 
 alone again. He was the first who broke the silence. 
 
 "You have remembered your promise to me," he said. 
 " You have done well." 
 
 " I have nothing more to say to you," I answered. " I 
 shall go to my room." 
 
 His eyes followed me uneasily as I walked to the door. 
 
 " I shall speak to her," he muttered, doggedly, " at my 
 own time." 
 
 A wise woman would not have allowed him to irritate her 
 into saying another word. Alas ! I am not a wise woman 
 that is to say, not always. 
 
 "Your own time?" I repeated, with the whole force of 
 my contempt. " If you don't own the truth to her before the 
 German surgeon comes back, your time will have gone by 
 forever. lie has told us, in the plainest terms, when once 
 the operation is performed nothing must be said to agitate 
 or distress her for months afterward. The preservation of 
 her tranquillity is the condition of the recovery of her sight. 
 You will soon have an excuse for your silence, Mr. Oscar 
 Dubourg !'' 
 
 The tone in which I said those last words stung him to 
 some purpose. 
 
 "Spare your sneers, you heartless Frenchwoman !" he broke
 
 236 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 out, angrily. " I don't care how I stand in your estimation. 
 Lucilla loves me. Xugent feels for me." 
 
 My vile temper instantly hit on the most merciless answer 
 I could make him in return. 
 
 " Ah, poor Lucilla !" I said. " What a much happier pros- 
 pect hers might have been ! What a thousand, thousand 
 pities it is that she is not going to marry your brother in- 
 stead of marrying youF" 1 
 
 He winced under that reply as if I had cut him with a 
 knife. His head dropped on his breast. He started back 
 from me like a beaten dog, and suddenly and silently left the 
 room. 
 
 I had not been a minute by myself before my anger cool- 
 ed. I tried to keep it hot ; 1 tried to remember that he had 
 aspersed my nation in calling me a "heartless Frenchwom- 
 an." No ! it was not to be done. In spite of myself I re- 
 pented what I had said to him. 
 
 In a moment I was out on the stairs to try if I could over- 
 take him. 
 
 I was too late. I heard the garden gate bang before I 
 was out of the house. Twice I approached the gate to fol- 
 low him. And twice I drew back in the fear of making bad 
 Averse. It ended in my return to the sitting-room, very seri- 
 ously dissatisfied with myself. 
 
 The first welcome interruption to my solitude came, not 
 from Lucilla, but from the old nurse. Zillah appeared with 
 a letter for me: left that moment at the rectory by the serv- 
 ant from Browndown. The direction was in Oscar's hand- 
 writing. I opened the envelope, and read these words: 
 
 "MADAME PRATOLUNGO, You have distressed and pained 
 me more than I can say. There are faults, and serious ones, 
 on my side, I know. I heartily beg your pardon for any 
 thing that I may have said or done to offend, you. I can not 
 submit to your hard verdict on me. If you knew how I 
 adore Lucilla, you would make allowances for me you 
 would understand me better than you do. I can not get 
 your last cruel words out of my ears. I can not meet yon 
 again without some explanation of them. You stabbed me 
 to the heart when you said this evening that it would be a 
 happier prospect for Lucilla if she had been going to marry
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 237 
 
 my brother instead of marrying me. I hope you did not real- 
 ly mean that? Will you please write and tell me whether 
 you did or not? OSCAR." 
 
 Write and tell him ! It was absurd enough when we 
 were within a few minutes' walk of each other that Oscar 
 should prefer the cold formality of a letter to the friendly 
 ease of a personal interview. Why could he not have called 
 and spoken to me? We should have made it up together 
 far more comfortably in that way and in half the time. At 
 any rate, I determined to go to Browndown, and be good 
 friends again, viva voce, with this poor, weak, well-meaning, 
 ill-judging boy. Was it not monstrous to have attached se- 
 rious meaning to what Oscar had said when he was in a panic 
 of nervous terror ! His tone of writing so keenly distressed 
 me that I resented his letter on that very account. It was 
 one of the chilly evenings of an English June. A small fire 
 was burning in the grate. I crumpled up the letter, and 
 threw it, as I supposed, into the fire. (After-events showed 
 that I only threw it into a corner of the fender instead.) 
 Then I put on rny hat, without stopping to think of Lucilla, 
 or of what she was writing for the post, and ran off" to Brown- 
 down. 
 
 Where do you think I found him? Locked up in his own 
 room! His insane shyness it was really nothing less 
 made him shrink from that very personal explanation which 
 (with such a temperament as mine) was the only possible ex- 
 planation under the circumstances. I had to threaten him 
 with forcing his door before I could get him to show himself 
 and take rny hand. 
 
 Once face to face with him, I soon set things right. I real- 
 ly believe he had been half mad with his own self-imposed 
 troubles when he had threatened giving me the lie at the 
 door of Lucilla's room. 
 
 It is needless to dwell on what took place between us. I 
 shall only say here that I had serious reason, at a later time 
 as you will soon see to regret not having humored Oscar's 
 request that I should reconcile myself to him by writing, in- 
 stead of by word of mouth. If I had only placed on record, 
 in pen and ink, what I actually said in the way of making 
 atonement to him, I might have spared some suffering to my-
 
 j:J8 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 self and to others. As it was, the only proof that I had ab- 
 solved myself in his estimation consisted in his cordially shak- 
 ing hands with me at the door when I left him. 
 
 "Did you meet Nugent?" he asked, as he walked with me 
 across the inclosure in front of the house. 
 
 I had gone to Browndown by a short-cut at the back of 
 the garden, instead of going through the village. Having 
 mentioned this, I asked if Nugent had returned to the rec- 
 tory. 
 
 "He went back to see you," said Oscar. 
 
 Why ?" 
 
 "Only his usual kindness. He takes your views of things. 
 He laughed when he heard I had sent a letter to you, and he 
 ran off (dear fellow!) to see you on my behalf. You must 
 have met him if you had come here by the village." 
 
 On getting back to the rectory I questioned Zillah. Nu- 
 gent, in my absence, had run up into the sitting-room ; had 
 waited there a few minutes alonje, on the chance of my re- 
 turn ; had got tired of waiting, and had gone away again. I 
 inquired about Lucilla next. A few minutes after Nugent 
 had gone she had left her room, and she too had asked for 
 me. Hearing that I was not to be found in the house, she 
 had given Zillah a letter to post, and had then returned to 
 her bed-chamber. 
 
 I happened to be standing by the hearth looking into the 
 dying fire while the nurse was speaking. Not a vestige of 
 Oscar's letter to me (as I now well remember) was to be seen. 
 In my position, the plain conclusion was that I had really 
 done what I supposed myself to have done that is to say, 
 thrown the letter into the flames. 
 
 Entering Lucilla's room, soon afterward, to make my apol- 
 ogies for having forgotten to wait and take her letter to the 
 post, I found her, weary enough after the events of the day, 
 getting ready for bed. 
 
 "I don't wonder at your being tired of waiting for me," 
 she said. " Writing is long, long work for me. But this was 
 a letter which I felt bound to write myself if I could. Can 
 you guess who I am corresponding with ? It is done, my 
 dear ! I have written to Herr Grosse !" 
 
 "Already!" 
 
 "What is there to wait for? What is there left to deter-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 239 
 
 mine on? I have told Herr Grosse tliat our family consulta- 
 tion is over, and that I am entirely at his disposal for any 
 length of time he may think right. And I warn him, if he 
 attempts to put it off, that he will be only forcing on me the 
 inconvenience of going to him in London. I have expressed 
 that part of my letter strongly, I can tell you ! He will get 
 it to-morrow by the afternoon post. And the next day if 
 he is a man of his word he will be here." 
 
 " Oh, Lucilla ! not to operate on your eyes?" 
 
 " Yes to operate on my eyes !" 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-THIRD. 
 
 THE DAY BETWEEN. 
 
 THE interval-day before the second appearance of Herr 
 Grosse, and the experiment on Lucilla's sight that was to fol- 
 low it, was marked by two incidents which ought to be no- 
 ticed in this place. 
 
 The first incident was the arrival, early in the morning, of 
 another letter addressed to me privately by Oscar Dubourg. 
 Like many other shy people, he had a perfect mania, where 
 any embarrassing circumstances were concerned, for explain- 
 ing himself, with difficulty, by means of his pen, in preference 
 to explaining himself, with ease, by means of his tongue. 
 
 Oscar's present communication informed me that he had 
 left us for London by the first morning train, and that his 
 object in taking this sudden journey was to state his pres- 
 ent position toward Lucilla to a gentleman especially con- 
 versant with the peculiarities of blind people. In plain words, 
 he had resolved on applying to Mr. Sebright for advice. 
 
 "I like Mr. Sebright" (Oscar wrote) "as cordially as I de- 
 test Herr Grosse. The short conversation I had with him 
 has left me with the pleasantest impression of his delicacy 
 and his kindness. If I freely reveal to this skillful surgeon 
 the sad situation in which I am placed, I believe his experi- 
 ence will throw an entirely new light on the present state of 
 Lucilla's mind, and on the changes which we may expect to 
 see produced in her if she really does recover her sight. The 
 result may be of incalculable benefit in teaching me how I 
 may own the truth most harmlessly to her as well as to \\\\ -
 
 240 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 self. Pray don't suppose I undervalue your advice. I only 
 want to be doubly fortified, before I risk my confession, by 
 the advice of a scientific man." 
 
 All this I took to mean, in plain English, that vacillating 
 Oscar wanted to quiet his conscience by gaining time, and 
 that his absurd idea of consulting Mr. Sebright was nothing 
 less than a new and plausible excuse for putting off the evil 
 day. His letter ended by pledging me to secrecy, and by en- 
 treating me so to manage matters as to grant him a private 
 interview on his return to Dimchurch by the evening train. 
 
 I confess I felt some curiosity as to what would come of 
 the proposed consultation between unready Oscar and pre- 
 cise Mr. Sebright ; and I accordingly arranged to take my 
 walk alone, toward eight o'clock that evening, on the road 
 that led to the distant railway station. 
 
 The second incident of the day may be described as a con- 
 fidential conversation between Lucilla and myself on the sub- 
 ject which no\v equally absorbed us both the momentous 
 subject of her restoration to the blessing of sight. 
 
 She joined me at the breakfast-table, with her ready dis- 
 trust newly excited, poor thing, by Oscar. He had account- 
 ed to her for his journey to London by putting forward the 
 commonplace excuse of "business." She instantly suspected 
 (knowing how he felt about it) that he was secretly bent on 
 interfering with the performance of the operation by Herr 
 Grosse. I contrived to compose the anxiety thus aroused in 
 her mind by informing her, on Oscar's own authority, that 
 he personally disliked and distrusted the German oculist. 
 "Whatever else he may do in London," I said, " make your 
 mind easy, my dear. I answer for his not venturing near 
 Herr Grosse."' 
 
 After a long silence between us, following on those words, 
 Lucilla raised her head from her second cup of tea, and ab- 
 ruptly referred to Oscar in another way a way which re- 
 vealed to me a new peculiarity of feeling belonging exclu- 
 sively to the strange temperament of the blind. 
 
 "Do you know one thing?" she said. " If I had not been 
 going to be married to Oscar, I doubt if I should have cared 
 to put any oculist, native or foreign, to the trouble of coming 
 to Dimchurch."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 241 
 
 " I don't think I understand you," I answered. " Yon 
 can not surely mean to say that you would not have been 
 glad, under any circumstances, to recover the use of your 
 eyes ?" 
 
 "That is just what I do mean to say," she rejoined. 
 
 "What! you, who have been blind from your infancy, 
 don't care to see V" 
 
 " I only care to see Oscar. And what is more, I only care 
 to see him because I am in love with him. But for that, I 
 really don't feel as if it would give me any particular pleas- 
 ure to use my eyes. I have been blind so long, I have 
 learned to do without them." 
 
 "Impossible! My dear Liu-ilia, I really can not believe 
 you are in earnest in talking in that way !" 
 
 She laughed, and finished her tea. 
 
 " You people who can see," she said, " attach such an ab- 
 surd importance to your eyes! I set my touch, my dear, 
 against your eyes, ns much the most trustworthy and much 
 the most intelligent sense of the two. If Oscar was not, as 
 I have said, the uppermost feeling with me, shall I tell you 
 what I should have infinitely preferred to recovering my sight 
 supposing it could have been done?" She shook her head 
 with a comic resignation to circumstances. "Unfortunately, 
 it can't be done !" 
 
 " What can't be done ?" 
 
 She suddenly held out both her arms over the breakfast- 
 table. 
 
 " The stretching out of these to an enormous and unheard- 
 of length. That is what. I should have liked !" she answered. 
 "I could find out better what was going on at a distance 
 with my hands than you could with your eyes and your tel- 
 escopes. What doubts I might set at rest, for instance, about 
 the planetary system, among the people who can see, if I 
 could only stretch out far enough to touch the stars!" 
 
 "This is talking sheer nonsense, Lucilla." 
 
 "Is it? Just tell me which knows best in the dark my 
 touch or your eyes? Who has got a sense that she can al- 
 '".iys trust to serve her equally well through the whole four- 
 and-twenty hours? You or me? But for Oscar to speak 
 in sober earnest this time I tell you I would much rather 
 perfect the sense in me that I have already got thau have a 
 
 L
 
 242 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 sense given to me that I have not got. Until I knew Oscar I 
 don't think I ever honestly envied any of you the use of your 
 eyes." 
 
 "You astonish me, Lucilla!" 
 
 She rattled her tea-spoon impatiently in her empty cup. 
 
 " Can you always trust to your eyes, even in broad day- 
 light?" she burst out. "How often do they deceive you in 
 the simplest things ! What did I hear you all disputing 
 about the other day in the garden? You were looking at 
 some view?" 
 
 "Yes, at the view down the alley of trees at the other end 
 of the church-yard wall." 
 
 " Some object in the alley had attracted general notice 
 had it not ?" 
 
 " Yes, an object at the further end of it." 
 
 " I heard you up here. You all differed in opinion, in spite 
 of your wonderful eyes. My father said it moved. You said 
 it stood still. Oscar said it was a man. Mrs. Finch said it 
 was a calf. Nugent ran oft* and examined this amazing ob- 
 ject at close quarters. And what did it turn out to be ? A 
 stump of an old tree, blown across the road in the night ! 
 Why am I to envy people the possession of a sense which 
 plays them such tricks as that? No! no! Herr Grosse is 
 going to ' cut into my cataracts,' as he calls it because I am 
 going to be married to a man I love ; and I fancy, like a fool, 
 I may love him better still if I can see him. I may be quite 
 wrong," she added, archly. "It may end in my not loving 
 him half as well as I do now !" 
 
 I thought of Oscar's face, and felt a sickening fear that she 
 might be speaking far more seriously than she suspected. I 
 tried to change the subject. No! Her imaginative nature 
 had found its way into a new region of speculation before I 
 could open my lips. 
 
 " I associate light," she said, thoughtfully, " with all that is 
 beautiful and heavenly, and dark with all that is vile and hor- 
 rible and devilish. I wonder how light and dark will look 
 to me when I see ?" 
 
 "I believe they will astonish you," I answered, " by being 
 entirely unlike what you fancy them to be now." 
 
 She started. I had alarmed her without intending it. 
 
 " Will Oscar's face be utterly unlike what I fancy it to be
 
 POOU MISS FINCH. 243 
 
 uow ?" she asked, in suddenly altered tones. "Do you mean 
 to say that I have not had the right image of him- in my mind 
 all this time?" 
 
 i tried again to draw her off to another topic. What more 
 could I do, with my tongue tied by the German's warning to 
 us not to agitate her in the face of the operation to be per- 
 formed on tiie next day ? 
 
 it was quite useless. She went on, as before, without heed- 
 ing me. 
 
 "Have I no means of judging rightly what Oscar is like?" 
 she said. " I touch my own face; I know how long it is, and 
 how broad it is ; I know how big the different features aiv, 
 and where they are. And then I touch Oscar, and compare 
 his face with my knowledge of my own face. Not a single 
 detail escapes me. I see him in my mind as plainly as you 
 see me across this table. Do you mean to say, when I see 
 him with my eyes, that I shall discover something perfectly 
 new to me ? I don't believe it !" She started up impatiently, 
 and took a turn in the room. "Oh!" she exclaimed, with a 
 stamp of her foot, " why can't I take- laudanum enough or 
 chloroform enough to kill me for the next six weeks, and then 
 come to life again when the German takes the bandage oft' 
 my eyes!" She sat down once more, and drifted all on a 
 sudden into a question of pure morality. "Tell me this," she 
 said. " Is the greatest virtue the virtue which it is most 
 difficult to practice?" 
 
 " I suppose so," I answered. 
 
 She drummed with both hands on the table, petulantly, 
 viciously, as hard as she could. "Then, Madame Pratolungo," 
 she said, ''the greatest of all the virtues is Patience. Oh, 
 my friend, how I hate the greatest of all the virtues at this 
 moment. !" 
 
 That ended it there the conversation found its way into 
 other topics at last. 
 
 Thinking afterward of the strange tilings which Lucilla 
 had said to me, I derived one consolation from what had 
 passed at the breakfast-table. If Mr. Sebright proved to be 
 right, and if the operation failed after all, I hrul Lueilla's 
 word for it that blindness, of itself, is not the terrible afflic- 
 tion to the blind which the rest of us fancy it to be because 
 we can see.
 
 244 POOR MISS FIjSCH. 
 
 Toward half-past seven in the evening I went out alone, as 
 I had planned, to meet Oscar on his return from London. 
 
 At a long straight stretch of the road I saw him advancing 
 toward me. He was walking more rapidly than usual, and 
 singing as he walked. Even through its livid discoloration 
 the poor fellow's face looked radiant with happiness as lie 
 came nearer. He waved his walking-stick exultingly in the 
 air. "Good news!" he called out at the top of his voice. 
 " Mr. Sebright has made me a happy man again!" I had 
 never before seen him so like Nugent in manner as I now 
 saw him when we met and he shook hands with me. 
 
 " Tell me all about it," I said. 
 
 He gave me his arm; and', talking all the way, we walked 
 back slowly to Dimchurch. 
 
 "In the first place," he began, "Mr. Sebright holds to his 
 own opinion more firmly than ever. He feels absolutely cer- 
 tain that the operation will fail." 
 
 "Is that your good news?" I asked, reproachfully. 
 
 "No," he said. ''Though, mind, I own to my shame there 
 was a time when I almost hoped it would fail. Mr. Sebright 
 has put me in a better frame of mind. I have little or nothing 
 to dread fro:n the success of the operation, if by any extraor- 
 dinary chance it should succeed. I remind you of Mr. Se- 
 bright's opinion merely to give you a right idea of the tone 
 which he took with me at starting. He only consented un- 
 der protest to contemplate the event which Lucilla and Herr 
 Grosse consider to be a certainty. 'If the statement of your 
 position requires it,' he said, 'I will admit that it is barely 
 possible she may be able to see you two months hence. Now 
 begin.' I began by informing him of my marriage engage- 
 ment." 
 
 "Shall I tell how Mr. Sebright received the information?" 
 I said. " He held his tongue, and made you a bow." 
 
 Oscar laughed. "Quite true," lie answered. "I told him 
 next of Lucilla's extraordinary antipathy to dark people, and 
 dark shades of color of all kinds. Can you guess what lie 
 said to me when I had done ?" 
 
 I owned that my observation of Mr. Sebright's character 
 did not extend to guessing that. 
 
 "He said it was a common antipathy in his experience of 
 the blind. It was one among the many strange influences
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 245 
 
 exercised by blindness on the mind. 'The physical affliction 
 lias its mysterious moral influence,' he said. 'We can ob- 
 serve it, but we can't explain it. The special antipathy which 
 you mention is an incurable antipathy, except on one condi- 
 tion the recovery of the sight.' There he stopped. I en- 
 treated him to go on. No ! He declined to go on until I had 
 finished what I had to say to him first. I had my confession 
 still to make to him and I made it." 
 
 "You concealed nothing?" 
 
 "Nothing. I laid my weakness bare before him. I told 
 him that Lucilla was still firmly convinced that Nugent's was 
 the discolored face instead of mine. And then I put the 
 question What am I to do ?" 
 
 " And how did he reply ?" 
 
 " In these words : ' If you ask me what you are to do in the 
 event of her remaining blind (which I tell you again will be the 
 event), I decline to advise you. Your own conscience and 
 your own sense of honor must decide the question. On the 
 other hand, if you ask me what you are to do in the event 
 of her recovering her sight, I can answer you unreservedly 
 in the plainest terms. Leave things as they are, and wait 
 till she sees.' Those were his own words. Oh, the load that 
 they took off my mind ! I made him repeat them I declaro 
 I was almost afraid to trust the evidence of my own ears." 
 
 I understood the motive of Oscar's good spirits better than 
 I understood the motive of Mr. Scbright's advice. "Did he 
 give his reasons?" I asked. 
 
 "You shall hear his reasons directly. lie insisted on first 
 satisfying himself that I thoroughly understood my position 
 at that moment. 'The prime condition of success, as Ilerr 
 Grosse has told you,' he said, 'is the perfect tranquillity of 
 your patient. If you make your confession to the young 
 lady when you get back to-night to Dimchurch, you throw 
 her into a state of excitement which will render it impossible 
 for my German colleague to operate on her to-morrow. If 
 you defer your confession, the medical necessities of the case 
 force you to be silent until the professional attendance of the 
 oculist has ceased. There is your position ! My advice to 
 you is to adopt the last alternative. Wait (and make the 
 other persons in the secret wait) until the result of the oper- 
 ation has declared itself.' There I stopped him. 'Do you
 
 24G POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 mean that I am to be present on the first occasion when she 
 is able to use her eyes ?' I asked. ' Am I to let her see me 
 without a word beforehand to prepare her for the color of my 
 face?'" 
 
 We were now getting to the interesting part of it. Yon 
 English people, when you are out walking and are carrying 
 on a conversation with your friend, never come to a stand- 
 still at the points of interest. We foreigners, on the other 
 hand, invariably stop. I surprised Oscar by suddenly pull- 
 ing him up in the middle of the road. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" he asked. 
 
 " Go on !" I said, impatiently. 
 
 " I can't go on," he rejoined. "You're holding me." 
 
 I held him tighter than ever, and ordered him more reso- 
 lutely than ever to go on. Oscar resigned himself to a halt 
 (foreign fashion) on the high-road. 
 
 "Mr. Sebright met my question by putting a question on 
 his side," he resumed. " He asked me how I proposed to pre- 
 pare her for the color of my lace." 
 
 "And what did you tell him?" 
 
 " I said I had planned to make an excuse for leaving Dim- 
 church, and, once away, to prepare her by writing for what 
 she might expect to see when I returned." 
 
 " What did he say to that ?" 
 
 "He wouldn't hear of it. He said, 'I strongly recommend 
 you to be present on the first occasion when she is capable 
 (if she ever is capable) of using her sight. I attach the great- 
 est importance to her being able to correct the hideous and 
 absurd image now in her mind of a face like yours, by seeing 
 you as you really are at the earliest available opportunity.'" 
 
 We were just walking on again when certain words in 
 that last sentence startled me. I stopped short once more. 
 
 "Hideous and absurd image?" I repeated, thinking in- 
 stantly of my conversation of that morning with Lucilla. 
 "What did Mr. Sebright mean by using such language as 
 that?" 
 
 "Just what I asked him. His reply will interest you. It 
 led him into that explanation of his motives which yon in- 
 quired for just now. Shall we walk on?" 
 
 My petrified foreign feet recovered their activity. We 
 went on a^ain.
 
 POOIt MISS FINCH. 247 
 
 "When I had spoken lo Mr. Sebright of Lucilla's inveter- 
 ate prejudice," Oscar continued, "he had surprised me by 
 saying that it was common in his experience, and was only 
 curable by her restoration to sight. In support of those as- 
 sertions lie now told me of two interesting cases which had 
 occurred in his professional practice. The first was the case 
 of the little daughter of an Indian officer blind from infancy, 
 like Lucilla. After operating successfully, the time came when 
 he could permit his patient to try her sight that is to say, to 
 try if she could see sufficiently well at first to distinguish 
 dark objects from light. Among the members of the house- 
 hold assembled to witness the removal of the bandage was 
 an Indian nurse who had accompanied the family to England. 
 The first person the child saw was her mother a fair wom- 
 an. She clasped her little hands in astonishment, and that 
 was all. At the next turn of her head she saw the dark In- 
 dian nurse, and instantly screamed with terror. Mr. Sebright 
 owned to me that he could not explain it. The child could 
 have no possible association with colors. Yet there, never- 
 theless, was the most violent hatred and horror of a dark 
 object (the hatred and horror peculiar to the blind) express- 
 ing itself unmistakably in a child often years old ! My first 
 thought, while he was telling me this, was of myself, and of 
 my chance with Lucilla. My first question was, 'Did the 
 child get used to the nurse?' I can give you his answer in 
 his own words. 'In a week's time I found the child sitting 
 in the nurse's lap as composedly as I am sitting in this chair.' 
 That is encouraging, isn't it?" 
 
 " Most encouraging nobody can deny it." 
 
 "The second instance was more curious still. This time 
 the case was the case of a grown man and the object was 
 to show me what strange fantastic images (utterly unlike the 
 reality) the blind form of the people about them. The pa- 
 tient was married, and was to see his wife (as Lucilla is one 
 day to see me) for the first time. He had been told before 
 he married her that she was personally disfigured by the scar 
 of a wound on one of her cheeks. The poor woman ah, how 
 well I can understand her! trembled for the consequences. 
 The man who had loved her dearly while he was blind might 
 hate her when he saw her scarred face. Her husband had 
 been the first to console her when the operation was deter-
 
 248 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 rained on. He declared that his sense of touch, and the de- 
 scription given to him by others, had enabled him to form, in 
 his own mind, the most complete and faithful image of his 
 wife's face. Nothing that Mr. Sebright could say would in- 
 duce him to believe that it was physically impossible for him 
 to form a really correct idea of any object, animate or inani- 
 mate, which he had never seen. He wouldn't hear of it. He 
 was so certain of the result that he held his wife's hand in 
 his, to encourage her, when the bandage was removed from 
 him. At his first look at her he uttered a cry of horror, and 
 fell back in his chair in a swoon. His wife, poor thing, was 
 distracted. Mr. Sebright did his best to compose her, and 
 waited till her husband was able to answer the questions put 
 to him. It then appeared that his blind idea of his Avife and 
 of her disfigurement had been something so grotesque and 
 horribly unlike the reality that it was hard to know whether 
 to laugh or to tremble at it. She was as beautiful as an an- 
 gel, by comparison with her husband's favorite idea of her 
 and yet, because it teas his idea, he was absolutely disgusted 
 and terrified at the first sight of her '. In a few weeks he was 
 able to compare his wife with other women, to look at pict- 
 ures, to understand what beauty was, and what ugliness was ; 
 and from that time they have lived together as happy a mar- 
 ried couple as any in the kingdom." 
 
 I was not quite sure which way this last example pointed. 
 It alarmed me when I thought of Lucilla. I came to a stand- 
 still again. 
 
 " How did Mr. Sebright apply this second case to Lucilla 
 and to you ?" I asked. 
 
 "You shall hear," said Oscar. "He first appealed to the 
 case as supporting his assertion that Lucilla's idea of me must 
 be utterly unlike what I am myself. He asked if I was now 
 satisfied that she could have no correct conception of what 
 faces and colors were really like, and if I agreed with him in 
 believing that the image in her mind of the man with the 
 blue face was in all probability something fantastically and 
 hideously unlike the reality. After what I had heard, I 
 agreed with him as a matter of course. ' Very well,' says Mr. 
 Sebright. ' Now let us remember that there is one important 
 difference between the case of Miss Finch and the case that 
 I have just mentioned. The husband's blind idea of his wife
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 249 
 
 was the husband's favorite idea. The shock ot'tho first sight 
 of her was plainly a shock to him on that account. Now Miss 
 Finch's blind idea of the blue face is, on the contrary, a hateful 
 idea to her the image is an image that she loathes. Is it not 
 
 o o 
 
 fair to conclude from this that the first sight of you as you 
 really are is likely to be, in her case, a relief to her instead 
 of a shock ? Reasoning from my experience, I reach that 
 conclusion ; and I advise you, in your own interests, to be 
 present when the bandage is taken off. Even if I prove to 
 be mistaken even if she is not immediately reconciled to 
 the sight of you there is the other example of the child and 
 the Indian nurse to satisfy you that it is only a question of 
 time. Sooner or later she will take the discovery as any 
 other young lady would take it. At first she will be indig- 
 nant with you for deceiving her; and then, if you are sure 
 of your place in her affections, she will end in forgiving you. 
 There is my view of your position, and there are the grounds 
 on which I form it ! In the mean time my own opinion re- 
 mains unshaken. I firmly believe that you will never have 
 occasion to act on the advice that I have given to you. When 
 the bandage is taken off, the chances are five hundred to one 
 that she is no nearer to seeing you then than she is now.' 
 These were his last words and on that we parted." 
 
 Oscar and I walked on again for a little way in silence. 
 
 I had nothing to say against Mr. Sebright's reasons; it was 
 impossible to question the professional experience from which 
 they were drawn. As to blind people in general, I felt no 
 doubt that his advice was good, and that his conclusions 
 were arrived at correctly. But Lucilla's was no ordinary 
 character. My experience of her was better experience than 
 Mr. Sebright's: and the more I thought of the future, the less 
 inclined I felt to take Oscar's hopeful view. She was just the 
 person to say something or do something, at the critical mo- 
 ment of the experiment, which would take the wisest previ- 
 ous calculation by surprise. Oscar's prospects had never 
 looked darker to me than they looked at that moment. 
 
 It would have been useless and cruel to have said to him 
 what I have just said here. I put as bright a face on it as I 
 could, and asked if he proposed to follow Mr. Sebright's advice. 
 
 "Yes," he said. "With a certain reservation of my own, 
 which occurred to me after I had left his house." 
 
 L2
 
 250 POOR MISS PINCH. 
 
 " May I ask what it is ?" 
 
 "Certainly. I mean to beg Nugent to leave Dimchurch 
 before Lucilla tries her sight for the first time. He will do 
 that, I know, to please me." 
 
 " And when he has done it, what then ?" 
 
 "Then I mean to be present as Mr. Sebright suggested 
 when the bandage is taken off." 
 
 "Previously telling Lucilla," I interposed, "that it is you 
 who are in the room ?" 
 
 " No. There I take the precaution that I alluded to just 
 now. I propose to leave Lucilla under the impression that 
 it is I who have left Dimchurch, and that Nugent's face is 
 the face she sees. If Mr. Sebright proves to be right, and if 
 her first sensation is a sensation of relief, I will own the truth 
 to her the same day. If not, I will wait to make my confes- 
 sion until she has become reconciled to the sight of me. That 
 plan meets every possible emergency. It is one of the few 
 good ideas that my stupid head has hit on since I have been 
 at Dimchurch." 
 
 He said those last words with such an innocent air of tri- 
 umph that I really could not find it in my heart to dump his 
 ardor by telling him what I thought of his idea. All I said 
 was, " Don't forget, Oscar, that the cleverest plans are at the 
 mercy of circumstances. At the last moment, an accident 
 may happen which will force you to speak out." 
 
 We came in sight of the rectory as I gave him that final 
 warning. Nugent was strolling up and down the road on 
 the look-out for us. I left Oscar to tell his story over again 
 to his brother, and went into the house. 
 
 Lucilla was at her piano when I entered the sitting-room. 
 She was not only playing, but (a rare thing with her) singing 
 too. The song was, poetry and music both, of her own com- 
 posing. "I shall see him ! I shall see him !" In those four 
 words the composition began and ended. She adapted them 
 to all the happy melodies in her memory. She accompanied 
 them with hands that seemed to be mad for joy hands that 
 threatened every moment to snap the chords of the instru- 
 ment. Never, since my first day at the rectory, had I heard 
 such a noise in our quiet sitting-room as I heard now. She 
 was in a fever of exhilaration which, in my foreboding frame 
 of mind at that moment, it pained and shocked me to see.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 251 
 
 1 u'fted her off the music-stool, and shut up the piano by 
 main force. 
 
 "Compose yourself, for Heaven's sake," I said. "Do you 
 want to be completely exhausted when the German comes 
 to-morrow ?" 
 
 That consideration instantly checked her. She suddenly 
 became quiet, with the abrupt facility of .1 child. 
 
 " I forgot that," she said, sitting down in a corner, with a 
 face of dismay. "He might refuse to perform the operation ! 
 Oh, my dear, quiet me down somehow. Get a book and read 
 to me." 
 
 I got the book. Ah, the poor author ! Neither she nor I 
 paid the slightest attention to him. Worse still, we abused 
 him for not interesting us and then shut him up with a bang, 
 and pushed him rudely into his place on the book-shelf, and 
 left him upside down, and went to bed. 
 
 She was standing at her window when I went in to wish 
 her good-night. The mellow moonlight fell tenderly on her 
 lovely face. "Moon that I have never seen," she murmured, 
 softly, " I leel you looking at me ! Is the time coming when 
 /shall look at You?" She turned from the window, and 
 eagerly put my fingers on her pulse. "Am I quite composed 
 again ?" she asked. " Will he find me well to-morrow ? Feel 
 it! feel it! Is it quiet now?" I felt it throbbing faster 
 and faster. "Sleep will quiet it," I said, and kissed her and 
 left her. 
 
 She slept well. As for me, I passed such a wretched night, 
 and got up so completely worn out, that I had to go back 
 to my room after breakfast, and lie down again. Lucilla 
 persuaded me to do it. "HerrGrosse won't be here till the 
 afternoon," she said. "Rest till he comes." 
 
 We had reckoned without allowing for the eccentric char- 
 acter of our German surgeon. Excepting the business of 
 his profession, Herr Grosse did every thing by impulse, and 
 nothing by rule. I had not long fallen into a broken, un- 
 refreshing sleep, when I felt Zillah's hand on my shoulder, 
 and heard Zillah's voice in my ear. 
 
 "Please to get up, ma'am! lie's here he has come from 
 London by the morning train." 
 
 I hurried into the sittinsi-room.
 
 252 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 There, at the table, sat He IT Grosse, with an open instru- 
 ment-case before him ; his wild black eyes gloating over a 
 hideous array of scissors, probes, and knives, and his shabby 
 hat hard by, with lint and bandages huddled together any- 
 how inside it. And there stood Lucilla by his side, stooping 
 over him with one hand laid familiarly on his shoulder, and 
 with the other deftly fingering one of his horrid instruments 
 to find out what it was like !
 
 1'OOU MISS FINCH. 253 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY - FOURTH. 
 
 NUGENT SHOWS HIS HAND. 
 
 I CLOSED the First Part of ray narrative on the day of the 
 operation the twenty-fifth of June. 
 
 I open the Second Part, between six and seven weeks later, 
 on the ninth of August. 
 
 How did the time pass at Dimehurch in that interval ? 
 
 Searching backward in my memory, I call to life again the 
 domestic history of the six weeks. It looks, on retrospection, 
 miserably dull and empty of incident. I wonder, when I 
 contemplate it now, how we got through that weary inter- 
 val how we bore that forced inaction, that unrelieved op- 
 pression of suspense. 
 
 Changing from bedroom to sitting-room, from sitting-room 
 back to bedroom, with the daylight always shut out, with the 
 bandages always on except when the surgeon looked at her 
 eyes, Lucilla bore the imprisonment and, worse than the 
 imprisonment, the uncertainty of her period of probation 
 with the courage that can endure any thing, the courage 
 sustained by Hope. With books, with music, with talk 
 above all, with Love to help her she counted her way calm- 
 ly through the dull succession of hours and days till the time 
 came which was to decide the question in dispute between 
 the oculists the terrible question of which of the two, Mr. 
 Sebright or Herr Grosse, was right. 
 
 I was not present at the examination which finally decided 
 all doubt. I joined Oscar in the garden quite as incapable 
 as he was of exerting the slightest self-control. We paced 
 silently backward and forward on the lawn, like two animals 
 in a cage. Zillah was the only witness present when the 
 German examined our poor darling's eyes, Nugent enijaccinc: 
 to wait in the next room and announce the result from the 
 window. As the event turned out, Herr Grosse was before- 
 hand with him. Once more we heard his broken English
 
 254 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 shouting, "Hi-hi-hoi! hoi-hi! hoi-hi!" Once more we beheld 
 
 o / 
 
 his huge silk handkerchief waving at the window. I turned 
 
 o *--? 
 
 sick and faint under the excitement of the moment under 
 the rapture (it was nothing less) of hearing those three elec- 
 trifying words, " She will see !" Mercy ! how we did abuse 
 Mr. Sebright, when we were all reunited again in Lucilla's 
 room ! 
 
 The first excitement over, we had our difficulties to con- 
 tend with next. 
 
 From the moment when she was positively informed that 
 the operation had succeeded, our once patient Lucilla de- 
 veloped into a new being. She now rose in perpetual revolt 
 against the caution which still deferred the day on which 
 she was to be allowed to make the first trial, of her sight. It 
 required all my influence, backed by Oscar's entreaties, and 
 strengthened by the furious foreign English of our excellent 
 German surgeon (Herr Grosse had a temper of his own, I can 
 tell you!) to prevent her from breaking through the medical 
 discipline which held her in its grasp. When she became 
 quite unmanageable, and vehemently abused him to his face, 
 our good Grosse used to swear at her, in a compound bad 
 language of his own, with a tremendous aspiration at the 
 beginning of it, which always set matters right by making 
 her laugh. I see him again as I- write, leaving the room on 
 
 O O / d? 
 
 these occasions, with his eyes blazing through his spectacles, 
 and his shabby hat cocked sideways on his head. "Soh, you 
 little-spitfire-Feench ! If you touch that bandages when I 
 have put him on IIo-Damn-Damn ! I say no more. Good- 
 by!" 
 
 From Lucilla I turn to the twin brothers next. 
 
 Tranquilized as to the future, after his interview with Mr. 
 Sebright, Oscar presented himself at his best during the time 
 of which I am now writing. Lucilla's main reliance, in her 
 days in the darkened room, was on what her lover could do 
 to relieve and to encourage her. He never once failed her; 
 his patience was perfect ; his devotion was inexhaustible. It 
 is sad to say so, in view of what happened afterward ; but I 
 only tell a necessary truth when I declare that he immensely 
 strengthened his hold on her affections in those last days of 
 her blindness, when his society was most precious to her. 
 Ah, how fervently she used to talk of him when she and 1
 
 POOR MISS KIXCII. 255 
 
 were left together at night! Forgive me it' I leave this part 
 of the history of the courtship untold. I don't like to write of 
 it I don't like to think of it. Let us get on to something else. 
 
 Nugent comes next. I would give a great deal, poor as I 
 am, to be able to leave him out. It is not to be done. 1 
 must write about that lost wretch, and you must read about 
 him, whether we like it or not. 
 
 The days of Lucilla's imprisonment were also the days 
 when my favorite disappointed me for the first time, lie 
 and his brother seemed to change places. It was Nugent 
 how who appeared to disadvantage by comparison with 
 Oscar. He surprised and grieved his brother by leaving 
 Browndown. "All I can do for you, I have done," he said. 
 "I can be of no further use for the present to any body. Let 
 me go. I am stagnating in this miserable place I must and 
 will have change." Oscar's entreaties, in Nugent's present 
 frame of mind, i'ailed to move him. Away he went one 
 morning, without bidding any body good-by. He had talked 
 of being absent for n week he remained away for a month. 
 We heard of him leading a wild life among a vicious set of 
 men. It was reported that a frantic restlessness possessed 
 him which nobody could understand. He came back as sud- 
 denly as he had left us. His variable nature had swung 
 round, in the interval, to the opposite extreme. He was full 
 of repentance for his reckless conduct; he was in a state of 
 depression which defied rousing; he despaired of himself and 
 his future. Sometimes lie talked of going back to America, 
 and sometimes he threatened to close his career by enlisting 
 as a private soldier. Would any other person, in my place, 
 have seen which way these signs pointed? I doubt it, if that 
 person's mind had been absorbed, as mine was, in watching 
 Lucilla day by day. Even if I had been a suspicious woman 
 by nature which, thank (iod, I am not my distrust must 
 have lain dormant, in the rill-subduing atmosphere of suspense 
 hanging heavily on me morning, noon, and night in the dark- 
 ened room. 
 
 So much, briefly, for the sayings and doings of the persons 
 principally concerned in this narrative, during the six weeks 
 which separate Part the First from Part the Second. 
 
 I begin again on the ninth of August.
 
 256 POOK MISS F1XCH. 
 
 This was the memorable day chosen by Herr Grosse for 
 risking the experiment of removing the bandage, and per- 
 mitting Lucilla to try her sight for the first time. Conceive 
 for yourselves (don't ask me to describe) the excitement that 
 raged in our obscure little circle, now that we were standing 
 face to face with that grand Event in our lives which I 
 promised to relate in the opening sentence of these pages. 
 
 I was the earliest riser at the rectory that morning. My 
 excitable French blood was in a fever. I was irresistibly re- 
 minded of myself at a time long past the time when my 
 glorious Pratolungo and I, succumbing to Fate and tyrants, 
 lied to England for safety : martyrs to that ungrateful Re- 
 public (long live the Republic!) for which I laid down my 
 money and my husband his life. 
 
 I opened my window, and hailed the good omen of sunrise 
 in a clear sky. Just as I was turning away again from the 
 view, I saw a figure steal out from the shrubbery and appear 
 on the lawn. The figure came nearer. I recognized Oscar. 
 
 "What in the world are you doing there, at this time in 
 the morning ?" I called out. 
 
 He lifted his finger to his lips, and came close under my 
 window before he answered. 
 
 "Hush!" he said. "Don't let Lucilla hear you. Come 
 down to me as soon as you can. I am waiting to speak to 
 you." 
 
 When I joined him in the garden I saw directly that some- 
 thing had gone wrong. "Bad news from Browndown?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "Nugent has disappointed me," he answered. "Do yon 
 remember the evening when you met me after my consulta- 
 tion with Mr. Sebright ?" 
 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 "I told you that I meant to ask Nugent to leave Dim- 
 church on the day when Lucilla tried her sight for the first 
 time." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well he refuses to leave Dimchurch." 
 
 'Have you explained your motives to him?" 
 
 "Carefully, before I asked him to go. T told him how im- 
 possible it was to say what might happen. I reminded him 
 that it might be of the utmost importance to me to preserve
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 257 
 
 tho impression now in Lucilla's mind for a certain time 
 only after Lucilla could see. I promised, the moment she 
 became reconciled to the sight of me, to recall him, and in 
 his presence to tell her the truth. All that I said to him 
 and how do yon think he answered me?" 
 
 "Did he positively refuse?" 
 
 " No. He walked away from me to the window, and con- 
 sidered a little. Then he turned round suddenly and said, 
 ' What did you tell me was Mr. Sebright's opinion ? Mr. Se- 
 bright thought she would be relieved instead of being terri- 
 fied. In that case, what need is there for me to go away ? 
 You can acknowledge at once that she has seen your face, 
 and not mine.' He put his hands in his pockets when he had 
 said that (you know Nugent's downright way), and turned 
 back to the window as if he had settled every thing." 
 
 " What did you say, on your side ?" 
 
 " I said, ' Suppose Mr. Sebright is wrong ?' He only an- 
 swered, 'Suppose Mr. Sebright is right?' I followed him to 
 the window I never heard him speak so sourly to me as lie 
 spoke at that moment. 'What is your objection to going 
 away for a day or two?' I asked. 'My objection is soon 
 stated,' he answered. ' I am sick of these everlasting com- 
 plications. It is useless and cruel to carry on the deception 
 any longer. Mr. Sebright's advice is the wise advice and the 
 right advice. Let her see you as you are.' With that an- 
 swer, he walked out of the room. Something 1ms upset him 
 I can't imagine what it is. Do, pray, see what you can 
 make of him ! My only hope is in you." 
 
 I own I felt reluctant to interfere. Suddenly and strange- 
 ly as Nugent had altered his point of view, it seemed to me 
 undeniable that Nugent Avas right. At the same time, Oscar 
 looked so disappointed and distressed that it was really int- 
 possible, on that day above all others, to pain him addition- 
 ally by roundly saying No. I undertook to do what I could 
 and I inwardly hoped that circumstances would absolve 
 me from the necessity of doing any thing at all. 
 
 Circumstances failed to justify my selfish confidence in 
 them. 
 
 I was out in the village after breakfast, on a domestic er- 
 rand connected with the necessary culinary preparations for 
 the reception of Ho IT Grosse, when I heard my name pro-
 
 258 POOR MISS 
 
 isouneed behind me, and, turning round, found myself face to 
 face with Nugent. 
 
 "Has my brother been bothering you this morning," he 
 asked, " before I was up?" 
 
 I instantly noticed a return in him, as he said that, to the 
 same dogged, ungracious manner which had perplexed and 
 displeased me at my last confidential interview with him in 
 the rectory garden. 
 
 " Oscar has been speaking to me this morning," I replied. 
 
 < ; About me ?" 
 
 "About you. You have distressed and disappointed 
 him " 
 
 " I know ! I know ! Oscar is worse than a child. I am 
 beginning to lose all patience with him." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear you say that, Nugent. You have 
 borne with him so kindly thus far surely you can make al- 
 lowance for him to-day. His whole future may depend on 
 what happens in Lucilla's sitting-room a few hours hence." 
 
 " He is making a mountain out of a mole-hill and so are 
 you." 
 
 Those words were spoken bitterly, almost rudely. I an- 
 swered sharply on my side. 
 
 " You are the last person living who has any right to say 
 that. Oscar is in a false position toward Lucilla, with your 
 knowledge and consent. In your brother's interests you 
 agreed to the fraud that has been practiced on her. In your 
 brother's interests, again, you are asked to leave Dimchurch. 
 Why do you refuse?" 
 
 "I refuse because I have come round to your way of think- 
 ing. What did you say of Oscar and of me in the summer- 
 house? You said we were taking a cruel advantage of Lu- 
 cilla's blindness. You were right. It loas cruel not to have 
 told her the truth. I won't be a party to concealing the 
 truth from her any longer ! I refuse to persist in deceiving 
 her in meanly deceiving her on the day when she recovers 
 her sight !" 
 
 It is entirely beyond my power to describe the tone in 
 which he made that reply. I can only declare that it struck 
 me dumb for the moment. I drew a step nearer to him. 
 Will) vague misgivings in me, I looked him searchingly in 
 the face. He looked back at me without shrinking.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 259 
 
 "Well?" ho asked, with a hard smile which defied me to 
 put him in the wrong. 
 
 I could discover nothing in his face; I could only follow 
 my instincts as a woman. Those instincts warned me to ac- 
 cept his explanation. 
 
 " I am to understand, then, that you have decided on stay- 
 in<_T here?" I said. 
 
 " Certainly !" 
 
 " What do you propose to do when Herr Grosse arrives, 
 and we assemble in Litcilla's room ?" 
 
 "I propose to be present among the rest of you at the 
 nmst interesting moment of Luc-ilia's life." 
 
 " No ! you don't propose that !" 
 
 " I do !" 
 
 " You have forgotten something, Mr. Nugent Dubourg." 
 
 "What is it, Madame Pratolungo?" 
 
 " You have forgotten that Lucilla believes the brother with 
 the discolored face to be You, and the brother with the fair 
 complexion to be Oscar. You have forgotten that the sur- 
 geon has expressly forbidden us to agitate her by entering 
 into any explanations before he allows her to use her eyes. 
 You have forgotten that the very deception which you have 
 just positively refused to go on with will be, nevertheless, a 
 deception continued, if you are present when Lucilla sees. 
 Your own resolution pledges yon not to enter the rectory 
 doors until Lucilla has discovered the truth." In those words 
 I closed the vice on him. I had got Mr. Nugent Dubourg ! 
 
 lie turned deadly pale. His eyes dropped before mine for 
 the first time. 
 
 " Thank you for reminding me," he said. " I had for- 
 gotten." 
 
 lie pronounced those submissive words in a suddenly low- 
 ered voice. Something in his tone, or something in the drop- 
 ping of his eyes, set my heart beating quickly, with a certain 
 vague expectation which I was unable to realix.e to myself. 
 
 "You agree with me," I said, "that you can not be one 
 among us at the rectory? What will you do?" 
 
 "I will remain at Browndown," he answered. 
 
 I felt he was lying. Don't ask for my reasons: I have no 
 reasons to give. When he said, " 1 will remain at Brown- 
 down," I felt he was lying.
 
 2CO POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Why not do what Oscar asks of you?" I went on. "If 
 you arc absent, you may as well be in one place as in an- 
 other. There's plenty of time still to leave Dirnchurch." 
 
 He looked up as suddenly as he had looked down. 
 
 " Do you and Oscar think me a stock or a stone?" he burst 
 out, angrily. 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 "Who are you indebted to for what is going to happen 
 to-day?" he went on, more and more passionately. "You 
 are indebted to Me. Who among you all stood alone in re- 
 fusing to believe that she was blind for life ! I did ! Who 
 brought the man here who lias given her back her sight? I 
 brought the man ! And I am the one person who is to be 
 left in ignorance of how it ends. The others are to be pres- 
 ent : I am to be sent away. The others are to see it : I am 
 to hear by post (if any of you think of writing to me) what 
 she does, what she says, how she looks, at the first heavenly 
 moment when she opens her eyes on the world." He flung 
 up his hand in the air, and burst out savagely with a bitter 
 laugh. "I astonish you, don't I? I am claiming a position 
 which I have no right to occupy. What interest can 7" feel 
 in it ? Oh God ! what do ./care about the woman to whom 
 I have given a new life !" His voice broke into a sob at 
 those last wild words. He tore at the breast of his coat as 
 if he was suffocating, and turned and left me. 
 
 I stood rooted to the spot. In one breathless instant the 
 truth broke on me like a revelation. At last I had pene- 
 trated the terrible secret. Nugent loved her. 
 
 My first impulse, when I recovered myself, hurried me at 
 the top of my speed back to the rectory. For a moment or 
 two I think I must really have lost my senses. I felt a fran- 
 tic suspicion that he had gone into the house, and that he 
 was making his way to Lucilla at that moment. When I 
 found that all was quiet when Zillah had satisfied mo that 
 no visitor had come near our side of the rectory I calmed 
 down a little, and Aver.t back to the garden to compose my- 
 self before I ventured into Lucilla's presence. 
 
 After a while I got over the first horror of it, and saw my 
 own position plainly. There was not a living soul at Dim- 
 church in whom I could confide. Come what might of it, in 
 this dreadful emergency, I must trust in myself alone.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 201 
 
 I had just arrived at tliat startling conclusion ; I had shed 
 some bitter tears when I remembered how hardlv I had 
 judged poor Oscar on more than one occasion; I had de- 
 cided that my favorite Nugent was the most hateful villain 
 living, and that I would leave nothing undone that the craft 
 of a woman could compass to drive him out of the place 
 when I was forced hack to present necessities by the sound 
 of Zillah's voice calling to me from the house. I went to 
 her directly. The nurse had a message for me from her 
 young mistress. My poor Lueilla was lonely and anxious: 
 she was surprised at my leaving her; she insisted on seeing 
 me immediately. 
 
 I took my first precaution against a surprise from Nugent, 
 as I crossed the threshold of the door. 
 
 " Our dear child must not be disturbed by visitors to-day," 
 I said to Zillali. "If Mr. Nugent Dubourg comes here and 
 asks for her, don't tell Lucilla; tell //-." 
 
 This said, I went up stairs and joined my darling in the 
 darkened room. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-FIFTH. 
 
 LUCILLA TRIES HEU SIGHT. 
 
 SHE was sitting alone in the dim light, with the bandage 
 over her eyes, with her pretty hands crossed patiently on 
 her lap. My heart swelled in me as I looked at her, and 
 felt the horrid discovery that I had made still present in my 
 mind. "Forgive me for leaving you," I said, in as steady a 
 voice as I could command at the moment, and kissed her. 
 
 She instantly discovered my agitation, carefully as I 
 thought I had concealed it. 
 
 " You are frightened too !" she exclaimed, taking my hands 
 ir. hers. 
 
 "Frightened, my love?" I repeated. (I was perfectly stu- 
 pefied ; I really did not know what to say !) 
 
 "Yes. Now the time is so near I feel my courage failing 
 me. I forbode all sorts of horrible things. Oh, when will it 
 be over? What will Oscar look like when I see him?'' 
 
 I answered the first question. Who could answer the 
 second ?
 
 202 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Ilerr G rosso comes to us by the morning train," I said. 
 "It will soon be over." 
 
 "Where is Oscar?" 
 
 " On his way here, I have no doubt." 
 
 "Describe him to me once more," she said, eagerly. "For 
 the last time before I see. His eyes, his hair, his complexion 
 every thing !" 
 
 How I should have got through the painful task which 
 she had innocently imposed on me, if I had attempted to 
 perform it, I hardly like to think. To my infinite relief, I 
 was interrupted at my first word by the opening of the door, 
 and the sudden appearance of a, family deputation in the 
 room. 
 
 First, strutting with slow and solemn steps, with one hand 
 laid pathetically on the breast of his clerical waistcoat, ap- 
 peared Reverend Finch. After him came his wife, shorn of 
 all her proper accompaniments, except the baby. Without 
 her novel, without her jacket, petticoat, or shawl, without 
 even the handkerchief which she was always losing clothed, 
 for the first time in my experience, in a complete gown the 
 metamorphosis of damp Mrs. Finch was complete. But for 
 the baby I believe I should have taken her, in the dim light, 
 for a stranger! She stood (apparently doubtful of her re- 
 ception) hesitating in the door-way, and so hiding a third 
 member of the deputation, -who appealed piteously to the 
 general notice in a small voice which I knew well, and in a 
 form of address familiar to me from past experience. 
 
 "Jicks wants to come in." 
 
 The rector took his hand from his waistcoat, and held it 
 up in faint protest against the intrusion of the third member. 
 Mrs. Finch moved mechanically into the room. Jicks ap- 
 peared, hugging her disreputable doll, and showing signs of 
 recent wandering in the white dust which dropped on the 
 carpet from her frock and her shoes, as she advanced toward 
 the place in which I was sitting. Arrived in front of me, 
 she peered quaintly up at my face through the obscurity of 
 the room, lifted her doll by the legs, hit me a smart rap with 
 the head of it on my knee, and said, 
 
 " Jicks will sit here." 
 
 I rubbed my knee, and enthroned Jicks as ordered. At 
 the same time Mr. Finch solemnly stalked up to his daugh-
 
 POOIl MISS FINCH. 263 
 
 ter, laid his hands on her head, raised his eyes to the ceiling, 
 and said, in bass notes that rumbled with paternal emotion, 
 " Bless you, my child !" 
 
 At the sound of her husband's magnificent voice Mrs. 
 Find) became herself again. She said, meekly, " How d'ye do, 
 Lucilla?" and sat down in a corner, and suckled the baby. 
 
 Mr. Finch set in for one of his harangues. 
 
 "My advice has been neglected, Lucilla. My paternal in- 
 fluence has been repudiated. My Moral Weight has been, 
 so to speak, set aside. I don't complain. Understand me 
 I simply state sad facts." (Here lie became aware of my ex- 
 istence.) " Good - morning, Madame Pratolungo; I hope I 
 see you well? There has been variance between us, Lucilla. 
 I come, my child, with healing on my wings (healing being 
 understood, for present purposes, as reconciliation) I come 
 and bring Mrs. Finch with me don't speak, Mrs. Finch! 
 to offer my heartfelt wishes, my fervent prayers, on this the 
 most eventful day in my daughter's life. No vulgar curi- 
 osity has turned my steps this way. No hint shall escape 
 my lips touching any misgivings which I may still feel as to 
 this purely worldly interference with the ways of an inscru- 
 table Providence. I am here as parent and peace-maker. 
 My wife accompanies me don't speak, Mrs. Finch ! as step- 
 parent and step-peace-maker. (You understand the distinc- 
 tion, Madame Pratolungo? Thank you. Good creature.) 
 Shall I preach forgiveness of injuries from the pulpit, and not 
 practice that forgiveness at home? Can I remain, on this 
 momentous occasion, at variance with my child? Lucilla! 
 I forgive you. With full heart and tearful eyes, I forgive 
 you. (You have never had any children, I believe, Madame 
 Pratolungo? Ah! you can not possibly understand this. 
 Not your fault. Good creature, not your fault.) The kiss 
 of peace, my child ; the kiss of peace." lie solemnly bent 
 his bristly head, and deposited the kiss of peace on Lucilla's 
 forehead. He sighed superbly, and, in a burst of magnanim- 
 ity, held out his hand next to me. "My Hand, Madame Pra- 
 tolungo. Compose yourself. Don't cry. God bless you !" 
 Mrs. Finch, deeply affected by her husband's noble conduct, 
 began to sob hysterically. The baby, disarranged in his 
 proceedings by the emotions of his mamma, set up a sympa 
 thetic scream. Mr. Finch crossed the room to them, with
 
 204 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 domestic healing on his wings. "This does you credit, Mrs. 
 Finch ; but, under the circumstances, it must not be contin- 
 ued. Control yourself, in consideration of the infant. Mys- 
 terious mechanism of Nature !" cried the rector, raising his 
 prodigious voice over the louder and louder screeching of 
 the baby. " Marvelous and beautiful sympathy which makes 
 the maternal sustenance the conducting medium, as it were, 
 of disturbance between mother and child. What problems 
 confront us, what forces environ us, even in this mortal life! 
 Nature! Maternity!' Inscrutable Providence !" 
 
 "Inscrutable Providence" was the rector's fatal phrase 
 it always brought with it an interruption ; and it brought 
 one now. Before Mr. Finch (brimful of pathetic apostrophes) 
 could burst into more exclamations, the door opened, and Os- 
 car walked into the room. 
 
 Lucilla instantly recognized his footsteps. 
 
 "Any signs, Oscar, of Heir Grosse?" she asked. 
 
 " Yes. His chaise has been seen on the road. He will be 
 here directly." 
 
 Giving that answer, and passing by my chair to place him- 
 self on the other side of Lucilln, Oscar cast at me one im- 
 ploring look a look which said plainly, "Don't desert me 
 when the time comes!" I nodded my head to show that I 
 understood him and felt for him. He sat down in the va- 
 cant chair by Lucilla, and took her hand in silence. It was 
 hard to say which of the two felt the.position, at that trying 
 moment, most painfully. I don't think I ever saw any sight 
 so simply and irresistibly touching as the sight of those two 
 poor young creatures sitting hand in hand, waiting the event 
 which was to make the happiness or the misery of their fu- 
 ture lives. 
 
 "Have you seen any thing of your brother?" I asked, put- 
 ting the question in as careless a tone as my devouring anxi- 
 ety would allow me to assume. 
 
 " Nugent has gone to meet Herr Grosse." 
 
 Oscar's eyes once more encountered mine, as he replied in 
 those terms ; I saw again the imploring look more marked 
 in them than ever. It was plain to him, as it was plain to 
 me, that Nugent had gone to meet the German with the 
 purpose of making Herr Grosse the innocent means of bring- 
 ing him into the house.
 
 POOIl MISS FINCH. 255 
 
 Before I could speak again, Mr. Finch, recovering himself 
 after the interruption which had silenced him, saw his oppor- 
 tunity of setting in for another harangue. Mrs. Finch had 
 left oft" sobbing ; the baby had left off screaming ; the rest 
 of us were silent and nervous. In a word, Mr. Finch's do- 
 mestic congregation was entirely at Mr. Finch's mercy. He 
 strutted up to Oscar's chair. Was he going to propose to 
 read "Hamlet?" No! He was going to invoke a blessing 
 on Oscar's head. 
 
 "On this interesting occasion," began the rector, in his 
 pulpit tones, " now that we are all united in the same room, 
 all animated by the same hope, I could wish, as pastor and 
 parent (God bless you, Oscar; I look on you as a son. Mrs. 
 Finch, follow my example, look on him as a son !) I could 
 wish, as pastor and parent, to say a few pious and consoling 
 words " 
 
 The door the friendly, admirable, judicious door stop- 
 ped the coming sermon, in the nick of time, by opening again. 
 Herr Grosse's squat figure and owlish spectacles appeared on 
 the threshold. And behind him (exactly as I had antici- 
 pated) stood Nugent Dubourg. 
 
 Lucilla turned deadly pale ; she had heard the door open ; 
 she knew by instinct that the surgeon had come. Oscar got 
 up, stole behind my chair, and whispered to me, " For God's 
 sake, get Nugent out of the room !" I gave him a re-assur- 
 ing squeeze of the hand, and, putting Jicks down on the floor, 
 rose to welcome our good Grosse. 
 
 The child, as it happened, was beforehand with me. She* 
 and the illustrious oculist had met in the garden at one of 
 the German's professional visits to Lucilla, and had taken an 
 amazing fancy to each other. Herr Grosse never afterward 
 appeared at the rectory without some unwholesome eatable 
 thing in his pocket for Jicks; who gave him in return nt 
 many kisses as he might ask for, and further distinguished 
 him as the only living creature whom she permitted to nurse 
 the disreputable doll. Grasping this same doll now with 
 both hands, and using it head-foremost as a kind of batter- 
 ing-ram, Jicks plunged in front of me, and butted with all 
 her might at the surgeon's bandy-legs, insisting on a mo- 
 nopoly of his attention before he presumed to speak to any 
 other person in the room. While he was lifting her to a 
 
 M
 
 266 POOR MISS F1XCH. 
 
 level with his face, and talking to her in his wonderful bro- 
 ken English while the rector and Mrs. Finch were making 
 
 o o 
 
 the necessary apologies for the child's conduct Nugent 
 came round from behind He IT Grosse, and drew me mysteri- 
 ously into a corner of the room. As I followed him I satf 
 the silent torture of anxiety expressed in Oscar's face as he 
 stood by Lucilla's chair. It did me good ; it strung up my 
 resolution to the right pitch ; it made me feel myself a match, 
 and more than a match, for Nugent Dubourg. 
 
 " I am afraid I behaved in a very odd manner when we met 
 in the village," lie said. "The fact is, I am not at all well. 
 I have been in a strange feverish state lately. I don't think 
 the air of this place suits me." There he stopped, keeping 
 his eyes steadily fixed on mine, trying to read my mind in 
 my face. 
 
 " I am not surprised to hear you say that," I answered. 
 "I have noticed that you have not been looking well lately." 
 
 My tone and manner (otherwise perfectly composed) ex- 
 pressed polite sympathy, and nothing more. I saw I puzzled 
 him. He tried again. 
 
 "I hope I didn't say or do any thing rude?" he went on. 
 
 " Oh no !" 
 
 " I was excited painfully excited. You are too kind to 
 admit it. I am sure I owe you my apologies ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! You are certainly excited, as you say. But 
 we are all in the same state to-day. The occasion, Mr. Nu- 
 gent, is your sufficient apology." 
 
 Not the slightest sign in my face of any sort of suspicion 
 of him rewarded the close and continued scrutiny with which 
 he regarded me. I saw in his perplexed expression the cer- 
 tain assurance that I was beating him at his own weapons. 
 He made a last effort to entrap me into revealing that I sus- 
 pected his secret he attempted, by irritating my quick tem- 
 per, to take me by surprise. 
 
 "You are, no doubt, astonished at seeing me here," he re- 
 sumed. " I have not forgotten that I promised to remain at 
 Browndown instead of coming to the rectory. Don't be an- 
 gry with me. I am under medical orders which forbid me 
 to keep my promise." 
 
 "I don't understand you," I said, just as coolly as ever. 
 
 "I will explain myself," he rejoined. "You remember
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 267 
 
 that we long since took Grosse into our confidence on the 
 subject of Oscar's position toward Lucilla?" 
 
 "I am not likely to have forgotten it," I answered, "con- 
 sidering that it was I who first warned your brother that 
 He IT Grosse might do terrible mischief by innocently letting 
 out the truth." 
 
 " Do you recollect how he took the warning when we gave 
 it to him ?" 
 
 "Perfectly. He promised to be careful. But, at the same 
 time, he gruffly forbade us to involve him in any more of our 
 family troubles. He said he was determined to preserve his 
 professional freedom of action, without being hampered by 
 domestic difficulties which might concern ?/s, but which did 
 not concern him. Is my memory accurate enough to satisfy 
 you ?" 
 
 "Your memory is wonderful. You will now understand 
 me when I tell you that Grosse asserts his professional free- 
 dom of action on this occasion. I had it from his own lips 
 on our way here. He considers it very important that Lu- 
 cilla should not be frightened at the moment when she tries 
 her sight. Oscar's face is sure to startle her, if it is the first 
 face she sees. Grosse has accordingly requested mo to be 
 present (as the only other young man in the room), and to 
 place myself so that I shall be the first person who attracts 
 her notice. Ask him yourself, Madame Pratolungo, if you 
 don't believe me." 
 
 " Of course I believe you !" I answered. " It is useless to 
 dispute the surgeon's orders at such a time as this." 
 
 With that I left him, showing just as much annoyance as 
 an unsuspecting woman, in my position, might have natural- 
 ly betrayed, and no more. Knowing, as I did, what was go- 
 ing on under the surface, I understood only too plainly what 
 had happened. Nugent had caught at the opportunity which 
 the surgeon had innocently offered to him as a means of mis- 
 leading Lucilla at the moment, and (possibly) of taking some 
 base advantage of her afterward. I trembled inwardly with 
 rage and fear as I turned my back on him. Our one chance 
 Avas to make sure of his absence, at the critical moment; and 
 cudgel my brains as I might, how to reach that end success- 
 fully was more than I could see. 
 
 When I returned to the other persons in the room, Oscar
 
 268 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 and Lucilla were still occupying the same positions. Mr. 
 Finch had presented himself (at full length) to HerrGrosse. 
 And Jicks was established on a stool in a comer, devouring 
 
 ' O 
 
 a rampant horse, carved in a bilious-yellow German ginger- 
 bread, with a voracious relish wonderful and terrible to see. 
 
 "Ah, my goot Madame Pratolungo !" said He IT Grosse, 
 stopping on his way to Lucilla to shake hands with me. 
 "Have you made anudder lofely Mayonnaise? I have come 
 on purpose with an empty-stomachs, and a wolf's-appetite in 
 fine order. Look at that little Imps," he went on, pointing 
 to Jicks. "Ach Gott ! I believe I am in lofe with her. I 
 have sent all the ways to Germany for gingerbreads for Jick. 
 Aha, you Jick ! does it stick in your tooths ! Is it nice-clam- 
 my-sweet?" He glared benevolently at the child through 
 his spectacles, and tucked my hand sentimentally in the 
 breast of his waistcoat. "Promise me a child like adorable 
 Jick," he said, solemnly, "I will marry the first wife you 
 bring me nice womans, nasty womans, I don't care which. 
 Soh ! there is my domestic sentiments laid bare before you. 
 Enough of that. Now for my pretty Feench ! Come-begin- 
 begin !" 
 
 He crossed the room to Lucilla, and called to Nugent to 
 
 ' O 
 
 follow him. 
 
 " Open the shutters," he said. " Light-light-light, and plen- 
 ty of him, for my lofely Feench !" 
 
 Nugent opened the shutters, beginning with the lower 
 window, and ending with the window at which Lucilla was 
 sitting. Acting on this plan, he had only to wait where he 
 was, to place himself close by her to be the first object she 
 saw. He did it. The villain did it. I stepped forward, de- 
 termined to interfere and stopped, not knowing what to 
 say or do. I could have beaten my own stupid brains out 
 against the wall. There stood Nugent right before her, as 
 the surgeon turned his patient toward the window. And not 
 the ghost of an idea came to me ! 
 
 The German stretched out his hairy hands, and took hold 
 of the knot of the bandage to undo it. 
 
 Lucilla trembled from head to foot. 
 
 He IT Grosse hesitated looked at her let go of the band- 
 age and, lifting one of her hands, laid his fingers on her 
 pulse.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 271 
 
 In the moment of silence that followed I had one of my 
 inspirations. The missing idea turned up in my brains at 
 last. 
 
 "Sohi' r cried Grosse, dropping her hand with a sudden 
 outbreak of annoyance and surprise. " Who has been fright- 
 ening my pretty Feench ? Why these cold trembles? these 
 sinking pulses? Some of you tell me what does it mean?" 
 
 Here was my opportunity ! I tried my idea on the 
 spot. 
 
 l 'It means," I said, " that there are too many people in this 
 room. We confuse her and frighten her. Take her into her 
 bedroom, Herr Grosse ; and only let the rest of us in when 
 you think right one at a time." 
 
 Our excellent surgeon instantly seized on my idea, and 
 made H his own. 
 
 "You are a phenix among womens," he said, paternally 
 patting me on the shoulder. " Which is most perfectest, 
 your advice or your Mayonnaise, I am at a loss to know." 
 He turned to Lucilla, and raised her gently from her chair. 
 " Come into your own rooms with me, my poor little Feench. 
 I shall see if I dare take off your bandages to-day !" 
 
 Lucilla clasped her hands entreatingly. 
 
 " You promised !" she said. " Oh, Herr Grosse, you prom- 
 ised to let me use my eyes to-day !" 
 
 " Answer me this !" retorted the German. " Did I know, 
 when I promised, that I should find you all shaky-pale, and 
 white as my shirts when he cornes back from the wash ?" 
 
 "I am quite myself again," she pleaded, faintly. "I am 
 quite fit to have the bandage taken off." 
 
 "What! you know better than I do? Which of us is 
 surgeon-optic you or me ? No more of this. Come under 
 my arms ! Come into the odder rooms !" 
 
 lie put her arm in his, and walked with her to the door. 
 There her variable humor suddenly changed. She rallied 
 on the instant. Her face flushed ; her courage came back. 
 To my horror, she snatched her arm away from the surgeon, 
 and refused to leave the room. 
 
 "No!" she said. "I am quite composed again; I claim 
 your promise. Examine me here. I must and will have my 
 first look at Oscar in this room." 
 
 (I was afraid literally afraid to turn my eyes Oscar's
 
 272 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 way. I glanced at Nugent instead. There was a devilish 
 smile on his face that it drove me nearly mad to see.) 
 
 "You must and weel?" repeated Grosse. "Now mind!" 
 He took out his watch. "I give you one little minutes to 
 think in. If you don't come with me in that time, you shall 
 find it is I who must and weel. Now !" 
 
 " Why do you object to go into your room ?" I asked. 
 
 " Because I want every body to see me," she answered. 
 "How many of you are there here?" 
 
 " There are five of us. Mr. and Mrs. Finch, Mr. Nugent 
 Dubourg, Oscar, and myself." 
 
 " I wish there were five hundred of you, instead of five !" 
 she burst out. 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " Because you would see me pick out Oscar from all the 
 rest the instant the bandage was off my eyes !" 
 
 Still holding to her own fatal conviction that the image 
 in her mind of Oscar was the right one ! For the second 
 time, though I felt the longing in me to look at him, I shrank 
 from doing it. 
 
 Herr Grosse put his watch back in his pocket. 
 
 " The minutes is past," he said. " Will you come into the 
 odder rooms? Will you understand that I can not properly 
 examine you before all these peoples? Say, my lofely Feench 
 Yes? or No?" 
 
 " No !" she cried, obstinately, with a childish stamp of her 
 foot. "I insist on showing every body that I can pick out 
 Oscar the moment I open my eyes." 
 
 Herr Grosse buttoned his coat, set his owlish spectacles 
 firmly on his nose, and took up his hat. " Goot-morning," 
 he said. "I have nothing more to do with you or your eyes. 
 Cure yourself, you little-spitfire-Feench. I am going back 
 to London." 
 
 He opened the door. Even Lucilla was obliged to yield 
 when the surgeon in attendance on her threatened to throw 
 up the case. 
 
 "You brute!" she said, indignantly and took his arm 
 again. 
 
 Grosse indulged himself in his diabolical grin. "When you 
 are able to use your eyes, my lof'e, you will see that I am not 
 such a brutes as I look." With those words he took her out.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 273 
 
 We were left in the sitting-room, to wait until the surgeon 
 had decided whether he would or would not let Lucilla try 
 her sight on that day. 
 
 While the others were, in their various ways, all suffering 
 the same uneasy sense of expectation, I was as quiet in my 
 mind as the baby now-sleeping in his mother's arms. Thanks 
 to Grosse's resolution to act on the hint that I had given to 
 him, I had now made it impossible even if the bandage was 
 removed on that day for Nugent to catch Lucilla's first look 
 when she opened her eyes. Her betrothed husband might 
 certainly, on such a special occasion as this, be admitted into 
 her bed-chamber, in company with her father or with me. 
 But the commonest sense of propriety would dictate the clos- 
 ing of the door on Nugent. In the sitting-room he must 
 wait (if he still persisted in remaining at the rectory) until 
 she was allowed to join him there. I privately resolved, hav- 
 ing the control of the matter now in my own hands, that this 
 should not happen until Lucilla knew which of the twins was 
 Nugent and which was Oscar. A delicious inward glow of 
 triumph diffused itself all through me. I resisted the strong 
 temptation that I felt to discover how Nugent bore his de- 
 feat. If I had yielded to it, he would have seen in my face 
 that I gloried in having outwitted him. I sat down, the 
 picture of innocence, in the nearest chair, and crossed my 
 hands on my lap, a composed and lady-like person, edifying 
 to see. 
 
 The slow minutes followed each other and still we wait- 
 ed the event in silence. Even Mr. Finch's tongue was, on 
 this solitary occasion, a tongue incapable of pronouncing a 
 single word. He sat by his wife at one end of the room. 
 Oscar and I were at the other. Nugent stood by himself at 
 one of the windows, deep in his own thoughts, plotting how 
 he could pay me out. 
 
 Oscar was the first of the party who broke the silence. 
 After looking all round the room, he suddenly addressed 
 himself to me. 
 
 "Madame Pratolungo," he exclaimed, "what has become 
 of Jicks?" 
 
 I had completely forgotten the child. I too looked round 
 the room, and satisfied myself that she had really disappear- 
 ed. Mrs. Finch, observing our astonishment, timidlv enlitiht- 
 
 M -2
 
 274 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ened us. The maternal eye had seen Jicks slip out of the 
 room at He IT Grosse's heels. The child's object was plain 
 enough. While there was any probability of the presence 
 of more gingerbread in the surgeon's pocket, the wandering 
 Arab of the family (as stealthy and as quick as a cat) was 
 certain to keep within reach of her friend. Nobody who 
 knew her could doubt that she had slipped into Lucilla's 
 bed-chamber, under cover of Herr Grosse's ample coat tails. 
 
 We had just accounted in this way for the mysterious ab- 
 sence of Jicks, when we heard the bed-chamber door opened, 
 and the surgeon's voice calling for Zillah. In a minute more 
 the nurse appeared, the bearer of a message from the next 
 room. 
 
 We all surrounded her, with one and the same question to 
 ask. What had Herr Grosse decided to do ? The answer 
 informed us that he had decided on forbidding Lucilla to try 
 her eyes that day. 
 
 "Is she very much disappointed?" Oscar inquired, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 " I can hardly say, Sir. She isn't like herself. I never 
 knew Miss Lucilla so quiet when she was crossed in her wish- 
 es before. When the doctor called me into the room she 
 said, 'Go in, Zillah, and tell them.' Those words, Sir, and 
 no more." 
 
 " Did she express no wish to see me ?" I inquired. 
 
 " No, ma'am. I took the liberty of asking her if she wished 
 to see you. Miss Lucilla shook her head, and sat herself 
 down on the sofa, and made the doctor sit by her. ' Leave 
 us by ourselves.' Those were the last words she said to me 
 before I came in here." 
 
 Reverend Finch put the next question. The Pope of Dim- 
 church was himself again : the man of many words saw his 
 chance of speaking once more. 
 
 " Good woman," said the rector, with ponderous politeness, 
 "step this way. I wish to address an inquiry to you. Did 
 Miss Finch make any remark, in your hearing, indicating a 
 desire to be comforted by My Ministrations as one bearing 
 the double relation toward her of pastor and parent ?" 
 
 "I didn't hear Miss Lucilla say any thing to that effect, 
 Sir." 
 
 Mr Finch waved his hand, with a look of disgust, in-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 275 
 
 timating that Zillah's audience was over. Nugent, upon 
 that, came forward, and stopped her as she was leaving the 
 room. 
 
 " Have you nothing more to tell us?" he asked. 
 
 " No, Sir." 
 
 " Why don't they come back here ? What are they doing 
 in the other room ?" 
 
 "They were doing what I mentioned just now, Sir they 
 were sitting side by side on the sofa. Miss Lucilla was talk- 
 ing, and the doctor was listening to her. And Jicks," added 
 Zillah, addressing herself confidentially to me, "was behind 
 them, picking the doctor's pocket." 
 
 Oscar put in a word there by no means in his most gra- 
 cious manner. 
 
 " What was Miss Lucilla saying to the surgeon ?" 
 
 " I don't know, Sir." 
 
 " You don't know !" 
 
 "I couldn't hear, Sir. Miss Lucilla was speaking to him 
 in a whisper." 
 
 After that there was no more to be said. Zillah, dis- 
 turbed over her domestic occupations, and eager to get back 
 to her kitchen, seized the first chance of leaving the room; 
 going out in such a hurry that she forgot to close the door 
 after her. We all looked at each other. To what conclusion 
 did the nurse's strange answers point? It was plainly im- 
 possible for Oscar (no matter how quick his temper might 
 be) to feel jealous of a man of Grosse's age and personal ap- 
 pearance. Still, the prolonged interview between patient 
 and surgeon after the decision had been pronounced, and 
 the trial of the eyes definitely deferred to a future day had 
 a strange appearance, to say the least of it. 
 
 Nugent returned to his place at the window puzzled, sus- 
 picions, deep in his own thoughts. Reverend Finch, swelling 
 with unspoken words, rose portentously from his chair by his 
 wife's side. Had he discovered another chance of inflicting 
 his eloquence on us? It was only too evident that he had ! 
 He looked at us with his ominous smile. He addressed us 
 in his biggest voice. 
 
 "My Christian friends" 
 
 Nugent, unassailable by eloquence, persisted in looking out 
 of U>o window. Oscar, insensible to every earthly consider"-
 
 276 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ation except the one consideration of Lucilla, drew me aside 
 unceremoniously out of the rector's hearing. Mr. Finch re- 
 sumed. 
 
 "My Christian friends, I could wish to say a few appro- 
 priate words." 
 
 " Go to Lucilla," whispered Oscar, taking me entreatingly 
 by both hands. " You needn't stand on ceremony with her. 
 Do, do see what is going on in the next room !" 
 
 Mr. Finch resumed. 
 
 " The occasion seems to call upon one in my position for a 
 little sustaining advice on Christian duty I would say, the 
 duty of being cheerful under disappointment." 
 
 Oscar persisted. 
 
 "Do me the greatest of all favors ! Pray find out what is 
 keeping Lucilla with that man !" 
 
 Mr. Finch cleared his throat, and lifted his right hand per- 
 suasively, by way of introduction to his next sentence. 
 
 I answered Oscar in a whisper. 
 
 "I don't like intruding on them. Lucilla told the nurse 
 they were to be left by themselves." 
 
 Just as I said the words I became aware of a sudden bump 
 against me from behind. I turned, and discovered Jicks with 
 the battering-ram doll preparing for a second plunge at me. 
 She stopped when she found that she had attracted my at- 
 tention ; and, taking hold of my dress, tried to pull me out 
 of the room. 
 
 " Remove that child !" cried the rector, exasperated by this 
 new interruption. 
 
 The child pulled harder and harder at my dress. Some- 
 thing had apparently happened outside the sitting-room 
 which had produced a strong impression on her. Her little 
 round face was flushed ; her bright blue eyes were wide open 
 and staring. " Jicks wants to speak to you," she said, and 
 pulled at me impatiently, harder than ever. 
 
 I stooped down, with the double purpose of obeying Mr. 
 Finch's commands and of humoring the child's whim by car- 
 rying Jicks out of the room, when I was startled by a sound 
 from the bedroom the sound, loud and peremptory, of Lu- 
 cilia's voice. 
 
 "Let me go!" she cried. "I am a woman I won't be 
 treated like a child."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 279 
 
 There was a moment of silence, followed by the rustling 
 sound of her dress approaching us along the corridor. 
 
 Grosse's voice, unmistakably angry and excited, became 
 audible at the same time. " No ! Come back ! come back !" 
 
 The rustling sound came nearer and nearer. 
 
 Nugent and Mr. Finch moved together nearer to the door. 
 Oscar caught me by the arm. He and I were on the left- 
 hand side of the door; Nugent and the rector were on the 
 right-hand side. It all happened with the suddenness of a 
 flash of lightning. My heart stood still. I couldn't speak. I 
 couldn't move. 
 
 The half-closed door of the sitting-room was burst wide 
 open, roughly, violently, as if a man, not a woman, had been 
 on the other side. (The rector drew back ; Nugent remained 
 where he was.) Wildly groping her way with outstretched 
 arms, as I had never seen her grope it in the time of her 
 blindness, Lucilla staggered into the room. Merciful God ! 
 the bandage was off. The life, the new life of sight, was in 
 her eyes. It transfigured her face. It irradiated her beauty 
 with an awful and unearthly light. She saw ! she saw ! 
 
 For an instant she stopped at the door, swaying to and 
 fro; giddy under the broad stare of daylight. 
 
 She looked at the rector, then at Mrs. Finch, who had fol- 
 lowed her husband. She paused, bewildered, and put her 
 hands over her eyes. She slightly changed her position ; 
 turned her head, as if to look at me ; turned it back sharply 
 toward the right-hand side of the door again; and threw up 
 her arms in the air, with a burst of hysterical laughter. The 
 laughter ended in a scream of triumph, which rang through 
 the house. She rushed at Nugent Dubourg, so blindly in- 
 capable of measuring her distance that she struck against him 
 violently, and nearly threw him down. "I know him! I 
 know him !" she cried, and flung her arms round his neck. 
 "Oh, Oscar! Oscar I" She clasped him to her with all lu-r 
 strength, as the name passed her lips, and dropped her head 
 on his bosom in an ecstasy of joy. 
 
 It was done before any of us had recovered the use of our 
 senses. The whole horrible scene must have begun and end- 
 ed in less than half a minute of time. The surgeon, who had 
 run into the room after her, empty-handed, turned suddenly 
 and left it again ; coming back with the bandage, left forgot-
 
 280 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ten in the bedroom. Grosse was the first among us to re- 
 cover his presence of mind. He approached her in silence. 
 
 She heard him, before he could take her by surprise and 
 slip the bandage over her eyes. The moment when I turned, 
 horror-struck, to look at Oscar was also the moment when 
 she lifted her head from Nugent's bosom to look for the sur- 
 geon. Her eyes followed the direction taken by mine. They 
 encountered Oscar's face. She saw the blue-black hue of it in 
 full light. 
 
 A cry of terror escaped her: she started back, shuddering, 
 and caught hold of Nugent's arm. Grosse motioned sternly 
 to him to turn her face from the window, and lifted the 
 bandage. She clutched at it with feverish eagerness as he 
 held it up. "Put it on again !" she said, holding by Nugent 
 with one hand, and lifting the other to point toward Oscar 
 with a gesture of disgust. "Put it on again. I have seen 
 too much already." 
 
 Grosse fastened the bandage over her eyes, and waited a 
 little. She still held Nugent's arm. The sting of my indig- 
 nation as I saw it roused me into doing something. I stepped 
 forward to part them. Grosse stopped me. " No !" he said. 
 "Don't make bad worse." I looked at Oscar for the second 
 time. There he stood, as he had stood from the first moment 
 when she appeared at the door his eyes staring wildly 
 straight before him; his limbs set and fixed. I went to him 
 and touched him. He seemed not to feel it. I spoke to him. 
 I might as well have spoken to a man of stone. 
 
 Herr Grosse's voice drew my attention, for a moment, the 
 other way. 
 
 " Come !" he said, trying to take Lucilla back into her own 
 room. 
 
 She shook her head, and tightened her hold on Nugent's 
 arm. 
 
 ''You take me," she whispered, "as far as the door." 
 
 I again attempted to stop it, and again the German put 
 me back. 
 
 " Not to-day !" he said, sternly. With that he made a sign 
 to Nugent, and placed himself on Lucilla's other side. In si- 
 lence the two men led her out of the room. The door closed 
 on them. It was over.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 281 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY- SIXTH. 
 
 THE BROTHERS MEET. 
 
 A FAINT sound of crying found its way to my ears from 
 the lower end of the room, and reminded me that the rector 
 and his wife had been present among us. Feeble Mrs. Finch 
 was lying back in her chair, weeping and wailing over what 
 had happened. Her husband, with the baby in his arms, was 
 trying to compose her. I ought, perhaps, to have offered my 
 help ; but, I own, poor Mrs. Finch's distress produced only a 
 passing impression on me. My whole heart was with anoth- 
 er person. I forgot the rector and his wife, and went back 
 to Oscar. 
 
 This time lie moved he lifted his head when he saw me. 
 Shall I ever forget the silent misery in that face, the dull, 
 dreadful stare in those tearless eyes ? 
 
 I took his hand. I felt for the poor, disfigured, rejected 
 man as his mother might have felt for him. I gave him a 
 mother's kiss. " Be comforted, Oscar," I said. " Trust me 
 to set this right." 
 
 He drew a long, trembling breath, and pressed my hand 
 gratefully. I attempted to speak to him again he stopped 
 me by looking suddenly toward the door. 
 
 " Is Nugent outside ?" he asked, in a whisper. 
 
 I went into the corridor. It was empty. I looked into 
 Lucilla's room. She and Grosse and the nurse were the only 
 persons in it. I beckoned to Zillah to come out and speak 
 to me. I asked for Nugent. He had left Lucilla abruptly 
 at the bedroom door he was out of the house. I inquired 
 if it was known in what direction he had gone. Zillah had 
 seen him in the field at the end of the garden, walking away 
 rapidly, with his back to the village, and his face to the hills. 
 
 "Nugent has gone," I said, returning to Oscar. 
 
 " Add to your kindness to me," he answered. " Let me go 
 too." 
 
 A quick fear crossed my mind that he might be bent on 
 following his brother.
 
 282 TOOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Wait a little," I said, "and rest here." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "I must be by myself," he said. After considering a little, 
 he added a question. "Has Nugent gone to Browndown?" 
 
 " No. Nugent has been seen walking toward the hills." 
 
 He took my hand again. " Be merciful to me," he said. 
 "Let me go." 
 
 " Home ? To Browndown ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Let me go with you." 
 
 He shook his head. " Forgive me. You shall hear from 
 me later in the day." 
 
 No tears; no flaming up of the quick temper that I knew 
 so well I Nothing in his face, nothing in his voice, nothing 
 in his manner, but a composure miserable to see the com- 
 posure of despair. 
 
 "At least let me accompany you to the gate," I said. 
 
 " God bless and reward you !" he answered. "Let me go." 
 
 With a gentle hand, and yet with a firmness which took 
 me completely by surprise, he separated himself from me, and 
 went out. 
 
 I could stand no longer I dropped trembling into a chair. 
 The conviction forced itself on me that there were worse 
 complications, direr misfortunes, still to come. I was almost 
 beside myself. I broke out vehemently with wild words 
 spoken in my own language. Mrs. Finch recalled me to my 
 senses. I saw her as in a dream, drying her tears, and look- 
 ing at me in alarm. The rector approached, with profuse 
 expressions of sympathy and offers of assistance. I wanted 
 Tio comforting. I had served a hard apprenticeship to life; 
 I had been well seasoned to trouble. "Thank you, Sir," I 
 said. "Look to Mrs. Finch." There was more air in the 
 corridor. I went out again, to walk about, and get the bet- 
 ter of it there. 
 
 A small object attracted my attention, crouched up on one 
 of the window-seats. The small object was Jicks. 
 
 I suppose the child's instinct must have told her that some- 
 thing had gone wrong. She looked furtively sideways at me 
 round her doll: she had grave doubts of my intentions to- 
 ward her. "Arc you going to whack Jicks?" asked the cu- 
 rious little creature, shrinking into her corner. I sat down
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 283 
 
 by her, and soon recovered my place in her confidence. She 
 began to chatter again as fust as usual. I listened to her as 
 I could have listened to no grown-up person at that moment. 
 In some mysterious way that I can not explain the child com- 
 forted me. Little by little I learned what she had wanted 
 with me when she had attempted to drag me out of the room. 
 She had seen all that had passed in the bed-chamber; and 
 she had run out to take me back with her, and show me the 
 wonderful sight ofLucilla with the bandage off' her eyes. If 
 I had been wise enough to listen to Jicks, I might have pre- 
 vented the catastrophe that had happened. I might have 
 met Lucilla in the corridor, and have forced her back into 
 her own room and turned the key on her. 
 
 It was too late now to regret what had happened. "Jicks 
 has been good," I said, patting my little friend on the head, 
 with a heavy heart. The child listened, considered with her- 
 self gravely, gO"t off the window-seat, and claimed her reward 
 for being good, with that excellent brevity of speech which 
 so eminently distinguished her: "Jicks will go out." 
 
 With those words, she shouldered her doll and walked off. 
 The last I saw of her she was descending the stairs, as a work- 
 man descends a ladder, on her way to the garden and from 
 the garden (the first time the gate was opened) to the hills. 
 If I could have gone out with her light heart, I would have 
 joined Jicks. 
 
 I had hardly lost sight of the child before the door of Ln- 
 cilla's room opened, and Hcrr Grosse appeared in the corridor. 
 
 "Soh!" he muttered, with a gesture of relief, "the very 
 womans I was looking for. A nice mess-fix we are in now! 
 I must stop with Feench. (I shall end in hating Feench !) 
 Can you put me into a beds for the night ?" 
 
 I assured him that he could easily sleep at the rectory. In 
 answer to my inquiries after his patient, he gravely acknowl- 
 edged that lie was anxious about Lucilln. The varying and 
 violent emotions which had shaken her (acting through her 
 nervous system) might produce results which would imperil 
 the recovery of her sight. Absolute repose was not simply 
 necessary it was now the only chance for her. For the next 
 four-and-twenty hours he must keep watch over her eyes. 
 At the end of that, time no earlier lie might be able to say 
 whether the mischief done would be fatal to her sight or not.
 
 '284 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I asked how she had contrived to get her bandage off, and 
 to make her fatal entrance into the sitting-room. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. "There are times," he said, 
 cynically, " when every womans is a hussy, and every mans 
 is a fool. This was one of the times." 
 
 It appeared, on further explanation, that my poor Lucilla 
 had pleaded so earnestly (after the nurse had left the room) 
 to be allowed to try her eyes, and had shown such ungov- 
 ernable disappointment when he persisted in saying No, that 
 he had yielded not so much to her entreaties as to his own 
 conviction that it would be less dangerous to humor her than 
 to thwart her, with such a sensitive and irritable tempera- 
 ment as hers. He had first bargained, however, on his side, 
 that she should remain in the bed-chamber, and be content, 
 for that time, with using her sight on the objects round her 
 in the room. She had promised all that he asked and he 
 had been foolish enough to trust to her promise. The band- 
 age once off, she had instantly set every consideration at de- 
 fiance, had torn herself out of his hands like a mad creature, 
 and had rushed into the sitting-room before he could stop 
 her. The rest had followed as a matter of course. Feeble 
 as it was at the first trial of it, her sense of sight was suffi- 
 ciently restored to enable her to distinguish objects dimly. 
 Of the three persons w r ho had offered themselves to view on 
 the right-hand side of the door, one (Mrs. Finch) was a wom- 
 an; another (Mr. Finch) was a short, gray -headed, elderly 
 man ; the third (Nugent), in his height which she could see 
 and in the color of his hair which she could see was the 
 only one of the three who could possibly represent Oscar. 
 The catastrophe that followed was (as things were) inevi- 
 table. Now that the harm was done, the one alternative left 
 was to check the mischief at the point which it had already 
 reached. Not the slightest hint at the terrible mistake that 
 she had made must be suffered to reach her ears. If we any 
 of us said one word about it, before he authorized us to do 
 so, he would refuse to answer for the consequences, and would 
 then and there throw up the case. 
 
 So, in his broken English, Herr Grosse explained what had 
 happened, and issued his directions for our future conduct. 
 
 " No person is to go in to her," he said, in conclusion," but 
 you and goot Mrs. Zillahs. You two watch her, turn-about-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 285 
 
 turn-about. In a whiles she will slc< j>. For me, I go to 
 smoke my tobaccos in the garden. Hear this, Madame Pra- 
 tolongo. When Gott made the womens, he was sorry after- 
 ward for the poor mens and he made tobaccos to comfort 
 them." 
 
 Favoring me with this peculiar view of the scheme of cre- 
 ation, Ilerr Grosse shook his shock head, and waddled away 
 to the garden. 
 
 I softly opened the bedroom door and looked in disap- 
 pearing just in time to escape the rector and Mrs. Finch re- 
 turning to their own side of the house. 
 
 Lucilla was lying on the sofa. She asked who it was in a 
 drowsy voice she was happily just sinking into slumber. 
 Zillah occupied a chair near her. I was not wanted for the 
 moment and I was glad, for the first time in my experience 
 at Dimchurch, to get out of the room again. By some con- 
 tradiction in my character, which I am not able to explain, 
 there was a certain hostile influence in the sympathy that I 
 felt for Oscar, which estranged me, for the moment, from Lu- 
 cilla. It was not her fault and yet (I am ashamed to own 
 it) I almost felt angry with her for reposing so comfortably, 
 when I thought of the poor fellow, without a creature to say 
 a kind word to him, alone at Browndown. 
 
 Out again in the corridor the question faced me: What 
 was I to do next? 
 
 The loneliness of the house was insupportable; my anxiety 
 about Oscar grew more than I could endure. I put on my 
 hat, and went out. 
 
 Having no desire to interfere with Ilerr Grosse's enjoyment/ 
 of his pipe, I made my way through the garden as quickly as 
 possible, and found myself in the village again. My uneasi- 
 ness on the subject of Oscar \vas matched by my angry de- 
 sire to know what Nugent would do. Now that lie had 
 worked the very mischief which his brother had foreseen to 
 be possible the very mischief which it had been Oscar's one 
 object to prevent in asking him to leave Dimchurch would 
 he take his departure? would he rid us, at once and forever, 
 of the sight of him? The bare idea of the other alternative 
 I mean, of his remaining in the place shook me with such 
 an unutterable dread of what might happen next that my 
 feet refused to support me. I was obliged, just beyond the
 
 286 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 village, to sit down by the road-side, and wait till my giddy 
 head steadied itself before I attempted to move again. 
 
 After a minute or two I heard footsteps coming along the 
 road. My heart gave one great leap in me. I thought it 
 was Nugent. 
 
 A moment more brought the person in view. It was only 
 Mr. Gootheridge, of the village inn, on his way home. He 
 stopped and took off his hat. 
 
 "Tired, ma'am?" he said. 
 
 The uppermost idea in my mind found its way somehow, 
 ill as I was, to expression on my lips in the form of a ques- 
 tion addressed to the landlord. 
 
 "Do you happen to have seen any thing of Mr. Nugent Du- 
 bourg?" I asked. 
 
 "I saw him not five minutes since, ma'am." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "Going into Browndown." 
 
 I started up as if I had been struck or shot. Worthy Mr. 
 Gootheridge stared. I wished him good-day, and went on as 
 fast as my feet would take me, straight to Browndown. Had 
 the brothers met in the house? I turned cold at the bare 
 thought of it but I still kept on. There was an obstinate 
 resolution in me to part them, which served me in place of 
 courage. Account for it as you may, I was bold and fright- 
 ened both at the same time. At one moment I was fool 
 enough to say to myself, "They will kill me." At anoth- 
 er, just as foolishly, I found comfort in the opposite view. 
 " Bah ! They are gentlemen ; they can't hurt a woman !" 
 
 The servant was standing idling at the front-door when I 
 arrived in sight of the house. This, in itself, was unusual. 
 He was a hard-working, well-trained man. On other occa- 
 sions nobody had ever seen him out of his proper place. He 
 advanced a few steps to meet me. I looked at him carefully. 
 Not the slightest appearance of disturbance was visible in 
 his face. 
 
 " Is Mr. Oscar at home ?" I asked. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ma'am. Mr. Oscar is at home but 
 you can't see him. He and Mr. Nugent are together." 
 
 I rested my hand on the low wall in front of the house, and 
 made a desperate effort to put a calm face on it. 
 
 "Surely Mr. Oscar will see me?" I said.
 
 POOU MISS FINCH. 287 
 
 " I have Mr. Oscar's orders, ma'am, to wait at the door, and 
 tell every body who comes to the house (without exception) 
 that he is engaged." 
 
 The house door was half open. I listened intently while 
 the man was speaking. If they ha<l been at high words to- 
 gether, I must have heard them, in the silence of the lonely 
 hills all round us. I heard nothing. 
 
 It was strange, it was inconceivable. At the same time it 
 relieved me. There they were together, and no harm had 
 come of it so far. 
 
 I left my card, and walked on a little past the corner of the 
 house wall. As soon as I was out of the servant's sight, I 
 turned back to the side of the building, and ventured as near 
 as I durst to the window of the sitting-room. Their voices 
 reached me, but not their words. On both sides the tones 
 were low and confidential. Not a note of anger in either 
 voice listen for it as I might ! I left the house again, breath- 
 less with amazement, and (so rapidly does a woman shift 
 from one emotion to another) burning with curiosity. 
 
 After half an hour of aimless wandering in the valley, I re- 
 turned to the rectory. 
 
 Lucilla was still sleeping. I took Zillah's place, and sent 
 her into the kitchen. The landlady of the inn was there to 
 help us with the dinner. But. she was hardly equal, single- 
 handed, to the superintendence of such dishes as we had to 
 set before Herr Grosse. It was high time I relieved Zillah, 
 if we were to pass successfully through the ordeal of the 
 great surgeon's criticism as reviewer of all the sauces. 
 
 An hour more passed before Lucilla woke. I sent a mes- 
 senger to Grosse, who appeared enveloped in a halo of to- 
 bacco, examined the patient's eyes, felt her pulse, ordered 
 her wine and jelly, filled his monstrous pipe, and gruffly re- 
 turned to his promenade in the garden. 
 
 The day wore on. Mr. Finch came > make inquiries, and 
 then went back to his wife whom he described as " hysteric- 
 ally irresponsible," and in imminent need of another warm 
 bath. lie declined, in his most pathetic manner, to meet the 
 German at dinner. "After what I have suffered, after what 
 I have seen, these banquetings I would say, these ticklings 
 of the palate are not to my taste. You mean well, Ma- 
 dame Pratolungo. (Good creature!) But I am not in heart
 
 2SS POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 for feasting. Simple fare, by ray wife's couch ; a few consol- 
 ing words, in the character of pastor and husband, when the 
 infant is quiet. So my day is laid out. I wish you well. I 
 don't object to your little dinner. Good-day ! good-day !" 
 
 A second examination of Lucilla's eyes brought us to the 
 dinner hour. 
 
 At the sight of the table-cloth Herr Grosse's good humor 
 returned. We two dined together alone the German send- 
 ing in selections of his own making from the dishes to Lu- 
 cilia's room. So far, he said, she had escaped any serious in- 
 jury. But he still insisted on keeping his patient perfectly 
 quiet, and he refused to answer for any thing until the night 
 had passed. As for me, Oscar's continued silence weighed 
 more and more heavily on my spirits. My past suspense in 
 the darkened room with Lucilla seemed to be a mere trifle 
 by comparison with the keener anxieties which I suffered 
 now. I saw Grosse's eyes glaring discontentedly at me 
 through his spectacles. He had good reason to look at me 
 as he did : I had never before been so stupid and so disagree- 
 able in all my life. 
 
 Toward the end of the dinner there came news from Brown- 
 down at last. The servant sent in a message by Zillah, beg- 
 ging me to see him for a moment outside the sitting-room 
 door. 
 
 I made my excuses to my guest, and hurried out. 
 
 The instant I saw the servant's face my heart sank. Os- 
 car's kindness had attached the man devotedly to his master. 
 I saw his lips tremble, and his color come and go, when I 
 looked at him. 
 
 " I have brought you a letter, ma'am." 
 
 He handed me a letter addressed to me in Oscar's hand- 
 writing. 
 
 " How is your master ?" I asked. 
 
 " Net very well, ma'am, when I saw him last." 
 
 "When you saw him last?" 
 
 "I bring sad news, ma'am. There's a breaking up at 
 Browndown." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Where is Mr. Oscar?" 
 
 "Mr. Oscar has left Dimchurch."
 
 POOK MISS FINCH. 289 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY- SEVENTH. 
 
 THE BROTHERS CHANGE PLACES. 
 
 I VAINLY believed I had prepared myself for any misfor- 
 tune that could fall on us. The man's last words dispelled 
 my delusion. My gloomiest forebodings had never contem- 
 plated such a disaster as had now happened. I stood petri- 
 fied, thinking of Lucilla, and looking helplessly at the servant. 
 Try as I might, I was perfectly incapable of speaking to him. 
 
 He felt no such difficulty on his side. One of the strangest 
 peculiarities in the humbler ranks of the English people is 
 the sort of solemn relish which they have for talking of their 
 own misfortunes. To be the objects of a calamity of any 
 kind seems to raise them in their own estimations. With a 
 dreary enjoyment of his miserable theme, the servant expa- 
 tiated on his position as a man deprived of the best of mas- 
 ters ; turned adrift again in the world to seek another serv- 
 ice; hopeless of ever again finding himself in such a situa- 
 tion as he had lost. He roused me at last into speaking to 
 him by sheer dint of irritating my nerves until I could en- 
 dure him no longer. 
 
 "Has Mr. Oscar gone away alone?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am, quite alone." 
 
 (What had become of Nugent? I was too much interest- 
 ed in Oscar to be able to put the question at that moment.) 
 
 "When did your master go?" I went on. 
 
 "Better than two hours since." 
 
 "Why didn't I hear of it before?" 
 
 " I had Mr. Oscar's orders not to tell you, ma'am, till this 
 time in the evening." 
 
 Wretched as I was already, my spirits sank lower still 
 when I heard that. The order given to the servant lookod 
 like a premeditated design not only to leave Dimchurch, but 
 also to keep us in ignorance of his whereabouts afterward. 
 
 " Has Mr. Oscar gone to London ?" I inquired. 
 
 "He hired Gootheridge's chaise, ma'am, to take him to 
 Brighton. And he told me with his own lips that lie hail 
 
 N
 
 290 POOE MISS FINCH. 
 
 left Browndown never to come back. I know no more of it 
 than that," 
 
 "He had left Browndown never to come back! For Lu- 
 cilla's sake, I declined to believe that. The servant was ex- 
 aggerating, or the servant had misunderstood what had been 
 said to him. The letter in my hand reminded me that I had 
 perhaps needlessly questioned him on matters which his mas- 
 ter had confided to my own knowledge only. Before I dis- 
 missed him for the night I made my deferred inquiry on the 
 hateful subject of the other brother. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Nugent?" 
 
 "At Browndown." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that he is going to stay at Brown- 
 down ?"" 
 
 "I don't know, ma'am, for certain. I see no signs of his 
 meaning to leave; and he has said nothing to that effect." 
 
 I had the greatest difficulty to keep myself from breaking 
 out before the servant. My indignation almost choked me. 
 The best way was to wish him good-night. I took the best 
 way only calling him back (as a measure of caution) to say 
 one last word. 
 
 "Have you told any body at the rectory of Mr. Oscar's de- 
 parture ?" I asked. 
 
 "No, ma'am." 
 
 "Say nothing about it, then, ns you go cv.t. Thank you 
 for bringing me the letter. Good-night." 
 
 Having thus provided against any whisper of what had 
 happened reaching Lucilla's ears that evening, I turned to 
 Ilerr Grosse to make my excuses, and to tell him (as I honest- 
 ly could) that I was in sore need of being permitted to retire 
 privately to my own room. I found my illustrious guest put- 
 ting a plate over the final dish of the dinner, full of the ten- 
 derest anxiety to keep it warm on my account. 
 
 "Here is a lofely cheese-omelettes," said Grosse. "Two 
 thirds of him I have eaten my own self. The odder third I 
 sweat with anxiety to keep warm for you. Sit down ! sit 
 down ! Every moment he is getting cold." 
 
 "I am much obliged to you, Herr Grosse. I have just heard 
 some miserable news 
 
 "Ach, Gott! don't tell it to me!" the wretch burst out, 
 with a look of consternation. "No miserable news, I pray
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 291 
 
 you, after such a dinner as I have eaten. Let me do my di- 
 gestions ! My goot-dear-creature, if you lofe me, let me do 
 my digestions !" 
 
 " Will you excuse me, if I leave you to your digestion, and 
 retire to rny own room?" 
 
 He rose in a violent hurry, and opened the door for me. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! From the deep bottoms of my heart I excuse 
 you. Goot Madame Pratolungo, retire ! retire !" 
 
 I had barely passed the threshold before the door was closed 
 behind me. I heard the selfish old brute rub his hands, and 
 chuckle over his success in shutting me and my sorrow both 
 out of the room together. 
 
 Just as my hand was on my own door it occurred to me 
 that I should do well to make sure of not being surprised by 
 Lucilla over the reading of Oscar's letter. The truth is, that 
 I shrank from reading it. In spite of my resolution to dis- 
 believe the servant, the dread was now growing on me that 
 the letter would confirm his statement, and would force it on 
 me as the truth that Oscar had left us never to return. I re- 
 traced my steps, and entered Lucilla' s room. 
 
 I could just see her, by the dim night-light burning in a 
 corner to enable the surgeon or the nurse to find their way 
 to her. She was alone in her favorite little wicker-work chair, 
 with the doleful white bandage over her eyes to all appear- 
 ance quite content busily knitting ! 
 
 "Don't you feel lonely, Lucilla?" 
 
 She turned her head toward me, and answered in her gay- 
 est tones : 
 
 "Not in the least. I am quite happy as I am." 
 
 "Why is Zillah not with you?" 
 
 "I sent her away." 
 
 "You sent her away?" 
 
 "Yes ! I couldn't enjoy myself thoroughly to-night unless 
 I felt- that I was quite alone. I have seen him, my dear I 
 have seen him ! How could you possibly think I felt lonely? 
 I am so inordinately happy that I am obliged to knit to keep 
 myself quiet. If you say much more, I shall get up and dance 
 I know I shall ! Where is Oscar? That odious G rosso 
 no! it is too bad lo talk of the dear old man in that way, 
 after he has given me back my sight. Still it is cruel of him 
 to say that I am over-excited, and to forbid Oscar to come
 
 292 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 and see me to-night. Is Oscar with you, in the next room? 
 Is he very much disappointed at being parted from me in 
 this way? Say I am thinking of him since I have seen him 
 with such new thoughts !" 
 
 " Oscar is not here to-night, my dear." 
 
 " No? then he is at Browudown, of course with that poor, 
 wretched, disfigured brother of his. I have got over my ter- 
 ror of Nugent's hideous lace. I am even beginning (though 
 I never liked him, as you know) to pity him, with such a 
 dreadful complexion as that. Don't let us talk about it! 
 Don't let us talk at all ! I want to go on thinking of Oscar." 
 
 She resumed her knitting, and shut herself up luxuriously 
 in her own happy thoughts. Knowing what I knew, it was 
 nothing less than heart-breaking to see her and hear her. 
 Afraid to trust myself to say another word, I softly closed 
 the door, and charged Zillah (when her mistress rang her 
 bell) to say for me that I was weary after the events of the 
 day, and had gone to rest in my bedroom. 
 
 At last I was alone. At last I was at the end of my ma- 
 noeuvres to spare myself the miserable necessity of opening 
 Oscar's letter. After first locking my door, I broke the seal, 
 and read the lines which follow : 
 
 " KIND AND DEAR FRIEND, Forgive me : I am going to 
 surprise and distress you. My letter thanks you gratefully, 
 and bids you a last farewell. 
 
 " Summon all your indulgence for me. Read these lines to 
 the end: they will tell you what happened after I left the 
 rectory. 
 
 "Nothing had been seen of Nugent, when I reached this 
 house. It was not till a quarter of an hour later that I heard 
 his voice at the door, calling to me, and asking if I had come 
 back. I answered, and he joined me in the sitting-room. 
 Nugent's first words to me were these : 
 
 " ' Oscar, I have come to ask your pardon, and to bid you 
 good-by.' 
 
 " I can give you no idea of the tone in which he said those 
 words: it would have gone straight to your heart, as it went 
 straight to mine. For the moment, I was not able to answer 
 him. I could only offer him my hand. lie sighed bitterly, 
 and refused to take it.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. - 293 
 
 " ' I have something still to tell you,' he said. 'Wait till you 
 have heard it ; and give me your hand afterward if you can.' 
 
 " He even refused to take the chair to which I pointed. 
 He distressed me by standing in my presence as if he was my 
 inferior. He said 
 
 " No ! I have need of all my calmness and all my courage. 
 It shakes both to recall what he said to me. I sat down to 
 write this, intending to repeat to you every thing that passed 
 between us. Another of my weaknesses ! another of my fail- 
 ures ! The tears come into my eyes again when my mind 
 attempts to dwell on the details. I can only tell you the re- 
 sult. My brother's confession may be summed up in three 
 words. Prepare yourself to be startled ; prepare yourself to 
 be grieved. 
 
 " Nugent loves her. 
 
 " Think of this discovery, falling on me after I had seen my 
 innocent Lucilla's arms round his neck after ray own eyes 
 had shown me how she rejoiced over her first sight of him; 
 how she shuddered at her first sight of me! Need I tell you 
 what I suffered ? No. 
 
 " Nugent held out his hand, when he had done as I had 
 held out mine before he began. 
 
 "'The one atonement I can make to you and to her,' he 
 said, ' is never to let either of you set eyes on me again. 
 Shake hands, Oscar, and let me go.' 
 
 "If I had willed it so so it might have ended. I willed 
 it differently. It has ended differently. Can you guess how?" 
 
 I laid down the letter for a moment. It cut me with such 
 keen regret it fired me with such hot ra<je that I was 
 
 v_3 O 
 
 within a hair-breadth of tearing the rest of it up unread, and 
 trampling it under my feet. I took a turn in the room. I 
 dipped my handkerchief in water, and bound it round my 
 head. In a minute or two I was myself again I could force 
 my mind away from my poor Lucilla, and return to the let- 
 ter. It proceeded thus: 
 
 " I can write calmly of what I have next to tell you. You 
 shall hear what I have decided, and what I have done. 
 
 " I told Nugent to wait in the room, while I went away 
 and thought over what he had said to me by myself. He at-
 
 294 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 tempted to resist this. I insisted on his yielding. For the 
 first time in our lives, we changed places. It was I who took 
 the lead, and he who followed. I left him, and went out into 
 the valley alone. 
 
 ' The heavenly tranquillity, the comforting solitude, helped 
 me. I saw my position and his in their true light. Before 
 I got back I had decided (cost me what it might) on myself 
 making the sacrifice to which my brother had offered to sub- 
 mit. For Lucilla's sake, and for Nugent's sake, I felt the cer- 
 tain assurance in my own mind that it was my duty, and not 
 his, to go. 
 
 " Don't blame me ; don't grieve for me. Read the rest. I 
 want you to think of this with my thoughts to feel about 
 it as I feel at this moment. 
 
 " Bearing in mind what Nugent has confessed, and what I 
 have myself seen, have I any right to hold Lucilla to her en- 
 gagement? I am firmly persuaded that I have no right. 
 After inspiring her with terror and disgust at the moment 
 when her eyes first looked at me after seeing her innocently 
 happy in Nugent's arms how, in God's name, can I claim 
 her as mine ? Our marriage has become an impossibility. 
 For her own sake, I can not, I dare not, appeal to our en- 
 gagement. The wreck of my happiness is nothing. The 
 wreck of her happiness would be a crime. I absolve her from 
 her engagement. She is free. 
 
 "There is my duty toward Lucilla as I see it. 
 
 "As to Nugent next. I owe it entirely to my brother (at 
 the time of the Trial) that the honor of our family has been 
 saved, and that I have escaped a shameful death on the scaf- 
 fold. Is there any limit to the obligation that he has laid on 
 me, after doing me such a service as this? There is no limit. 
 The man who loves Lucilla and the brother who has saved 
 my life are one. I am bound to leave him free I do leave 
 him free to win Lucilla by open and loyal means, if he can. 
 As soon as He IT Grosse considers that she is fit to bear the 
 disclosure, let her be told of the error into which she has 
 fallen (through my fault), let her read these lines purposely 
 written to meet her eye as well as yours and let my brother 
 tell her afterward what has passed to-night in this house be- 
 tween himself and me. She loves him now, believing him to 
 be Oscar. Will she love him still, after she has learned to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 295 
 
 knew him under his own name ? The answer to that question 
 rests with Time. If it is an answer in N agent's favor, I have 
 already arranged to set aside from my income a sufficient 
 yearly sum to place my brother in a position to begin his 
 married life. 1 wish to leave his genius free to assert itself, 
 untrammeled by pecuniary cares. Possessing, as I do, far 
 more than enough for my own simple wants, I can dedicate 
 my spare money to no better and nobler use than this. 
 
 "There is my duty toward Nugent as I see it. 
 
 " What I have decided on, you now know. What I have 
 done can be told in two words. I have left Browndown for- 
 ever. I have gone, to live or die (as God pleases) under the 
 blow that has fallen on me, far away from you all. 
 
 " Perhaps, when years have passed, and when their children 
 are growing up round them, I may see Lucilla again, and may 
 take, as the hand of my sister, the hand of the beloved wom- 
 an who might once have been my wife. This may happen, 
 if I live. If I die, you will none of you hear of it. My death 
 shall not cast its shadow of sadness on their lives. Forgive 
 me and forget me ; and keep, as I keep, that first and noblest 
 of all mortal hopes the hope of the life to come. 
 
 "I inclose, when there is need for you to write to me, the 
 address of my bankers in London. They will have their in- 
 structions. If you love me, if you pity me, abstain from at- 
 tempting to shake my resolution. You may distress me 
 but you will never change me. Wait to write until Nugent 
 has had the opportunity of pleading his own cause, and Lu- 
 cilla has decided on her future life. 
 
 "Once more I thank you for the kindness which has borne 
 with my weaknesses and my follies. God bless you and 
 good-by. OSCAR." 
 
 Of the effect which the first reading of this letter produced 
 on me I shall say nothing. Even at this distance of time, I 
 shrink from reviving the memory of what I suffered alone in 
 my room on that miserable night. Let it be enough if I tell 
 you briefly at what decision I arrived. 
 
 I determined on doing two things. First, on going to 
 London by the earliest train the next morning, and finding 
 
 / C7 
 
 my way to Oscar by means of his bankers. Secondly, on 
 takvng measures for preventing the villain who had accepted
 
 296 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 the sacrifice of his brother's happiness from entering the rec- 
 tory in my absence. 
 
 The one comfort I had that night was in feeling that, on 
 these two points, my mind was made up. There was a stim- 
 ulant in my sense of my own resolution which strengthened 
 me to make my excuses to Lucilla without betraying the 
 grief that tortured me when I found myself in her presence 
 again. Before I went to my bed I had left her quiet and 
 happy ; I had arranged with He IT Grosse that he was still to 
 keep his excitable patient secluded from visitors all through 
 the next day ; and I had secured as an ally to help me in 
 preventing Nugent from entering the house no less a person 
 than Reverend Finch himself. I saw him in his study over- 
 night, and told him all that had happened ; keeping one cir- 
 cumstance only concealed namely, Oscar's insane determi- 
 nation to share his fortune with his infamous brother. I 
 purposely left the rector to suppose that Oscar had left Lu- 
 cilla free to receive the addresses of a man who had dissipated 
 his fortune to the last farthing. Mr. Finch's harangue, when 
 this prospect was brought within his range of contemplation, 
 was something to be remembered, but not (on this occasion) 
 to be reported in mercy to the Church. 
 
 By the train of the next morning I left for London. 
 
 By the train of the same evening I returned alone to 
 Dimchurch, having completely failed to achieve the purpose 
 which had taken me to the metropolis. 
 
 Oscar had appeared at the bank as soon as the doors were 
 opened in the morning; had drawn out some hundreds of 
 pounds in circular notes ; had told the bankers that they 
 would be furnished with an address, at which they could 
 write to him, in due course of time ; and had departed for 
 the Continent, without leaving a trace behind him. 
 
 I spent the day in making what arrangements I could for 
 discovering him by the usual methods of inquiry pursued in 
 such cases; and took the return train to the country, with 
 my mind alternating between despair when I thought of Lu- 
 cilla, and anger when I thought of the twin brothers. In the 
 first bitterness of my disappointment,! was quite as indignant 
 with Oscar as with Nugent. With all my heart I cursed the 
 lay which had brought the one and the other to Dimchurch. 
 
 As we lengthened our distance from London, flying smooth-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 297 
 
 ly by the tranquil woods and fields, my mind, with time to 
 help it, began to recover its balance. Little by little the 
 unexpected revelation of firmness and decision in Oscar's 
 conduct heartily as I still deplored and blamed that con- 
 duct began to have a new effect on my mind. I now looked 
 back, in amazement and self-reproach, at my own superficial 
 estimate of the characters of the twin brothers. 
 
 Thinking it over uninterruptedly, with no one in the car- 
 riage but myself, I arrived at a conclusion which strongly 
 influenced my conduct in guiding Lucilla through the troubles 
 and perils that were still to come. 
 
 Our physical constitutions have, as I take it, more to do 
 with the actions which determine other people's opinions of 
 us (as well as with the course of our own lives) than we gen- 
 erally suppose. A man with delicately strung nerves says 
 and does things which often lead us to think more meanly 
 of him than he deserves. It is his great misfortune constantly 
 to present himself at his worst. On the other hand, a man 
 provided with nerves vigorously constituted is provided also 
 with a constitutional health and hardihood which express 
 themselves brightly in his manners, and which lead to a mis- 
 taken impression that his nature is what it appears to be on 
 the surface. Having good health, he has good spirits. Hav- 
 ing good spirits, he wins as an agreeable companion on the 
 persons with whom he comes in contact although he may 
 be hiding all the while, under an outer covering which is 
 physically wholesome, an inner nature which is morally fouL 
 In the last of these two typical men I saw reflected Nugent. 
 In the first Oscar. All that was feeblest and poorest in Os- 
 car's nature had shown itself on the surface in past times, to 
 the concealment of its stronger and its nobler side. There 
 had been something hidden in this supersensitive man, who 
 had shrunk under all the small trials of his life in our village, 
 which had proved firm enough, when the greatness of the 
 need called on it, to sustain the terrible disaster that had 
 fallen on him. The nearer I got to the end of my journey 
 the more certain I ielt that I was only now learning (bitterly 
 as he had disappointed me) to estimate Oscar's character at 
 its true value. Inspired by this conviction, I began already 
 to face our hopeless prospects boldly. As long as I had life 
 and strength to help her, I determined that Lucilla should not 
 
 N 2
 
 298 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 lose the man whose best qualities I had foiled to discover 
 until he had made up his mind to turn his back on her for- 
 ever. 
 
 When I reached the rectory I was informed that Mr. Finch 
 wished to speak to me. My anxiety about Lucilla made me 
 unwilling to submit to any delay in seeing her. I sent a 
 message informing the rector that I would be with him in a 
 few minutes, and ran up stairs into Lucilla's room. 
 
 "Has it been a very long day, my dear?" I asked, when 
 our first greetings were over. 
 
 o o 
 
 "It has been a delightful day," she answered, joyously. 
 " Grosse took me out for a walk before he went back to Lori- 
 don. Can you guess where our walk led us?" 
 
 A chilly sense of misgiving seized me. I drew back from 
 her. I looked at her lovely, happy face without the slightest 
 admiration of it worse still, with downright distrust of it. 
 
 "Where did you go?" I asked. 
 
 " To Browndown, of course !" 
 
 An exclamation escaped me. ("Infamous Grosse !" spit 
 out between my teeth, in my own language.) I could not 
 help it. I should have died if I had repressed it I was in 
 such a rage. 
 
 Lucilla laughed. "There! there! It was my fault ; I in- 
 sisted on speaking to Oscar. As soon as I had my own way, 
 I behaved perfectly. I never asked to have the bandage 
 taken off; I was satisfied with only speaking to him. Dear 
 old Grosse he isn't half as hard on me as you and my fa- 
 ther was with us all the time. It has done me so much 
 good. Don't be sulky about it, you darling Pratolungo ! 
 My 'purgeon-optic' sanctions rny imprudence. I won't ask 
 you to go with me to Browndown to-morrow; Oscar is corn- 
 in^ to return my visit." 
 
 CT 
 
 Those last words decided me. I had had a weary time of 
 it since the morning ; but (for me) the day was not at an 
 end yet. I said to myself, " I will have it out with Mr. Nu- 
 gent Dubourg before I go to my bed to-night !" 
 
 " Can you spare me for a little while ?" I asked. " I must 
 go to the other side of the house. Your father wishes to 
 speak to me." 
 
 Lucilla started. " About what ?" she inquired, eagerly. 
 
 " About business in London," I answered and left her,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 299 
 
 4 
 
 before her curiosity could madden me (in the state I was in 
 at that moment) with more questions. 
 
 I found the rector prepared to favor me with his usual flow 
 of language. Fifty Mr. Finches could not have possessed 
 themselves of my attention in the humor I was in at that 
 moment. To the reverend gentleman's amazement, it was I 
 who began and not he. 
 
 " I have just left Lucilla, Mr. Finch. I know what has 
 happened." 
 
 " Wait a minute, Madame Pratolungo ! One thing is of 
 the utmost importance to begin with. Do you thoroughly 
 understand that I am, in no sense of the word, to blame " 
 
 " Thoroughly," I interposed. " Of course they would not 
 have gone to Browndown if you had consented to let Nugent 
 Dubourg into the house." 
 
 " Stop !" said Mr. Finch, elevating his right hand. u My 
 good creature, you are in a state of hysterical precipitation. 
 I will be heard ! I did more than refuse my consent. When 
 the man Grosse I insist on your composing yourself when 
 the man Grosse came and spoke to me about it, I did more, 
 I say, infinitely more, than refuse my consent. You know 
 my force of language. Don't be alarmed ! I said, ' Sir ! as 
 pastor and parent, My Foot is down 
 
 " I understand, Mr. Finch. Whatever you said to Herr 
 Grosse was quite useless ; he entirely ignored your personal 
 point of view." 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo 
 
 " He found Lucilla dangerously agitated by her separation 
 from Oscar : he asserted what he calls his professional free- 
 dom of action." 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo " 
 
 "You persisted in closing your doors to Nugent Dubourg. 
 lie persisted, on his side and took Lucilla to Browndown." 
 
 Mr. Finch got on his feet, and asserted himself at the full 
 pitch of his tremendous voice. 
 
 " Silence !" he shouted, with a smack of his open hand on 
 the table at his side. 
 
 I didn't care, /shouted, /came down with a smack of 
 my hand on the opposite side of the table. 
 
 " One question, Sir, before I leave you," I said. " Since 
 your daughter went to Browndown you have had many
 
 300 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 hours at your disposal. Have you seen Mr. Nugent Du- 
 bourg?" 
 
 The Pope of Dimchurch suddenly collapsed, in full fulmi- 
 nation of his domestic Bulls. 
 
 " Pardon me," he replied, adopting his most elaborately 
 polite manner. "This requires considerable explanation." 
 
 I declined to wait for considerable explanation. " You 
 have not seen him ?" I said. 
 
 " I have not seen him," echoed Mr. Finch. " My position 
 toward Nugent Dubourg is very remarkable, Madame Prato- 
 lungo. In my parental character, I should like to wring his 
 neck. In my clerical character, I feel it incumbent on me to 
 pause, and write to him. You feel the responsibility ? You 
 understand the distinction ?" 
 
 I understood that lie was afraid. Answering him by an 
 inclination of the head (I hate a coward !), I walked silently 
 to the door. 
 
 Mr. Finch returned my bow with a look of helpless per- 
 plexity. "Are you going to leave me ?" he inquired, blandly. 
 
 " I am going to Browndown." 
 
 If I had said that I was going to a place which the rector 
 had frequent occasion to mention in the stronger passages of 
 his sermons, Mr. Finch's face could hardly have shown more 
 astonishment and alarm than it exhibited when I replied to 
 him in those terms. He lifted his persuasive right hand ; he 
 opened his eloquent lips. Before the coming overflow of 
 language could reach me I was out of the room, on my way 
 to Browndown. 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-EIGHTH. 
 
 IS THERE NO EXCUSE FOR HIM ? 
 
 OSCAR'S dismissed servant (left, during the usual month of 
 warning, to take care of the house) opened the door to me 
 when I knocked. Although the hour was already a late one 
 in primitive Dimchurch, the man showed no signs of surprise 
 at seeing me. 
 
 " Is Mr. Nugent Dubourg at home ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." He lowered his voice, and added, " J 
 think Mr. Nugent expected to sec you to-night."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 301 
 
 Whether he intended it or not, the servant had done me a 
 good turn he had put me on my guard. Nugent Dubourg 
 understood my character better than I had understood his. 
 He had foreseen what would happen when I heard of Lueilla's 
 visit, on my return to the rectory, and lie had, no doubt, pre- 
 pared himself accordingly. I was conscious of a certain nerv- 
 ous trembling (I own) as I followed the servant to the sitting- 
 room. At the moment, however, when he opened the door, 
 this ignoble sensation left me as suddenly as it had- come. 1 
 felt myself Pratolungo's widow again when I entered the room. 
 
 A reading-lamp, with its shade down, was the only light 
 on the table. Nugent Dubourg, comfortably reposing in an 
 easy-chair, sat by the lamp, with a cigar in his mouth and a 
 book in his hand. He put down the book on the table as he 
 rose to receive me. Knowing by this time what sort of a 
 man I had to deal with, I was determined not to let even the 
 merest trifles escape me. It might have its use in helping 
 me to understand him if I knew how he had been occupying 
 his mind while he was expecting me to arrive. I looked at 
 the book. It was " Rousseau's Confessions." 
 
 He advanced with his pleasant smile, and offered his hand 
 as if nothing had happened to disturb our ordinary relations 
 toward each other. I drew back a step, and looked at him. 
 
 " Won't you shake hands with me?" he asked. 
 
 " I will answer that directly," I said. " Where is your 
 brother ?" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " When you do know, Mr. Nugent Dubourg, and when you 
 have brought your brother back to this house, I will take 
 your hand not before." 
 
 Tie bowed resignedly, with a little satirical shrug of his 
 shoulders, and asked if he might offer me a chair. 
 
 I took a chair for myself, and placed it so that I might be 
 opposite to him when he resumed his seat. He checked 
 himself in the act of sitting down, and looked toward the 
 open window. 
 
 " Shall I throw away my cigar V" he said. 
 
 " Not on my account. I have no objection to smoking." 
 
 " Thank you." He took his chair keeping his face in the 
 partial obscurity cast by the shade of the lamp. After 
 smoking for a moment he spoke again, without turning to
 
 302 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 look at me. " May I ask what your object is in honoring 
 me with this visit ?" 
 
 " I have two objects. The first is to see that you leave 
 Dimchurch to-morrow morning. The second is to restore 
 your brother to happiness by uniting him to his promised 
 wife." 
 
 He looked round at me quickly. His experience of my ir- 
 ritable temper had not prepared him for the perfect compos- 
 ure of voice and manner with which I answered his question. 
 He looked back again from me to his cigar, and knocked off 
 the ash at the tip of it (considering with himself) before he 
 addressed his next words to me. 
 
 " We will come to the question of my leaving Dimchurch 
 presently," he said. " Have you received a letter from Os- 
 car ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Have you read it ?" 
 
 " I have read it." 
 
 "Then you know that we understand each other?" 
 
 " I know that your brother has sacrificed himself, and 
 that you have taken a base advantage of the sacrifice." 
 
 He started, and looked round at me once more. I saw 
 that something in my language or in my tone of speaking 
 had stung him. 
 
 " You have your privilege as a lady," he said. " Don't 
 push it too far. What Oscar has done, he has done of his 
 own free-will." 
 
 " What Oscar has done," I rejoined, " is lamentably foolish, 
 cruelly wrong. Still, perverted as it is, there is something 
 gene"ous, something noble, in the motive which has led him. 
 As for your conduct in this matter, I see nothing but what 
 is mean, nothing but what is cowardly, in the motive which 
 has led you" 
 
 He started to his feet, flung his cigar into the empty fire- 
 place. 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo," lie said, " I have not the honor of 
 knowing any thing of your family. I can't call a woman to 
 account for insulting me. Do you happen to have any man 
 related to you, in or out of England?" 
 
 " I happen to have what will do equally well on this oc- 
 casion," I replied. " I have a hearty contempt for threats
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 303 
 
 of all sorts, and a steady resolution in me to say what I 
 think." 
 
 He walked to the door, and opened it. 
 
 " I decline to give you the opportunity of saying any 
 thing more," he rejoined. " I beg to leave you in possession 
 of the room, and to wish you good-evening." 
 
 He opened the door. I had entered the house armed in 
 my own mind with a last, desperate resolve, only to be com- 
 municated to him, or to any body,jn the final emergency 
 and at the eleventh hour. The time had come for saying 
 what I had hoped with my whole heart to have left unsaid. 
 
 I rose on my side, and stopped him as he was leaving the 
 room. 
 
 "Return to your chair and your book," I said. "Our in- 
 terview is at an end. In leaving the house I have one last 
 word to say. You are wasting your time in remaining at 
 Dimchurch." 
 
 "I am the best judge of that," he answered, making way 
 for me to go out. 
 
 " Pardon me, you are not in a position to judge at all. 
 You don't know what I mean to do as soon as I get back to 
 the rectory." 
 
 He instantly changed his position, placing himself in the 
 door-way so as to prevent me from leaving the room. 
 
 "What do you mean to do?" he asked, keeping his eyes 
 attentively fixed on mine. 
 
 " I mean to force you to leave Dimchurch." 
 
 He laughed insolently. I went on as quietly as before. 
 "You have personated your brother to Lucilla this morn- 
 ing," I paid. "You have done that, Mr. Nugent Dubourg, 
 for the last time." 
 
 "Have I? Who will prevent me from doing it again?" 
 
 " I will." 
 
 This time lie took it seriously. 
 
 "You?" he said. "I low are you to control me, if you 
 please ?" 
 
 " I can control you through Lucilla. When I get back to 
 the rectory T can, and will, tell Lucilla the truth." 
 
 He started, and instantly recovered himself. 
 
 "You forget something, Madame Pratolungo. You for- 
 get what the surgeon in attendance on her has told us."
 
 304 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 " I remember it perfectly. If we say or do any thing to 
 agitate his patient, in her present state, the surgeon refuses 
 to answer for the consequences." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 "Well between the alternative of leaving you free to 
 break both their hearts, and the alternative of setting the 
 Kiirgeon's warning at defiance dreadful as the choice is, my 
 choice is made. I tell you to your face, I would rather see 
 Lucilla blind again than see her your wife." 
 
 His estimate of the strength of the position on his side 
 had been necessarily based on one conviction the conviction 
 that Grosse's professional authority would tie my tongue. I 
 had scattered his calculations to the winds. He turned so 
 deadly pale that, dim as the light was, I could see the change 
 in his face. 
 
 " I don't believe you !" he said. 
 
 "Present yourself at the rectory to-morrow," I answered, 
 "and you will see. I have no more to say to you. Let me 
 by." 
 
 You may suppose I was only trying to frighten him. I 
 was doing nothing of the sort. Blame me or approve of me 
 as you please, I was expressing the resolution which I had 
 in my mind when I spoke. Whether my courage would 
 have held out through the walk from Browndown to the rec- 
 tory whether I should have shrunk from it when I actually 
 found myself in Lueilla's presence is more than I can vent- 
 ure to decide. All I say is that I did, in my desperation, 
 positively mean doing it at the moment when I threatened 
 to do it, and that Nugent Dubourg heard something in my 
 voice which told him I was in earnest. 
 
 "You fiend!" he burst out, stepping close up to me, with 
 a look of fury. 
 
 The whole passionate fervor of the love that the miserable 
 wretch felt for her shook him from head to foot as his horror 
 of me found its way to expression in those two words. 
 
 " Spare me your opinion of my character," I said. " I 
 don't expect you to understand the motives of an honest 
 woman. For the last time, let me by !" 
 
 Instead of letting me by, he locked the door, and put the 
 key in his pocket. That done, he pointed to the chair that I 
 had left.
 
 POOR MISS FINCn. 305 
 
 "Sit down," he said, with a sudden sinking in his voice, 
 which implied a sudden change in his temper. "Let me 
 have a minute to myself." 
 
 I returned to my place. He took his own chair on the 
 other side of the table, and covered his face with his hands. 
 We waited a while in silence. I looked at him once or twice, 
 as the minutes followed each other. The shaded lamp-light 
 glistened dimly on something between his fingers. I rose 
 softly, and stretched across the table to look closer. Tears ! 
 On my word of honor, tears forcing their way through his 
 fingers, as he held them over his face ! I had been on the 
 point of speaking. I sat down again in silence. 
 
 " Say what you want of me. Tell me what you wish me 
 to do." 
 
 These were his first words. He spoke them without mov- 
 ing his hands; so quietly, so sadly, with such hopeless sor- 
 row, such uncomplaining resignation in his voice, that I, who 
 had entered that room hating him, rose again, and went 
 round to his chair. I, who a minute ago, if I had had the 
 strength, would have struck him down on the floor at my 
 feet, laid my hand on his shoulder, pitying him from the bot- 
 tom of my heart. That is what women are ! There is a 
 specinu'ii of their sense, firmness, and self-control! 
 
 " Be just, Nugent," I said. " Be honorable. Be all that I 
 once thought you. I v/ant no more." 
 
 He dropped his arms on the table; his head fell on them, 
 and he burst into a fit of crying. It was so like his brother 
 that I could almost have fancied I, too, had mistaken one of 
 them for the other. " Oscar over again," I thought to my- 
 self, "en the first day when I spoke to him in this very 
 rcom ! 
 
 "Come!" I said, when he was quieter. "We shall end in 
 understanding each other and in respecting each other, after 
 all." 
 
 He irritably shook my hand oft* his shoulder, and turned 
 his face away from the light. 
 
 "Don't talk of understanding we" he said. "Your sym- 
 pathy is for Oscar. He is the victim; lie is the martyr; he 
 has all your consideration and all your pity. I am a coward; 
 I am a villain; I have no honor and no heart. Tread Me 
 under foot like a reptile. My misery is only what I deserve!
 
 300 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Compassion is thrown away isn't it? on such a scoundrel 
 as I am !" 
 
 I was sorely puzzled how to answer him. All that he had 
 said against himself I had thought of him in my own mind. 
 And why not? He had behaved infamously; he was a fit 
 object for righteous indignation. And yet and yet it is 
 sometimes so very hard, however badly a man may have be- 
 haved, for women to hold out against forgiving him when 
 
 7 O ~ O 
 
 they know that a woman is at the bottom of it ! 
 
 "Whatever I may have thought of you," I said, "it is 
 still in your power, Nugent, to win back my old regard for 
 you." 
 
 "Is it?" he answered, scornfully. "I know better than 
 that. You are not talking to Oscar now you are talking 
 to a man who has had some experience of women. I know 
 how you all hold to your opinions because they are your 
 opinions, without asking yourselves whether they are right 
 or wrong. There are men who could understand me and 
 
 o 
 
 pity me. No woman can do it. The best and cleverest 
 among you don't know what love is as a man feels it. It 
 isn't the frenzy with You that it is with Us. It acknowl- 
 edges restraints in a woman it bursts through every thing 
 in a man. It robs him of his intelligence, his honor, his self- 
 respect ; it levels him with the brutes; it debases him into 
 idiocy; it lashes him into madness. I tell you I am not ac- 
 countable for my own actions. The kindest thing you could 
 do for me would be to shut me up in a mad-house. The best 
 thing I could do for myself would be to cut my throat. Oh 
 yes! this is a shocking way of talking, isn't it? I ought to 
 struggle against it, as you say. I ought to summon my self- 
 control. Ha! ha! ha! Here is a clever woman here is an 
 experienced woman. And yet, though she has seen me in 
 Lucilla's company hundreds of times, she has never once dis- 
 covered the signs of a struggle in me! From the moment 
 Avhen I first saw that heavenly creature it has been one long 
 fight against myself, one infernal torment of shame and re- 
 morse; and this clever friend of mine has observed so little 
 and knows so little that she can only view my conduct in 
 one light it is the conduct of a coward and a villain!" 
 
 He got up, and took a turn in the room. I was naturally, 
 I think a little irritated by his way of putting it. A man
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 307 
 
 Assuming to know more about love tnan a woman! Was 
 there ever such a monstrous perversion of the truth as that? 
 I appeal to the women ! 
 
 " You ought to be the last person to blame me," I said. 
 "I had too high an opinion of you to suspect what was go- 
 ing on. I will never make the same mistake again I prom- 
 ise you that!" 
 
 He came back, and stood still in front of me, looking mo 
 hard in the face. 
 
 "Do you really mean to say you saw nothing to set you 
 thinking on the day when I first met her?" he asked. "You 
 were there in the room didn't you see that she struck me 
 dumb? Did you notice nothing suspicious at a later time? 
 When I was suffering martyrdom, if I only looked at her, 
 was there nothing to be seen in me which told its own tale?" 
 
 "I noticed that you were never at your ease with her," I 
 replied. "But I liked you and trusted you, and I failed to 
 understand it. That's all." 
 
 "Did you fail to understand every thing that followed? 
 Didn't I speak to her father? Didn't I try to hasten their 
 marriage? Did I really conceal what I felt when you told 
 me that the first thing which attracted her in Oscar was his 
 voice, and when I remembered that my voice and his were 
 exactly alike? When we first talked of his telling Lucilla 
 of the discoloration of his face, did I not agree with you that 
 he ought to put himself right with her, in his own interests? 
 When she all but found it out for herself, whose influence 
 was used to make him own it? Mine! W T hat did I do when 
 he tried to confess it, and failed to make her understand 
 him ? what did I do when she first committed the mistake 
 of believing me to be the disfigured man ?" 
 
 The audacity of that last question fairly took away my 
 breath. "You cruelly helped to deceive her," I answered, 
 indignantly. "You basely encouraged your brother in his 
 fatal policy of silence." 
 
 He looked at me with an angry amazement on his side 
 which more than equaled the angry amazement on mine. 
 
 "So much for the delicate perception of a woman!" he ex- 
 claimed; "so much for the wonderful tact which is the pecul- 
 iar gift of the sex ! You can see no motive but a bad mo- 
 tive in my sacrificing myself for Oscar's sake!"
 
 308 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I began to discern faintly that there might have been an.- 
 other than a bad motive for his conduct. But well! I dare 
 say I was wrong; I resented the tone he was taking with 
 me; I would have owned I had made a mistake to anybody 
 else in the world ; I wouldn't own it to him. There ! 
 
 "Look back for one moment," he resumed, in quieter and 
 gentler tones. "See how hardly you have judged me! I 
 seized the opportunity I swear to you this is true I seized 
 the opportunity of making myself an object of horror to her 
 the moment I heard of the mistake that she had made. Feel- 
 ing in myself that I was growing less and less capable of 
 avoiding her, I caught at the chance of making her avoid 
 me; I did that, and I did more: I entreated Oscar to let me 
 leave Dimchurch. He appealed to me, in the name of our 
 love for each other, to remain. I couldn't resist him. Where 
 do you see signs of the conduct of a scoundrel in all this? 
 Would a scoundrel have betrayed himself to you a dozen 
 times over as I did in that talk of ours in the summer- 
 house? I remember saying in so many words I wished I 
 had never come to Dimchurch. What reason but one could 
 there be for my saying that ? How is it that you never even 
 asked me what I meant?" 
 
 "You forget," I interposed, "that I had no opportunity of 
 asking you. Lucilla interrupted us, and diverted my atten- 
 tion to other things. What do yon mean by putting me on 
 my defense in this way ?" I went on, more and more irri- 
 tated by the tone he was taking with me. " What right 
 have you to judge my conduct?" 
 
 He looked at me with a kind of vacant surprise. 
 
 "Have I been judging your conduct?" he asked. 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 "Perhaps I was thinking, if you had seen my infatuation 
 in time, you might have checked it in time. No !" he ex- 
 claimed, before I could answer him. " Nothing could have 
 checked it nothing will cure it but my death. Let us try 
 to agree. I beg your pardon if I have offended you. I am 
 willing to take a just view of your conduct. Will you take 
 a just view of mine?" 
 
 I tried hard to take a just view. Though I resented his 
 manner of speaking to me, I nevertheless secretly felt for 
 him, as I have confessed. Still I could not forget that he
 
 POOH MISS FINCH. 309 
 
 had attempted to attract to himself Liieilla's first look on the 
 day when she tried her sight; that he had personated his 
 brother to Lucilla that very morning; that he had suffered his 
 brother to go away heart-broken, :i voluntary exile from all 
 that he held dear. No ! I could leel tor him, but I could not 
 take a just view of him. I sat down, and said nothing. 
 
 lie returned to the question between us, treating me with 
 the needful politeness when he spoke next. For all that, lie 
 alarmed me by what he now said, as he had not alarmed me 
 
 yet. 
 
 " I repeat what I have already told you," he proceeded. 
 "I am no longer accountable for what 1 do. If I know any 
 thing of myself, I believe it will be useless to trust me in the 
 future. While I am capable of speaking the truth, let me 
 tell it. Whatever happens at a later time, remember this 
 I have honestly made a clean breast of it to-night." 
 
 "Stop!" I cried. "I don't understand your reckless way 
 of talking. Every man is accountable for Avhat lie does." 
 
 He checked me there by an impatient wave of his hand. 
 
 " Keep your opinion ! I don't dispute it. You will see ; 
 you will see. Madame Pratolungo, the day when we had 
 that private talk of ours in the rectory summer-house marks 
 a memorable day in my calendar. My last honest struggle 
 to be true to my poor Oscar ended with that day. The 
 efforts I have made since then have been little better than 
 mere outbreaks of despair. They have done nothing to help 
 me against the passion that has become the one feeling and 
 the one misery of my life. Don't talk of resistance. All re- 
 sistance stops at a certain point. Since the time I have told 
 you of, my resistance has reached its limits. You have 
 heard how I struggled against temptation as long as I could 
 resist it. I have only to tell you how I have yielded to it 
 now." 
 
 The reckless, shameless composure with which he said that 
 began to set me against him once more. The perpetual 
 shifts and contradictions in him bewildered and irritated me. 
 Quicksilver itself seemed to be less slippery to lay hold of 
 than this man. 
 
 "Do you remember the day," he asked, " when Lucilla lost 
 her temper, and received you so rudely at your visit to 
 Browndown ?"
 
 310 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I made a sign in the affirmative. 
 
 "You spoke, a little while since, of my personating Oscar 
 to her. I personated him, on the occasion I have just men- 
 tioned, for the first time. You were present and heard me. 
 Did you care to speculate on the motives which made me im- 
 pose myself on her as my brother?" 
 
 "As well as I can remember," I answered, "I made the 
 first guess that occurred to me. I thought you were indulg- 
 ing in a moment's mischievous amusement at Lucilla's ex- 
 pense." 
 
 "I was indulging in the passion that consumed me! I 
 longed to feel the luxury of her touching me and being fa- 
 miliar with me, under the impression that I was Oscar. 
 Worse even than that, I wanted to try how completely I 
 could impose on her how easily I might marry her, if I 
 could only deceive you all, and take her away somewhere by 
 herself. The devil was in possession of me. I don't know 
 how it might have ended if Oscar had not come in, and if 
 Lucilla had not burst out as she did. She distressed me 
 she frightened me she gave me back again to my better self. 
 I rushed, without stopping to prepare her, into the question 
 of her restoration to sight, as the only way of diverting her 
 mind from the vile advantage that I had taken of her blind- 
 ness. That night, Madame Pratolungo, I suifered pangs of 
 self-reproach and remorse which would even have satisfied 
 you. At the very next opportunity that offered I made my 
 atonement to Oscar. I supported his interests; I even put 
 the words he was to say to Lucilla into his lips " 
 
 " When ?" I broke in. " Where ? How V" 
 
 " When the two curgeons had left us. In Lucilla's sitting- 
 room. In the heat of the discussion whether she should sub- 
 mit to the operation at once, or whether she should marry 
 Oscar first, and let Grosse try his experiment on her eyes at 
 a later time. If you recall our conversation, you will re- 
 member that I did all I could to persuade Lucilla to marry 
 my brother before Grosse tried his experiment on her sight. 
 Quite useless! You threw all the weight of your influence 
 into the opposite scale. I failed. It made no difference. I 
 had done what I had done in sheer despair: mere impulse 
 it didn't last. When the next temptation tried me I behaved 
 like a scoundrel as you say."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 311 
 
 "I have said nothing," I answered, shortly. 
 
 " Very well as you think, then. Did you suspect me at 
 last, when we met in the village yesterday ? Surely even 
 your eyes must have seen through me on that occasion?" 
 
 I answered silently by an inclination of my head. I had 
 no wish to drift into another quarrel. Sorely as he was pre- 
 suming on my endurance, I tried, in Lucilla's interests, to 
 keep on friendly terms with him. 
 
 " You concealed it wonderfully well/' he went on, " when 
 I tried to find out whether you had or had not discovered 
 me. You virtuous people are not bad hands at deception 
 when it suits your interests to deceive. I needn't tell you 
 what my temptation was yesterday. The first look of her 
 eyes when they opened on the world, the first light of love 
 and joy breaking on her heavenly face what madness to ex- 
 pect me to let that look fall on another man, that light show 
 itself to other eyes ! No living being, adoring her as I adored 
 her, would have acted otherwise than I did. I could have 
 fallen down on my knees and worshiped Grossc when he in- 
 nocently proposed to me to take the very place in the room 
 which I was determined to occupy. You saw what I had in 
 my mind. You did your best and did it admirably to de- 
 feat me. Oh, you pattern people, you can be as shifty with 
 your resources, when a cunning trick is to be played, as the 
 worst of us. You saw how it ended. Fortune stood my 
 friend at the eleventh hour; fortune can shine, like the sun, 
 on the just and the unjust! ./had the first look of her eves! 
 / felt the first light of love and joy in her face falling on 
 msf /have had her arms round me, and her bosom on 
 mine 
 
 I could endure it no longer. 
 
 " Open the door !" I said. " I am ashamed to be sitting in 
 the same room with you !" 
 
 " I don't wonder at it," he answered. " You may well be 
 ashamed of me. I am ashamed of myself." 
 
 There was nothing cynical in his tone, nothing insolent in 
 his manner. The same man who had just gloried, in that 
 abominable way, in his victory over innocence and misfor- 
 tune, now spoke and looked like a man who was honestly 
 ashamed of himself. If I could only have felt convinced that 
 he was mocking me or playing the hypocrite with me, I
 
 312 POOR MISS FIXCII. 
 
 should have known what to do. But 1 say. again impossi- 
 ble as it seems he was, beyond all doubt, genuinely peni- 
 tent for what he had said the instant after he had said it ! 
 With all my experience of humanity, and all my practice iu 
 dealing with strange characters, I stopped midway between 
 Nugent and the locked door, thoroughly puzzled. 
 
 " Do you believe me ?" he asked. 
 
 " I don't understand you," I answered. 
 
 He took the key of the door out of his pocket, and put it 
 on the table, close to the chair from which I had just risen. 
 
 " I lose my head when I talk of her or think of her," he 
 went on. "I would give every thing I possess not to have 
 said what I said just now. No language you can use is too 
 strong to condemn it. The words burst out of me. If Lu- 
 cilla herself had been present, I couldn't have controlled 
 them. Go, if you like. I have no right to keep you here 
 after behaving as I have done. There is the key, at your 
 service. Only think first, before you leave me. You had 
 something to propose when you came in. You might influ- 
 ence me you might shame me into behaving like an honor- 
 able man. Do as you please. It rests with you." 
 
 Which was I a good Christian, or a contemptible fool? 
 I went back once more to my chair, and determined to give 
 him a last chance. 
 
 " That's kind," he said. " You encourage me ; you show 
 me that I am worth trying again. I had a generous impulse 
 in this room yesterday. It might have been something better 
 than an impulse, if I had not had another temptation set 
 straight in my way." 
 
 "What temptation?" I asked. 
 
 "Oscar's letter has told you: Oscar himself put the temp- 
 tation in my way. You must have seen it." 
 
 "I saw nothing of the sort." 
 
 "Doesn't he tell you that I offered to leave Dimchurch for- 
 ever? I meant it. I saw the misery in the poor fellow's 
 face when Grosse and I were leading Lucilla out of the room. 
 With my whole heart I meant it. If he had taken my hand, 
 and had said Good-by, I should have gone. He wouldn't 
 take my hand. He insisted on thinking it over by himself. 
 He came back resolved to made the sacrifice on his side 
 
 "Why did you accept the sacrifice?"
 
 POOH MISS FINCII. 313 
 
 "Because he tempted me." 
 
 " Tempted you ?" 
 
 " Yes. What else can you call it, when he offered to leave 
 me free to plead my own cause with Lucilla ? What else 
 can you call it, when he showed me a future life, which was 
 a life with Lucilla? Poor, dear, generous fellow, he tempt- 
 ed me to stay when he ought to have encouraged me to go. 
 How could I resist him ? Blame the passion that has got me 
 body and soul : don't blame me /" 
 
 I looked at the book on the table the book that he had 
 been reading when I entered the room. These sophistical 
 confidences of his were nothing but Rousseau at second hand. 
 Good ! If he talked false Rousseau, nothing was left for mo 
 but to talk genuine Pratolungo. I let myself go I was just 
 in the humor for it. 
 
 "How can a clever man like you impose on yourself in 
 that way?" I said. "Your future with Lucilla! You have 
 no future with Lucilla which is not shocking to think of. 
 Suppose you shall never do it as long as I live suppose 
 you married her ? Good Heavens ! what a miserable life it 
 would be for both of you ! You love your brother. Do you 
 think you could ever really know a moment's peace, with 
 one reflection perpetually forcing itself on your mind? '1 
 have cheated Oscar out of the woman whom he loved; 1 
 have wasted his life ; I have broken his heart.' You couldn't 
 look at her, you couldn't speak to her, you couldn't touch 
 her, without feeling it all imbittered by that horrible re- 
 proach. And she ? What sort of wife would she make 
 you when she knew how you had got her? I don't know 
 which of the two she would hate most you or herself. Not 
 a man would pass her in the street who would not rouse the 
 thought in her, ' I wonder whether he lias ever done any 
 thing as base as what my husband has done.' Not a married 
 woman of her acquaintance but would make her sick at heart 
 with envy and regret. ' Whatever faults he may have, your 
 husband hasn't won you as my husband won me.' You hap 
 py? Your married life endurable? Come! I have saved a 
 few pounds since I have been with Lucilla: I will lay you 
 every farthing I possess you two would be separated by 
 mutual consent before you had been six months man and 
 wife. Now which will you do will you s4urt for the Conti- 
 
 O
 
 314 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 nent or stay here ? Will you bring Oscar back, like an hon- 
 orable man, or let him go, and disgrace yourself forever ?" 
 
 His eyes sparkled ; his color rose. He sprang to his feet, 
 and unlocked the door. What was he going to do? To 
 start for the Continent, or to turn ine out of the house ? 
 
 He called to the servant. 
 
 "James!" 
 
 "Yes, Sir?" 
 
 "Make the house fast when Madame Pratolungo and I 
 have left it. I am not coining back again." 
 
 " Sir !" 
 
 " Pack my portmanteau, and send it after me to-morrow, 
 to Nagle's Hotel, London." 
 
 He closed the door again and came back to me. 
 
 " You refused to take my hand when you came in," he 
 said. " Will you take it now ? I leave Browndown when 
 you leave it; and I won't come back again till I bring Os- 
 car with me." 
 
 " Both hands !" I exclaimed and took him by both hands. 
 I could say nothing more. I could only wonder whether I 
 Avas waking or sleeping ; fit to be put into an asylum, or fit 
 to go at large ? 
 
 O ~ 
 
 " Come !" he said. " I will see you as far as the rectory 
 gate." 
 
 "You can't go to-night," I answered. "The last train 
 has left hours since." 
 
 "I can. I can walk to Brighton, and get a bed there, and 
 leave for London to-morrow morning. Nothing will induce 
 me to pass another night at Browndown. Stop ! One ques- 
 tion before I put the lamp out." 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Did you do any thing toward tracing Oscar when you 
 were in London to-day ?" 
 
 "I went to a lawyer, and made what arrangements with 
 him I could." 
 
 "Here is my pocket-book. Write me down his name and 
 address." 
 
 I wrote them. He extinguished the lamp, and led me into 
 the passage. The servant was standing there, bewildered. 
 " Good-night, James. I am going to bring your master back 
 to Browndown." With that explanation, he took up his hat
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 315 
 
 and stick, and gave me his arm. The moment after, we 
 were out in the dark valley, on our way to the village. 
 
 On the walk back to the rectory lie talked with a feverish 
 volubility and excitement. Avoiding the slightest reference 
 to the subject discussed at our strange and stormy inter- 
 view, he returned, with tenfold confidence in himself, to his 
 old boastful assertion of the great things he was going to do 
 as a painter. The mission which called him to reconcile 
 Humanity and Nature; the superb scale on which he pro- 
 posed to interpret sympathetic scenery for the benefit of suf- 
 fering mankind ; the prime necessity of understanding him, 
 not as a mere painter, but as Grand Consoler in Art I had 
 it all over again, by way of satisfying my mind as to his 
 prospects and occupations in his future life. It was only 
 When we stopped at the rectory gate that he referred to 
 what had passed between us and even then he only touch- 
 ed on the subject in the briefest possible way. 
 
 "Well ?" he said. "Have I won back your old regard for 
 me? Do you believe there is a fine side to be found in the 
 nature of Nugent Dubourg? Man is a compound animal. 
 You are a woman in ten thousand. Give me a kiss." 
 
 He kissed me, foreign fashion, on both cheeks. 
 
 "Now for Oscar!" he shouted, cheerfully. He waved his 
 hat, and disappeared in the darkness. I stood at the gate 
 till the last rapid pitpat of his feet died away in the silence 
 of the night. 
 
 An indescribable depression seized on my spirits. I be- 
 gan to doubt him again the instant I was alone. 
 
 " Is there a time coming," I asked myself, " when all that 
 I have done to-night must be done over again ?" 
 
 I opened the rectory gate. Mr. Finch intercepted me be- 
 fore I could get round to our side of the house. He held up 
 before me, in solemn triumph, a manuscript of many pages. 
 
 " My Letter," he said. " A letter of Christian remonstrance 
 to Nugent Dubourg." 
 
 "Nugent Dubourg has left Dimchurch." 
 
 With that reply, I told the rector in as few words as pos- 
 sible how my visit to Browndown had ended. 
 
 Mr. Finch looked at his letter. All those pages of elo- 
 quence written for nothing? No! In the nature of things 
 that could not possibly be. "You have done very well,
 
 316 POOI; MISS Fixcn. 
 
 Madame Pratolungo," he remarked, in his most patronizing 
 manner. "Very well indeed, all things considered. l?ut,I 
 don't think I shall act wisely if I destroy this." He carefully 
 k>cked tip his manuscript, and turned to me again with a mys- 
 terious smile. "I venture to think," said Mr. Finch, with 
 mock humility, "My Letter will be wanted. Don't let me 
 discourage you about Nugent Dubourg. Only let me say: 
 Is he to be trusted ?" 
 
 It was said by a fool; it would never have been said at 
 all if he had not written his wonderful letter. Still it echoed 
 with a painful fidelity the misgiving secretly present at that 
 moment in my own mind ; and, more yet, it echoed the mis- 
 giving in Nugent's mind the doubt of himself which his 
 own lips had confessed to me in so many words. I wished 
 the rector good-night, and went up stairs. 
 
 Lucilla was in bed and asleep when I softly opened her 
 door. 
 
 After looking for a while at her lovely, peaceful face, I 
 was obliged to turn away. It was time I left the bedside, 
 when the sight of her only made my spirits sink lower and 
 lower. As I cast my last look at her before I closed the 
 door, Mr. Finch's ominous question forced itself on me again. 
 In spite of myself, I said to myself, 
 
 " Is he to be trusted ?" 
 
 CHAPTER THE THIRTY-NINTH. 
 
 SHE LEAKXS TO SEE. 
 
 WITH the new morning certain reflections found their way 
 into my mind which were not of the most welcome sort. 
 There was one serious element of embarrassment in my posi- 
 tion toward Lucilla which had not discovered itself to me 
 when Nugent and I parted at the rectory gate. 
 
 Browndown was now empty. In the absence of both the 
 brothers, what was I to say to Lucilla when the false Oscar 
 failed to pay her his promised visit that day ? 
 
 In what a labyrinth of lies had the first fatal suppression 
 of the truth involved us all ! One deception after another 
 had been forced on TIS; one disaster after another had follow- 
 ed retributively as the result and, now that I was left to
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 319 
 
 deal single-handed with the hard necessities of our position, 
 no choice seemed left to me but to go on deceiving Lucilla 
 still ! I was weary of it and ashamed of it. At breakfast- 
 time I evaded all further discussion of the subject after I had 
 first ascertained that Lucilla did not expect her visitor before 
 the afternoon. For some time after breakfast I kept her at 
 the piano. When she wearied of music, and began to talk 
 of Oscar once more, I put on my hat, and set forth on a do- 
 mestic errand (of the kind usually intrusted to Zillah), solely 
 for the purpose of keeping out of the way, and putting off to 
 the last moment the hateful necessity of telling more lies. 
 The weather stood my friend. It threatened to rain; and 
 Lucilla, on that account, refrained from proposing to accom- 
 pany me. 
 
 My errand took me to a farm-house on the road which led 
 to Brighton. After settling my business I prolonged my 
 walk, though the rain was already beginning to fall. I had 
 nothing on me that would spoil ; and, in my present frame 
 of mind, a wet gown was a preferable alternative to return- 
 ing to the rectory. 
 
 After I had walked about a mile further on, the solitude 
 of the road was enlivened by the appearance of an open car- 
 riage approaching me from the direction of Brighton. The 
 hood was up to protect the person inside from the rain. The 
 person looked out as I passed, and stopped the carriage in a 
 voice which I instantly recognized as the voice of Grosse. 
 Our gallant oculist insisted (in the state of the weather) on 
 my instantly taking shelter by his side, and returning with 
 him to the house. 
 
 "This is an unexpected pleasure," I said. " I thought you 
 had arranged not to see Lucilla again till the end of the 
 week." 
 
 Grosse's eyes glared at me through his spectacles with u 
 dignity and gravity worthy of Mr. Finch himself. 
 
 " Shall I tell you something ?" he said. " You see sitting 
 at your side a lost surgeon-optic. I shall die soon. Put on 
 my tombs, if you please, The malady which killed this Ger- 
 man mans was Lofely Feench. When I am away from her 
 gif me your sympathies: I so much want it I sweat with 
 anxiousness for young miss. Your damn-mess-fix about those 
 two brodders is a sort of perpetual blisters on my mind. In-
 
 320 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 stead of snoring peaceably all night in my nice big English 
 bedt, I roll wide awake on my pillows, fidgeting for Feench. 
 I am here to-day before my time. For what? For to try 
 her eyes, you think? Goot madam, you think wrong ! It is 
 not her eyes which troubles me. Her eyes will do. It is 
 You and the odders at your rectory-place. You make me 
 nervous-anxious about my patients. I am afraid some of 
 you will let the mess-fix of those brodder-twins find its way 
 to her pretty ears, and turn her poor little mind topsy-turvies 
 when I am not near to see to it in time. Will you let her be 
 comfortable -easy for two months more? Ach Gott! if I 
 could only be certain-sure of that, I might leave those weak 
 new eyes of hers to cure themselves, and go my ways back 
 to London again." 
 
 I had intended to remonstrate with him pretty sharply for 
 taking Lucilla to Browndown. After what he had now said 
 it was useless to attempt any thing of that sort and doubly 
 useless to hope that he would let me extricate myself from 
 my difficulties by letting me tell her the truth. 
 
 "Of course you are the best judge," I said. "But you 
 little know what these precautions of yours cost the unfor- 
 tunate people who arc left to carry them out." 
 
 He took me up sharply at those words. 
 
 " You shall see for your own self," he said, " if it is not 
 worth the cost. If her eyes satisfy me, Feench shall learn to 
 see to-day. You shall stand by, you obstinate womans, and 
 judge if it is goot to add shock and agitation to the exhaus- 
 tions and irritabilities and bedevilments of all sorts which 
 our poor miss must suffer in learning to see, after being blind 
 for all her life. No more of it now till we get to the rectory- 
 place." By way of changing the subject for the present, he 
 put a question to me which I felt it necessary to answer with 
 some caution. "How is my nice boys? my bright-clever 
 .Nugent ?" he asked. 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 There I stopped, not feeling at all sure of the ground I 
 was treading on. 
 
 "Mind this!" Grosse went on. "My bright-boy-Nugent 
 keeps her comfortable-easy. My bright-boy-Nugent is worth 
 all the rest of you togedder. I insist on his making his vis- 
 its to young miss at the rectory-place, in spite of that windy-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 321 
 
 talky-puff-bag-Feench-father of hers. I say positively Nu- 
 gent shall come into the house." 
 
 There was no help for it now. I was obliged to tell him 
 that Nugent had left Browndown, and that I was the person 
 who had sent him away. 
 
 For a moment I was really in doubt whether the skilled 
 hand of the great surgeon would not be ignobly employed in 
 boxing my cars. No perversion of spelling can possibly re- 
 port the complicated German -English jargon in which his 
 fury poured itself out on my devoted head. Let it be enough 
 to say that he declared Nugent's abominable personation of 
 his brother to be vitally important so long as Oscar was 
 absent to his successful treatment of the sensitive and ex- 
 citable patient whom we had placed under his care. I vainly 
 assured him that Nugent's object in leaving Dimchurch was to 
 set matters right again in bringing his brother back. Grosse 
 flatly declined to allow himself to be influenced by any spec- 
 ulative consideration of that sort. He said (and swore) that 
 my meddling had raised a serious obstacle in his way, and 
 that nothing but his own tender regard for Lucilla prevented 
 him from turning "the coachmans back," and leaving us 
 henceforth to shift for ourselves. 
 
 When we reached the rectory gate he had cooled a little. 
 As we crossed the garden he reminded me that I stood 
 pledged to be present when the bandage was taken off. 
 
 "Now mind!" he said. "You are going to see if it is 
 goot or bad to tell her that she has had those nice white arms 
 of hers round the wrong brodder. You are going to tell me 
 
 o o o 
 
 afterward if you dare to say to her, in plain English words, 
 ' Blue-Face is the man.' " 
 
 We found Lucilla in the sitting-room. Grosse briefly in- 
 formed her that he had nothing particular to occupy him in 
 London, and that he had advanced the date of his visit on 
 that account. "You want something to do, my lofe, on tin's 
 soaky-rainy day. Show Papa-Grosse what you can do with 
 your eyes, now you have got them back again." With those 
 words he unfastened the bandage, and, taking her by the 
 chin, examined her eyes first without his magnifying glass; 
 then with it. 
 
 "Am I going on well?" she asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Famous-well ! You go on (as my uoot friends sav in 
 
 O 2
 
 322 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 America) first-class. Now use your eyes for yourself. Gif 
 one lofing look to Grosse first. Then see ! see ! see !" 
 
 There was no mistaking the tone in which he spoke to her. 
 He Avas not only satisfied about her eyes he was triumphant. 
 " Soh !" he grunted, turning to me. " Why is Mr. Sebrights 
 not here to look at this ?" 
 
 I eagerly approached Lucilla. There was still a little dim- 
 ness left in her eyes. I noticed also that they moved to and 
 fro restlessly, and (at times) wildly. But, oh, the bright 
 change in her ! the new life of beauty which the new sense 
 had bestowed on her already ! Her smile, always charming, 
 now caught light from her eyes, and spread its gentle fasci- 
 nation over all her face. It was impossible not to long to 
 kiss her. I advanced to congratulate, to embrace her. Grosse 
 stepped forward, and checked me. 
 
 " No," he said. " Walk your ways to the odder end of 
 the rooms, and let us see if she can go to you.' 1 '' 
 
 Like all other people knowing no more of the subject than 
 I knew, I had no idea of the pitiably helpless manner in 
 which the restored sense of sight struggles to assert itself in 
 persons who have been blind for life. In such cases the effort 
 of the eyes that are first learning to see is like the effort of 
 the limbs when a child is first learning to walk. But for 
 Grosse's odd way of taking it, the scene which I was now to 
 witness would have been painful in the last degree. My 
 poor Lucilla instead of filling me with joy, as I had antici- 
 pated would, I really believe, have wrung my heart, and 
 have made me burst out crying. 
 
 " Now !" said Grosse, laying one hand on Lucilla's arm, 
 while he pointed to me with the other. " There she stands. 
 Can you go to her?" 
 
 " Of course I can !" 
 
 " I lay you a bet-wager yon can not. Ten thausand pounds 
 to six pennies. Done-done. Now try !" 
 
 She answered by a little gesture of defiance, and took three 
 hasty steps forward. Bewildered and frightened, she stopped 
 suddenly, at the third step, before she had advanced half the 
 way from her end of the room to mine. 
 
 "I saw her here," she said, pointing down to the spot on 
 which she was standing, and appealing piteously to Grosse. 
 "I see her now, and I don't know where she is! She is so
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 323 
 
 near, I feel as if she touched my eyes and yet" (she ad- 
 vanced another step, and clutched with her hands at the 
 empty air) " and yet I can't get near enough to take hold 
 of her. Oh ! what does it mean ? what does it mean ?" 
 
 "It means pay me my six pennies!" said Grosse. "The 
 wager-bet is mine !" 
 
 She resented his laughing at her with an obstinate shake 
 of her head, and an angry knitting of her pretty eyebrows. 
 
 " Wait a little," she said. " You sha'n't win quite so eas- 
 ily as that. I will get to her yet !" 
 
 She came straight to me in a moment just as easily as I 
 could have gone to her myself if I had tried. 
 
 " Another wager-bet !" cried Grosse, still standing behind 
 her, and calling to me. Twenty thausand pounds this time to 
 a four-pennies-bit. She has shut her eyes to get to you. Hey?" 
 
 It was true she had blindfolded herself! With her eyes 
 closed she could measure to a hair's breadth the distance 
 which, with her eyes. opened, she was perfectly incompetent 
 to calculate ! Detected by both of us, she sat down, poor 
 dear, with a sigh of despair. " Was it worth while," she said 
 to me sadly, " to go through the operation for this?" 
 
 Grosse joined us at our end of the room. 
 
 " All in goot time," he said. " Patience, and these helpless 
 eyes of yours will learn. Soh ! I shall begin to teach them 
 now. You have got your own notions hey ? about this 
 colors and that? When you were blind did you think what 
 would be your favorite colors if you could see? You did? 
 Which colors is it? Tell me. Come !" 
 
 " White first," she answered. "Then scarlet." 
 
 Grosse paused and considered. 
 
 " White I understand," he said. " White is the fancy of a 
 young girls. But why scarlets? Could you see scarlets 
 when you were blind?" 
 
 "Almost," she answered, "if it was bright enough. I used 
 to feel something pass before my eyes when scarlet was shown 
 to me." 
 
 "In these cataracts-cases it is constantly scarlets that they 
 almost see," muttered Grosse to himself. "There must be 
 reason for this and I must find him." He went on with his 
 questions to Lucilla. "And the colors you hate most '- 
 which is he?"
 
 324 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Black." 
 
 Grosse nodded his head approvingly. " I thought so," ho 
 said. "It is always black that they hate. For this also 
 there must be reason and I must find him." 
 
 Having expressed that resolution, he approached the writ- 
 ing-table, and took a sheet of paper out of the case, and a 
 circular pen-wiper of scarlet cloth out of the inkstand. After 
 that he looked about him, waddled back to the other end of 
 the room, and fetched the black felt hat in which he had 
 traveled from London. He ranged the hat, the paper, and 
 the pen-wiper in a row. Before he could put his next question 
 to her she pointed to the hat with a gesture of disapproval. 
 
 " Take it away," she said. " I don't like that." 
 
 Grosse stopped me before I could speak. 
 
 "Wait a little," he whispered in my ear. "It is not quite 
 so wonderful as you think. These blind peoples, when they 
 first see, have all alike the same hatred of any thing what is 
 dark." He turned to Lucilla. " Say," he asked, " is yoty 
 favorite colors among these things here ?" 
 
 She passed by the hat in contempt ; looked at the pen- 
 wiper, and put it down ; looked at the sheet of paper, and put 
 it down ; hesitated and again shut her eyes. 
 
 " No !" cried Grosse. " I won't have it ! How dare you 
 blind yourself in the presence of Me? What! I give you 
 back your sights, and you go shut your eyes. Open them 
 or I will put you in the corner like a naughty girls. Your 
 favorite colors ? Now, now, now !" 
 
 She opened her eyes (very unwillingly), and looked once 
 more at the pen-wiper and the paper. 
 
 " I see nothing as bright as my favorite colors here," she 
 said. 
 
 Grosse held up the sheet of paper, and pressed the question 
 without mercy. 
 
 " What ! Is white whiter than this ?" 
 
 " Fifty thousand times whiter than that !" 
 
 " Goot. Now mind ! This paper is white." (He snatched 
 her handkerchief out of her apron-pocket.) " This handker- 
 chief is white too; whitest of the white, both of them. First 
 lesson, my lofe ! Here in my hands is your favorite colors, 
 in the time when you were blind." 
 
 " ThoseT" 1 she exclaimed, pointing to the paper and the
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 327 
 
 handkerchief, with a look of blank disappointment as he 
 dropped them on the table. She turned over the pen-wiper 
 and the hat, and looked round at me. G rosso, waiting to try 
 another experiment, left it to me to answer. The result, in 
 both cases, was the same as in the cases of the sheet of paper 
 and the handkerchief. Scarlet was not half as red black 
 not one-hundredth part as black as her imagination had fig- 
 ured them to her in the days when she was blind. Still, as 
 to this last color as to black she could feel some little en- 
 couragement. It had affected her disagreeably (just as poor 
 Oscar's face had affected her), though she had not actually 
 known it for the color that she disliked. She made an effort, 
 poor child, to assert herself against her merciless surgeon- 
 teacher. "I didn't know it was black," she said; "but I 
 hated the sight of it, for all that." 
 
 She tried, as she spoke, to toss the hat onto a chair stand- 
 ing close by her, and threw it instead high above the back 
 of the chair, against the wall, at least six feet away from the 
 object at which she had aimed. " I am a helpless fool !" she 
 burst out, her face flushing crimson with mortification. 
 "Don't let Oscar see me ! I can't bear the thought of mak- 
 ing myself ridiculous before him! He is coming here," she 
 added, turning to me entreatingly. " Manage to make some 
 excuse for his not seeing me till later in the day." 
 
 I promised to find the excuse all the more readily, that I 
 now saw an unexpected chance of reconciling her in some 
 dvgree (so long as she was learning to see) to the blank pro- 
 duced in her life by Oscar's absence. 
 
 She addressed herself again to Grosse. 
 
 "Go on !" she said, impatiently. "Teach me to be some- 
 thing better than an idiot or put the bandage on and blind 
 me again. My eyes are of no use to me! Do you hear?" 
 she cried, furiously, taking him by his broad shoulders and 
 shaking him with all her might "my eyes arc of no use to 
 me!" 
 
 " Now ! now ! now !" cried Grosse. " If you don't keep 
 your tempers, you little spitfire, I will teach you nothing." 
 He took up the sheet of paper and the pen-wiper; and, forc- 
 ing her to sit down, placed them together before her, in her 
 lap. 
 
 "Do you know one thing?" he went on. "Do you know
 
 328 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 what is meant by an objects which is square ? Do you know 
 what is meant by an objects which is round?" 
 
 Instead of answering him, she appealed indignantly to my 
 opinion. 
 
 "Is it not monstrous," she asked, "to hear him put such a 
 question to me as that ? Do I know round from square ? 
 Oh, how cruelly humiliating ! Don't tell Oscar ! don't tell 
 Oscar !" 
 
 . " If you know," persisted Grosse, " you can tell me. Look 
 at those two things in your lap. Are they both round or 
 both square? or is one round and the odder square? Look 
 now, and tell me." 
 
 She looked and said nothing. 
 
 " Well ?" continued Grosse. 
 
 "You put me out, standing there staring at me through 
 your horrid spectacles !" she said, irritably. " Don't look at 
 me, and I will tell you directly." 
 
 Grosse turned his head my way, with his diabolical grin; 
 and signed to me to keep watch on her in his place. 
 
 The instant his back was turned, she shut her eyes, and 
 ran over the paper and the pen-wiper with the tips of her 
 fingers ! 
 
 "One is round, and one is square," she answered, cunningly 
 opening her eyes again, just in time to bear critical inspection 
 when Grosse turned round toward her once more. 
 
 He took the paper and the pen-wiper out of her hands ; 
 and (thoroughly understanding the trick she had played him) 
 changed them for a bronze saucer and a book. " Which is 
 round and which is square of these?" he asked, holding them 
 up before her. 
 
 She looked first at one, and then at the other plainly in- 
 capable (with only her eyes to help her) of answering the 
 question. 
 
 "I put you out don't I?" said Grosse. "You can't shut 
 your eyes, my lofely Feench, while I am looking can you?" 
 
 She turned red, then pale again. I began to be afraid she 
 would burst out crying. Grosse managed her to perfection. 
 The tact of this rough, ugly, eccentric old man was the most 
 perfect tact I have ever met with. 
 
 "Shut your eyes," he said, soothingly. "It is the right 
 ways to learn. Shut your eyes, and take them in your hands.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 329 
 
 and tell me which is round and which is square in that way 
 first." 
 
 She told him directly. 
 
 "Goot! now open your eyes, and see for yourself it is the 
 saucers you have got in your right hand, and the books you 
 have got in your left. You see? Goot again? Put them 
 back on the table now. What shall we do next?" 
 
 "May I try if I can write?" she asked, eagerly. "I do so 
 want to see if I can write with my eyes instead of my fin- 
 ger!" 
 
 "No! Ten thausand times no! I forbid reading; I for- 
 bid writing, yet. Corne with me to the window. How do 
 these most troublesome eyes of yours do at a distance?" 
 
 While we had been trying our experiment with Lucilla the 
 weather had brightened again. The clouds were parting; 
 the sun was coming out; the bright gaps of blue in the sky 
 were widening every moment; the shadows were traveling 
 grandly over the windy slopes of the hills. Lucilla lifted 
 her hands in speechless admiration as the German threw open 
 the window, and placed her face to face with the view. 
 
 "Oli!" she exclaimed, "don't speak to me! don't touch me! 
 let me enjoy it ! There is no disappointment here. I have 
 never thought, I have never dreamed, of any thing half so 
 beautiful as this /" 
 
 Grosse looked at me, and silently pointed to her. She had 
 turned pale she was trembling in every limb, overwhelmed 
 by her own ecstatic sense of the glory of the sky and the 
 beauty of the earth, as they now met her view for the first 
 time. I penetrated the surgeon's object in directing my at- 
 tention to her. "See" (he meant to say), "what a delicate- 
 ly organized creature we have to deal with ! Is it possible 
 to be too careful in handling such a sensitive temperament 
 as that?" Understanding him only too well, I also trembled 
 when I thought of the future. Every thing now depended on 
 Nugent. And Nugent's own lips had told me that he could 
 not depend on himself! 
 
 It was a relief to me when Grosse interrupted her. 
 
 She pleaded hard to be allowed to stay at the window 
 a little longer. He refused to allow it. Upon that she flew 
 instantly into the opposite extreme. "I am in my own 
 room, and I am my own mistress," she said, angrily; "I
 
 3.10 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 insist on having ray own way." Grosse was ready with his 
 answer. 
 
 "Take your own ways; fatigue those weak new eyes of 
 yours, and to-morrow, when you try to look out of window, 
 you will not be able to see at all." This reply terrified her 
 into instant submission. She assisted in replacing the band- 
 age with her own hands. " May I go away to my own room ?" 
 she asked, with the simplicity of a child. "I have seen such 
 beautiful sights and I do so want to think of them by myself." 
 
 The medical adviser instantly granted the patient's re- 
 quest. Any proceeding which tended to compose her was a 
 proceeding of which he highly approved. 
 
 "If Oscar comes," she whispered, as she passed me on her 
 way to the door, "mind I hear of it, and mind you don't tell 
 him of the mistakes I have made." She paused for a mo- 
 ment, thinking. " I don't understand myself," she said. "I 
 never was so happy in my life. And yet I feel almost ready 
 to cry !" She turned toward Grosse. "Come here, papa. 
 You have been very good to me to-day. I will give you a 
 kiss." She laid her hands lightly on his shoulders, kissed his 
 lined and wrinkled cheek, gave me a little squeeze round the 
 waist and left us. Grosse turned sharply to the window, 
 and used his huge silk handkerchief for a purpose to which 
 (I suspect) it had not been put for many a long year past. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTIETH. 
 
 TRACES OF NUGENT. 
 
 " MADAME PRATOI.UNGO !" 
 
 " Herr Grosse ?" 
 
 He put his handkerchief back into his pocket, and turned 
 to me from the window with his face composed again, and his 
 tea-caddy snuff-box in his hand. 
 
 "Now you have seen for your own self," he said, with an 
 emphatic rap on the box, "do you dare tell that sweet girls 
 which of them it is that has gone his ways and left her for- 
 ever?" 
 
 It is not easy to find a limit to the obstinacy of women 
 when men expect them to acknowledge themselves to have 
 been wrong. After what I had seen, I no more dared tell
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 331 
 
 her than he did. I was only too obstinate to acknowledge it 
 to him just yet. 
 
 "Mind this !" he went on. " Whether you shake her with 
 frights, or whether you heat her with rages, or whether you 
 wound her with griefs it all goes straight the same to those 
 weak new eyes of hers. They are so weak and so new, that 
 I must ask once more for my bedt here to-night, for to see to- 
 morrow if I have not already tried them too much. Now, 
 for the last time of asking, have you got the abominable 
 courage in you to tell her the truth ?" 
 
 He had found my limit at last. I was obliged to own 
 (heartily as I disliked doing it) that there was, for the pres- 
 ent, no choice left but mercifully to conceal the truth. Hav- 
 ing gone this length, I next attempted to consult him as to 
 the safest manner in which I could account to Lucilla for 
 Oscar's absence. He refused (as a man) to recognize the 
 slightest necessity for giving me (as a woman) any advice on 
 a question of evasions and excuses. " I have not lived all 
 my years in the world without learning something," he said. 
 "When it comes to walking upon egg-shells and telling fips, 
 the womens have nothing to learn from the mens. Will you 
 take a little stroll-walk with me in the garden? I have one 
 odder thing to say to you ; and I am hungry and thirsty both 
 togedder for This." 
 
 He produced "This," in the form of his pipe. We left the 
 room at once for our stroll in the garden. 
 
 Having solaced himself with his first mouthful of tobacco- 
 
 O 
 
 smoke, he startled me by announcing that he meant to re- 
 move Lucilla forthwith from Dirnchurch to the sea-side. In 
 doing this he was actuated by two motives first, the med- 
 ical motive of strengthening her constitution; second, the 
 personal motive of preserving her from making painful dis- 
 coveries by placing her out of reach of the gossip of the rec- 
 tory and the village. Grosse had the lowest opinion of Mr. 
 Finch and his household. His dislike and distrust of the rec- 
 tor, in particular, knew no bounds : he characterized the Pope 
 of Dirnchurch as an Ape with a long tongue and a man-and- 
 monkey capacity for doing mischief. Ramsgate was the wa- 
 tering-place which he had fixed on. It was at a safe distance 
 from Dimchurch ; and it was near enough to London to en- 
 able him to visit Lucilla frequently. The one thing needed
 
 332 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 was my co-operation in the new plan. If I was at liberty to 
 take charge ofLucilla, he would speak to the Ape with the 
 long tongue ; and we might start for Ramsgate before the 
 end of the week. 
 
 Was there any thing to prevent me from carrying out the 
 arrangement proposed ? 
 
 There was nothing to prevent me. My one other anxiety 
 apart from Lucilla anxiety' about good Papa had now, for 
 some time, been happily set at rest. Letter after letter from 
 my sister in France brought me always the same cheering 
 news. My evergreen parent had at last discovered that he 
 was no longer in the first bloom of his youth. He had re- 
 signed to his juniors, with pathetic expressions of regret, the 
 making of love and the fighting of duels. Ravaged by past 
 passions, this dear innocent had now found a refuge from 
 swords, pistols, and the sex in collecting butterflies and play- 
 ing on the guitar. I was free wholly to devote myself to 
 Lucilla, and I honestly rejoiced in the prospect before me. 
 Alone with her, and away from the rectory (where there was 
 always danger of gossip reaching her ears), I could rely on 
 myself to protect her from harm in the present, and to pre- 
 serve her for Oscar in the future. With all my heart I agreed 
 to the arrangements as Grosse proposed them. When we 
 parted in the garden, he went round to the rector's side of 
 the house to announce (in his medical capacity) the decision 
 at which he had arrived ; while I, on my side, went back to 
 Lucilla to make the best excuses that I could invent for Os- 
 car, and to prepare her for our speedy removal from Dim- 
 church. 
 
 " Gone, without coming to say good-by ! Gone, without 
 even writing to me !" 
 
 There was the first impression I produced on her, when I 
 had done my best to account harmlessly for Oscar's absence. 
 I had, as I thought, taken the shortest and simplest way out 
 of the difficulty by merely inverting the truth. In other 
 words, by telling her that Nugent had got into some serious 
 embarrassment abroad, and that Oscar had been called away 
 at a moment's notice to follow him and help him. It was in 
 vain that I reminded her of Oscar's well-known horror of 
 leave-takings of all kinds; in vain that I represented the ur-
 
 POOR MISS FIXCH. 333 
 
 gency of the matter as leaving him no alternative but to con- 
 fide his excuses and his farewells to me; in vain I promised 
 for him that he would write to her at the first opportunity. 
 She listened, without conviction. The more perseveringly I 
 tried to account for it, the more perseveringly she dwelt on 
 Oscar's unaccountable disregard of her claims on his con- 
 sideration for her. As for our journey to Kamsgate, it was 
 impossible to interest her in the subject. I gave it up in de- 
 spair. 
 
 "Surely Oscar has left some address at which I can write 
 to him?" she said. 
 
 I could only answer that he was not sure enough of his 
 movements to be able to do that before lie went away. 
 
 "It is more provoking than you think," she went on. "I 
 believe Oscar is afraid to bring his unfortunate brother into 
 my presence. The blue face startled me when I saw it, I know. 
 But I have quite got over that. I feel none of the absurd 
 terror of the poor man which I felt when I was blind. Now 
 that I have seen for myself what he is really like, I can feel 
 for him. I wanted to tell Oscar this I wanted to say that 
 he might bring his brother to live with us if he liked I 
 wanted to prevent (just what has happened) his going away 
 from me when he wishes to see his brother. You are using 
 me very hardly among you ; and I have some reason to com- 
 plain of it." 
 
 While she was talking in this mortifying manner, I feit 
 some consolation nevertheless. Oscar's disfigured complex- 
 ion would not be the terrible obstacle in the way of his res- 
 toration to Lucilla that I had feared. All the comfort which 
 this reflection could give I wanted badly enough. There was 
 no open hostility toward me on Lucilla's part, but there was 
 a coolness which I found more distressing to bear than hos- 
 tility itself. 
 
 I breakfasted in bed the next morning, and only rose to- 
 ward noon just in time to say good-by to Grosse before he 
 returned to London. 
 
 He was in high good spirits about his patient. Her eyes 
 were the better instead of the worse for the exertion to which 
 he had subjected them on the previous day. The bracing 
 air of Kamsgate was all that was wanting to complete the 
 success of the operation. Mr. Finch had started objections, all
 
 334 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 turning on the question of expense. But with a daughter who 
 was her own mistress, and who had her own fortune, his ob- 
 jections mattered nothing. By the next day, or the day after 
 at latest, we were to start for Ramsgate. I promised to write 
 to our good surgeon as soon as we were established ; and he 
 engaged, on his side, to visit us immediately after. " Let her 
 use her eyes for two goot hours every day," said Grosse, at 
 parting. " She may do what she likes with them, except that 
 she must not peep into books or take up pens, till I come to 
 you at Ramsgate. It is most wonderful-beautiful to see how 
 those new eyes of hers do get along. When I next meet goot 
 Mr. Sebrights hey ! how I shall cock-crow over that spick- 
 span-respectable man !" 
 
 I felt a little nervous as to how the day would pass, when 
 the German left me alone with Lucilla. 
 
 To my amazement, she not only met me with the needful 
 excuses for her behavior on the previous day, but showed 
 herself to be perfectly resigned to the temporary loss of Os- 
 car's society. It was she (not I) who remarked that he could 
 not have chosen a better time for being away from her than 
 the humiliating time when she was learning to distinguish 
 between round and square. It was she (not I) who welcomed 
 the little journey to Ramsgate as a pleasant change in her 
 dull life which would help to reconcile her to Oscar's absence. 
 In brief, if she had actually received a letter from Oscar, re- 
 lieving her of all anxiety about him, her words and looks 
 could hardly have offered a completer contrast than they now 
 showed to her words and looks of the previous day. 
 
 If I had noticed no other alteration in her than this wel- 
 come change for the better, my record of the day would have 
 ended here as the record of unmixed happiness. 
 
 But, I grieve to say, I have something unpleasant to add. 
 While she was making her excuses to me, and speaking in 
 the sensible and satisfactory terms which I have just repeat- 
 ed, I noticed a curious underlying embarrassment in her man- 
 ner, entirely unlike any previous embarrassment which had 
 ever intruded itself between us. And, stranger still, on the 
 first occasion when Zillah came into the room while I was in 
 it, I observed that Lucilla's embarrassment was reflected 
 (when the old woman spoke to me) in the face and manner 
 of Lucilla's nurse.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 335 
 
 But one conclusion could possibly follow from what I saw : 
 they were both concealing something from me, and they were 
 both more or less ashamed of what they were doing. 
 
 Somewhere not very far back in these pages I have said 
 of myself that I am not by nature a woman who is easily 
 ready to suspect others. On this very account, when I find 
 suspicion absolutely forced on me as it was now I am apt 
 to fly into the opposite extreme. In the present case, I fixed 
 on the person to suspect all the more readily from having 
 been slow to suspect him in by-gone days. "In some way 
 or other," I said to myself, "Nugent Dubourg is at the bot- 
 tom of this.'* 
 
 Was he communicating with her privately, in the name 
 and in the character of Oscar? 
 
 The bare idea of it hurried me headlong into letting her 
 know that I had noticed the change in her. 
 
 " Lucilla !" I said. " Has any thing happened ?" 
 
 "What do you mean?" she asked, coldly. 
 
 " I fancy I see some change " I began. 
 
 " I don't understand you," she answered, walking away 
 from me as she spoke. 
 
 I said no more. If our intimacy had been less close and 
 less affectionate, I might have openly avowed to her what 
 was passing in my mind. But how could I say to Lucilla, 
 You are deceiving me? It would have been the end of our 
 sisterhood the end of our friendship. When confidence is 
 withdrawn between two people who love each other, every 
 thing is withdrawn. They are on the footing of strangers 
 from that moment, and must stand on ceremony. Delicate 
 minds will understand why I accepted the check she had ad- 
 ministered to me, and said no more. 
 
 I went into the village alone. Managing matters so as to 
 excite no surprise, I contrived to have a little gossip about 
 Nugent with Gootheridge at the inn, and with the servant at 
 Browndown. If Nugent had returned secretly to Dimchurch, 
 one of those two men, in our little village, must almost cer- 
 tainly have seen him. Neither of them had seen him. 
 
 I inferred from this that he had not tried to communicate 
 with her personally. Had he attempted it (more cunningly 
 and more safely) by letter ? 
 
 I went back to the rectory. It was close on the hour whku
 
 330 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I had appointed with Lucilla now that the responsibility 
 rested on my shoulders for allowing her to use her eyes. 
 On taking off the bandage I noticed a circumstance which 
 confirmed the conclusion at which I had already arrived. 
 Her eyes deliberately avoided looking into mine. Suppress- 
 ing as well as I could the pain which this new discovery 
 caused me, I repeated Grosse's words prohibiting her from 
 attempting to look into a book or to use a pen until he had 
 seen her again. 
 
 " There is no need for him to forbid me to do that," she 
 said. 
 
 "Have you attempted it already?" I inquired. 
 
 "I looked into a little book of engravings," she answered. 
 "But I could distinguish nothing. The lines all mingled to- 
 gether and swam before my eyes." 
 
 " Have you tried to write ?" I asked next. (I was ashamed 
 of myself for laying that trap for her although the serious 
 necessity of discovering whether she was privately in cor- 
 respondence with Nugent might surely have excused it.) 
 
 " No," she replied. " I have not tried to write." 
 
 She changed color when she made that answer. 
 
 It is necessary to own that, in putting my question, I was 
 too much excited to call to mind what I should have remem- 
 bered in a calmer state. There was no necessity for her try- 
 ing to use her eyes even if she was really carrying on a cor- 
 respondence which she wished to keep secret from me. Zil- 
 lah had been in the habit of reading her letters to her before 
 I appeared at the rectory ; and she could write short notes 
 (as I have already mentioned) by feeling her way on the 
 paper with her finger. Besides, having learned to read by 
 touch (that is to say, with raised characters), just as she had 
 learned to write, even if her eyes had been sufficiently recov- 
 ered to enable her to distinguish small objects, nothing but 
 practice could have enabled her to use them for purposes of 
 correspondence. 
 
 These considerations, though they did not strike me at the 
 time, occurred to me later in the day, and altered my opinion 
 to a certain extent. I now interpreted the change of color 
 which I had noticed in her as the outward sign of suspicion 
 on her side suspicion that I had a motive of my own in in- 
 terrogating her. For the rest, my doubts of Nugent remained
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 337 
 
 unmoved. Try as I might, I could not divest my mind of 
 the idea that he was playing me false, and that in one way 
 or another he had contrived not only to communicate with 
 Lucilla, but to persuade her to keep me in ignorance of what 
 he had done. 
 
 I deferred to the next day any attempt at making further 
 discoveries. 
 
 The last thing at night, I had a momentary impulse to 
 question Zillah. Reflection soon checked it. My experience 
 of the nurse's character told me that she would take refuge 
 in flat denial and would then inform her mistress of what 
 had happened. I knew enough of Lucilla to know (after 
 what had already passed between us) that a quarrel with me 
 would follow. Things were bad enough already, without 
 making them worse in that way. When the morning came, 
 I resolved to keep a watchful eye on the village post-oflice, 
 and on the movements of the nurse. 
 
 When the morning came, there v/as a letter for me from 
 abroad. 
 
 The address was in the handwriting of one of my sisters. 
 We usually wrote to each other at intervals of a fortnight or 
 three weeks. This letter had followed its predecessor after 
 an interval of less than one week. What did it mean ? Good 
 news or bad ? 
 
 I opened the letter. 
 
 It inclosed a telegram announcing that my poor dear fa- 
 ther was lying dangerously wounded at Marseilles. My sis- 
 ters had already gone to him: they implored me to follow 
 them without one moment of needless delay. Is it necessary 
 to tell the story of this horrible calamity ? Of course it be- 
 gins with a woman and an elopement. Of course it ends 
 with a young man and a duel. Have I not told you already? 
 Papa was so susceptible ; Papa was so brave. Oh, dear, 
 dear ! the old story over again. You have an English prov- 
 erb : " What is bred in the bone " et csetera, et cjetera. Let 
 us drop the veil. I mean, let us end the chapter. 
 
 P
 
 338 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY- FIRST. 
 
 A HARD TIME FOR MADAME PRATOLUNGO. 
 
 OUGHT I to have been prepared for the calamity which had 
 now fallen on my sisters and myself? If I had looked my 
 own experience of my poor father fairly in the face, would it 
 not have been plain to me that the habits of a life were not 
 likely to be altered at the end of a life? Surely, if I had ex- 
 erted my intelligence, I might have foreseen that the longer 
 his reformation lasted, the nearer he was to a relapse, and 
 the more obviously probable it became that he would fail to 
 fulfill the hopeful expectations which I had cherished of his 
 conduct in the future? I grant it all. But where are the 
 pattern people who can exert their intelligence, when their 
 intelligence points to one conclusion and their interests to 
 another? Ah, my dear ladies and gentlemen, there is such 
 a fine, strong foundation of stupidity at the bottom of our 
 common humanity if we only knew it! 
 
 I could feel no hesitation as soon as I had recovered my- 
 self about Avhat it was my duty to do. My duty was to leave 
 Dimchurch in time to catch the fast mail-train from London 
 to the Continent, at eight o'clock that night. 
 
 And leave Lucilla? 
 
 Yes ! not even Lucilla's interests dearly as I loved her, 
 alarmed as I felt about her were as sacred as the interests 
 which called me to my father's bedside. I had some hours 
 to spare before it would be necessary for me to leave her. 
 All I could do was to employ those hours in taking the strict- 
 est precautions I could think of to protect her in my absence. 
 I could not be long parted from her. One way or the other, 
 the miserable doubt whether my father would live or die 
 would, at his age, soon be over. 
 
 I sent for her to see me in my room, and showed her my 
 letter. 
 
 She was honestly grieved when she read it. For a moment 
 when she spoke her few words of sympathy the painful 
 constraint in her manner toward me passed away. It returned
 
 POOE MISS FINCII. 339 
 
 again when I announced my intention of starting for France 
 that day, and expressed the regret I felt at being obliged to 
 defer our visit to Ramsgate for the present. She not only 
 answered restrainedly (forming, as I fancied, some thought 
 at the moment in her own mind) she left me with a com- 
 monplace excuse. "You must have much to think of in this 
 sad affliction : I won't intrude on you any longer. If you 
 want me, you know where to find me." With no more than 
 those words, she walked out of the room. 
 
 I never remember, at any other time, such .1 sense of help- 
 lessness and confusion as came over me when she had closed 
 the door. I set to work to pack up the few things I wanted 
 for the journey, feeling instinctively that if I did not occupy 
 myself in doing something, I should break down altogether. 
 Accustomed, in all the other emergencies of my life, to de- 
 cide rapidly, I was not even clear enough in my mind to see 
 the facts as they were. As to resolving on any thing, I was 
 about as capable of doing that as the baby in Mrs. Finch's 
 arms. 
 
 The effort of packing aided me to rally a little but did 
 no more toward restoring me to my customary tone of 
 mind. 
 
 I sat clown helplessly, when I had done, feeling the serious 
 necessity of clearing matters up between Lucilla and myself 
 before I went away, and still as ignorant as ever how to do 
 it. To my indescribable disgust, I actually felt tears begin- 
 ning to find their way into my eyes ! I had just enough of 
 Pratol ungo's widow left in me to feel heartily ashamed of my- 
 self. Past vicissitudes and dangers, in the days of my repub- 
 lican life with my husband, had made me a sturdy walker 
 with a gypsy relish (like my little Jicks) for the open air. I 
 snatched up my hat, and went out to see what exercise would 
 do for me. 
 
 I tried the garden. No ! the garden was (for some inscru- 
 table reason) not big enough. I had still some hours to spare. 
 I tried the hills next. 
 
 Turning toward the left, and passing the church, I heard 
 through the open windows the boom-boom of Reverend 
 Finch's voice catechising the village children. Thank Heav- 
 en, he was out of my way, at any rate! I mounted the hills, 
 hurrying on as fast as I could. The air and the movement
 
 340 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 cleared my mind. After more than an hour of h.ird walking, 
 I returned to the rectory, feeling like my old self again. 
 
 Perhaps there were some dregs of irresolution still left in 
 me. Or perhaps there was some enervating influence in my 
 affliction, which made me feel more sensitively than ever the 
 change in the relations between Lucilla and myself. Having, 
 by this time, resolved to come to a plain explanation, before 
 I left her unprotected at the rectory, I shrank, even yet, from 
 confronting a possible repulse by speaking to her personally. 
 Taking a leaf out of poor Oscar's book, I wrote what I want- 
 ed to say to her in a note. 
 
 I rang the bell once, twice. Nobody answered it. 
 
 I went to the kitchen. Zillah was not there. I knocked 
 at the door of her bedroom. There was no answer: the 
 bedroom was empty when I looked in. Awkward as it 
 would be, I found myself obliged either to give my note to 
 Lucilla with my own hand, or to decide on speaking to her, 
 after all. 
 
 I could not prevail on myself to speak to her. So I went 
 to her room with my note, and knocked at the door. 
 
 Here again there was no reply. I knocked once more 
 with the same result. I looked in. There was no one in the 
 room. On the little table at the foot of the bed there lay a 
 letter addressed to me. The writing was in Zillah's hand. 
 But Lucilla had written her name in the corner, in the usual 
 way, to show that she had dictated the letter to her nurse. 
 A load was lifted off my heart as I took it up. The same 
 idea (I concluded) had occurred to her which had occurred 
 to me. She too had shrunk from the embarrassment of a 
 personal explanation. She too had written and was keep- 
 ing out of the way until her letter had spoken for her, and 
 had united us again as friends before I left the house. 
 
 With these pleasant anticipations I opened the letter. 
 Judge what I felt when I found what it really contained. 
 
 "DEAR MADAME PRATOLUNGO, You will agree with me 
 that it is very important, after what Herr Grosse has said 
 about the recovery of my sight, that my visit to Ramsgatc 
 should not be delayed. As you are unable, through circum- 
 stances which I sincerely regret, to accompany me to the sea- 
 side, I have determined to go to London to my aunt, Miss
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 341 
 
 Batchford, and to ask her to be my companion instead of you. 
 I have had experience enough of her sincere affection for me 
 to be quite sure that she will gladly take the charge of me 
 off your hands. As no time is to be lost, I start for London 
 without waiting for your return from your walk to wish you 
 good-by. You so thoroughly understand the necessity of 
 dispensing with formal farewells, in cases of emergency, that 
 I am sure you will not feel offended at my taking leave of 
 you in this way. With best wishes for your father's recov- 
 ery, believe me, Yours very truly, 
 
 " LUCILLA. 
 
 " P. S. You need be under no apprehension about me. Zil- 
 lah goes with me as far as London ; and I shall communicate 
 with Herr Grosse when I arrive at my aunt's house." 
 
 But for one sentence in it I should most assuredly have an- 
 swered this cruel letter by instantly resigning my situation 
 as Lucilla's companion. 
 
 The sentence to which I refer contained the words which 
 cast in my teeth the excuses that I had made for Oscar's ab- 
 sence. The sarcastic reference to my recent connection with 
 a case of emergency, and to my experience of the necessity 
 of dispensing with formal farewells, removed my last linger- 
 ing doubts of Nugent's treachery. I now felt not suspicion 
 only, but positive conviction that he had communicated with 
 her in his brother's name, and that he had contrived (by some 
 means at which it was impossible for me to guess) so to work 
 on Lucilla's mind so to excite that indwelling distrust which 
 her blindness had rooted in her character as to destroy her 
 confidence in me for the time being. 
 
 Arriving at this conclusion, I could still feel compassion- 
 ately and generously toward Lucilla. Far from blaming my 
 poor deluded sister-friend for her cruel departure and her yet 
 crueler letter, I laid the whole fault on the shoulders of Nu- 
 gent. Full as my mind was of my own troubles, I could still 
 think of the danger that threatened Lucilla, and of the wrong 
 that Oscar had suffered. I could still feel the old glow of 
 my resolution to bring them together again, and still remem- 
 ber (and determined to pay) the debt I owed to Nugent 
 Dubourcr.
 
 342 POOR MISS FINC1I. 
 
 In the turn tilings had taken, and with the short time still 
 at ray disposal, what was I to do next ? Assuming that Miss 
 Batehford would accompany her niece to Ramsgate, how 
 could I put the necessary obstacle in Nugent's way, if he at- 
 tempted to communicate with Lucilla at the sea-side, in my 
 absence ? 
 
 It was impossible for me to decide this, unless I first knew 
 whether Miss Batehford, as a member of the family, was to 
 be confidentially informed of the sad position in which Oscar 
 and Lucilla now stood toward each other. 
 
 The person to consult in this difficulty was the rector. As 
 head of the household, and in my absence, the responsibility 
 evidently rested with Reverend Finch. 
 
 I went round at once to the other side of the house. If 
 Mr. Finch had returned to the rectory, after the catechising 
 was over, well and good. If not, I should be obliged to in- 
 quire in the village, and seek him at the cottages of his par- 
 ishioners. His magnificent voice relieved me from all anxiety 
 on this head. The boom-boom which I had last heard in the 
 church, I now heard again in the study. 
 
 When I entered the room Mr. Finch was on his legs, highly 
 excited, haranguing Mrs. Finch and the baby, ensconced as 
 usual in a corner. My appearance on the scene diverted his 
 flow of language, for the moment, so that it all poured itself 
 out on my unlucky self. (If you recollect that the rector and 
 Lucilla's aunt had been, from time immemorial, on the worst 
 of terms, you will be prepared for what is coming. If you 
 have forgotten this, look back at my sixth chapter and refresh 
 your memory.) 
 
 " The very person I was going to send for !" said the Pope 
 of Dimchurch. "Don't excite Mrs. Finch ! Don't sp^eak to 
 Mrs. Finch ! You shall hear why directly. Address yourself 
 exclusively to Me. Be calm, Madame Pratolungo ! you don't 
 know what has happened. I am here to tell you." 
 
 I ventured to stop him, mentioning that Lucilla's letter had 
 informed me of his daughter's sudden departure for her aunt's 
 house. Mr. Finch waved away my answer with his hand, as 
 something too infinitely unimportant to be worthy of a mo- 
 ment's notice. 
 
 "Yes! yes! yes!" he said. "You have a superficial ac- 
 quaintance with the facts. But you are far from being aware
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 343 
 
 of what my daughter's sudden removal of herself from my 
 roof really means. Now don't be frightened, Madame Prato- 
 lungo! and don't excite Mrs. Finch! How are you, my dear? 
 how is the child? Both well. Thanks to an overruling 
 Providence, both well. Now, Madame Pratolungo, attend 
 to this. My daughter's flight I say flight advisedly : it is 
 nothing less my daughter's flight from my house means ([ 
 entreat you to be calm !) means ANOTHER BLOW dealt at me 
 by the family of my first wife. Dealt at me," repeated Mr. 
 Finch, heating himself with the recollection of his old feud 
 with the Batchfords "dealt at me by Miss Batchford (by 
 Lucilla's aunt, Madame Pratolungo) through my unoffending 
 second wife and my innocent child. Are you sure you are 
 well, my dear? are you sure the infant is well? Thank Prov- 
 idence! Concentrate your attention, Madame Pratolungo! 
 Your attention is wandering. Prompted by Miss Batchford, 
 my daughter has left my roof. Ramsgate is a mere excuse. 
 And how lias she left it? Not only without first seeing Me 
 I am Nobody ! but without showing the slightest sympa- 
 thy for Mrs. Finch's maternal situation. Attired in her trav- 
 eling costume, my daughter precipitately entered (or to use 
 my wife's graphic expression, ' bounced into'') the nursery, 
 while Mrs. Finch was administering maternal sustenance to 
 the infant. Under circumstances which might have touched 
 the heart of a bandit or a savage, my unnatural daughter 
 (remind me, Mrs. Finch ; we will have a little Shakspeare to- 
 night; I will read 'King Lear') my unnatural daughter 
 announced without one word of preparation that a domestic 
 affliction would prevent you from accompanying her to Rams- 
 gate. Grieved, dear Madame Pratolungo, to hear it. Cast 
 your burden on Providence. Bear up, Mrs. Finch ; bear up. 
 Having startled my wife with this harrowing news, my 
 daughter next shocked her by declaring that she was going 
 to leave her father's roof without waiting to bid her father 
 good-by. The catching of a train, you will observe, was (no 
 doubt at Miss Batchford's instigation) of more importance 
 than the parental embrace or the pastoral blessing. Leaving 
 a message of apology for Me, my heartless child (I use Mrs. 
 Finch's graphic language again you have fair, very fair pow- 
 ers of expression, Mrs. Finch) my heartless child 'bounced 
 out' of the nursery to catch her train; having, for all she
 
 344 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 knew or cared, administered a shock to my wife which might 
 have soured the fountain of maternal sustenance at its source. 
 There is where the Blow falls, Madame Pratolungo ! How 
 do I know that acid disturbance is not being communicated 
 at this moment, instead of wholesome nourishment, between 
 mother and child? I shall prepare you an alkaline draught, 
 Mrs. Finch, to be taken after meals. Don't speak; don't 
 move ! Give me your pulse. I hold Miss Batehford account- 
 able, Madame Pratolungo, for whatever happens my daugh- 
 ter is a mere instrument in the hands of my first wife's fam- 
 ily. Give me your pulse, Mrs. Finch. I don't like your pulse. 
 Come up stairs directly. A recumbent position and another 
 warm bath under Providence, Madame Pratolungo ! may 
 parry the Blow. Would you kindly open the door, and pick 
 up Mrs. Finch's handkerchief? Never mind the novel the 
 handkerchief." 
 
 . I seized my first opportunity of speaking again, Avhile Mr. 
 Finch was conducting his wife (with his arm round her 
 waist) to the door putting the question which I had been 
 waiting to ask in this cautious form : 
 
 "Do you propose to communicate, Sir, either with your 
 daughter or with Miss Batehford, while Lucilla is away from 
 the rectory? My object in venturing to ask " 
 
 Before I could state my object Mr. Finch turned round 
 (turning Mrs. Finch with him) and surveyed me from head 
 to foot with a look of indignant astonishment. 
 
 "Is it possible you can see this double Wreck," said Mr. 
 Finch, indicating his wife and child, "and suppose that I 
 would communicate, or sanction communication of any sort, 
 with the persons who are responsible for it? My dear! 
 can you account for Madame Pratolungo's extraordinary 
 question ? Am I to understand (do you understand) that 
 Madame Pratolungo is insulting me ?" 
 
 It was useless to try to explain myself. It was useless for 
 Mrs.- Finch (who had made several abortive efforts to put in 
 a word or two on her own part) to attempt to pacify her 
 husband. All the poor damp lady could do was to beg me 
 to write to her from foreign parts. "I'm sorry you're in 
 trouble; and I should really be glad to hear from you." 
 Mrs. Finch had barely time to say those kind words before 
 the rector, in a voice of thunder, desired me to look at " that
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 345 
 
 double Wreck, and respect it if I did not respect hint" and 
 with that walked himself, his wife, and his baby out of the 
 room. 
 
 Having gained the object which had brought me into the 
 study, I made no attempt to detain him. The little sense 
 the man possessed at the best of times was completely upset 
 by the shock which Lucilla's abrupt departure had inflicted 
 on his high opinion of his own importance. That he would 
 end in being reconciled to his daughter before her next 
 subscription to the household expenses fell due was a mat- 
 ter of downright certainty. But, until that time came, I 
 felt equally sure that he Avould vindicate his outraged dig- 
 nity by declining to hold any communication, in person or 
 in writing, with Ramsgate. During the short term of my 
 absence from England Miss Batchford would be left as ig- 
 norant of her niece's perilous position between the twin 
 brothers as Lucilla herself. To know this was to have gain- 
 ed the information that I wanted. Nothing was left but to 
 set my brains to work at once and act on it. 
 
 How was I to act on it ? 
 
 On the spur of the moment I could see but one way. If 
 Grosse pronounced Lucilla's recovery to be complete before 
 I returned from abroad, the best thinjj I could do would be 
 
 o 
 
 to place Miss Batchford in a position to reveal the truth in 
 my place, without running any risk of a premature discovery 
 in other words, without letting the old lady into the se- 
 cret before the time arrived at which it could be safely di- 
 vulged. 
 
 This apparently intricate difficulty was easily overcome 
 by writing two letters (before I went away) instead of one. 
 
 The first letter I addressed to Lucilla. Without any ref- 
 erence to her behavior to me, I stated, in the fullest detail 
 and with all needful delicacy, her position between Oscar 
 and Nugent ; and referred her for proof of the truth of my 
 assertions to her relatives at the rectory. " I leave it entire- 
 ly to your discretion" (I added) "to write me an answer or 
 not. Put the warning which I now give you to the proof; 
 and if you wonder why it has been so long delayed, apply 
 to Ilerr Grosso, on whom the whole responsibility rests." 
 There I ended ; being resolved, after the wrong that Lucilla 
 had inflicted on me, to leave my justification to facts. I 
 
 P 2
 
 346 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 confess I was too deeply wounded by her conduct though 
 I did lay all the blame of it on Nugent to care to say a 
 word in my own defense. 
 
 This letter sealed, I wrote next to Lucilla's aunt. 
 
 It was not an easy matter to address Miss Batchford. 
 The contempt with which she regarded Mr. Finch's opinions 
 in politics and religion was more than matched by the strong 
 aversion which she felt for my republican opinions. I have 
 already mentioned, far back in these pages, that a dispute on 
 politics between the Tory old lady and myself ended in a 
 quarrel between us which closed the doors of her house on 
 me from that time forth. Knowing this, I ventured on writ- 
 ins to her nevertheless, because I also knew Miss Batchford 
 
 O * 
 
 to be (apart from her furious prejudices) a gentlewoman in 
 the best sense of the word ; devotedly attached to her niece, 
 and quite as capable, when that devotion was appealed to, 
 of doing justice to me (apart from my furious prejudices) as 
 I was of doing justice to her. Writing in a tone of unaf- 
 fected respect, and appealing to her forbearance to encour- 
 age mine, I requested her to hand my letter to Lucilla on the 
 day when the surgeon reported that all further necessity for 
 his attendance had ceased. In the interval before this hap- 
 pened, I entreated Miss Batchford, in her niece's interests, to 
 consider my letter as a strictly private communication ; add- 
 ing that my sufficient reason for venturing to make this con- 
 dition would be found in my letter to Lucilla, which I au- 
 thorized her aunt to read as soon as the time had arrived for 
 opening it. 
 
 By this means I had, as I firmly believed, taken the only 
 possible way of preventing Nugent Dubourg from doing any 
 serious mischief in my absence. 
 
 Whatever his uncontrolled infatuation for Lucilla might 
 lead him to do next, he could proceed to no serious extremi- 
 ties until Grosse pronounced her recovery to be complete. 
 On the day when Grosse did that, she would receive my let- 
 ter, and would discover for herself the abominable deception 
 which had been practiced on her. As to attempting to find 
 Nugent, no idea of doing this entered my mind. Wherever 
 he might be, at home or abroad, it would be equally useless 
 to appeal to his honor again. It would be degrading my- 
 self to speak to him or to trust him. To expose him to Lu-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 347 
 
 cilia the moment it became possible was the one thing to be 
 done. 
 
 I was ready with my letters, one inclosed in the other, 
 when good Mr. Gootheridge (with whom I had arranged pre- 
 viously) called to drive me to Brighton in his light cart. 
 The chaise which he had for hire had been already used to 
 make the same journey by Lucilla and the nurse, and had 
 not yet been returned to the inn. I reached my train be- 
 fore the hour of starting, and arrived in London with a suf- 
 ficient margin of time to spare. 
 
 Resolved to make sure that no possible mischance could 
 occur, I drove to Miss Batchford's house, and saw the cabman 
 give my letter into the servant's hands. 
 
 It was a bitter moment when I found myself pulling down 
 my veil in the fear that Lucilla might be at the window and 
 see me ! Nobody was visible but the man who answered 
 the door. If pen, ink, and paper had been within my reach 
 at the moment, I think I should have written to her on my 
 own account, after all ! As it was, I could only forgive her 
 the injury she had done me. From the bottom of my heart 
 I forgave her, and longed for the blessed time which should 
 unite us again. In the mean while, having done every thing 
 that I could to guard and help her, I was now free to give 
 to Oscar all the thoughts that I could spare from my poor, 
 misguided father. 
 
 Being bound for the Continent, I determined (though the 
 chances were a hundred to one against me) to do all that I 
 could, in my painful position, to discover the place of Oscar's 
 retreat. The weary hours of suspense at my father's bedside 
 would be lightened to me, if I could feel that the search for 
 the lost man was being carried on at my instigation, and that 
 from day to day there was a bare possibility of my hearing 
 of him, it' there was no more. 
 
 The office of the lawyer whom I had consulted during my 
 previous visit to London lay in my way to the terminus. I 
 drove there next, and was fortunate enough to find him still 
 at business. 
 
 No tidings had been heard from Oscar. The lawyer, how- 
 ever, proved to be useful by giving me a letter of introduc- 
 tion to a person at Marseilles accustomed to conduct difficult 
 confidential inquiries, and having agents whom he could em-
 
 348 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ploy in all the great cities* of Europe. ; A man of Oscar's 
 startling personal appearance would be surely more or less 
 easy to trace, if the right machinery to do it could be only 
 set at work. My savings would suffice for this purpose to a 
 certain extent and to that extent I resolved that they should 
 be used when I reached my journey's end. 
 
 It was a troubled sea on the channel passage that night. 
 I remained on deck, accepting any inconvenience rather than 
 descend into the atmosphere of the cabin. As I looked out 
 to sea on one side and on the other, the dark waste of the. 
 tossing waters seemed to be the fit and dreary type of the 
 dark prospect that was before me. On the trackless path 
 that we were plowing a faint, misty moonlight shed its doubt- 
 ful ray, like the doubtful light of hope faintly flickering on 
 my mind when I thought of the coming time ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY- SECOND. 
 
 THE STORY OF LUCILLA : TOLD BY HERSELF. 
 
 IN my description of what Lucilla said and did on the oc- 
 casion when the surgeon was teaching her to use her sight, it- 
 
 *r* ^y o * 
 
 will be remembered that she is represented as having been par-? 
 ticularly anxious to be allowed to try how she could write. k 
 
 The inotive at the bottom of this was the motive which is 
 always at the bottom of a woman's conduct when she loves. 
 Her one ambition is to present herself to advantage, even in 
 the most trifling matters, before the man on whom her heart 
 is fixed. Ltrcilla's one ambition with Oscar was this and no; 
 more. 
 
 Conscious that her handwriting thus far, painfully and, 
 incompletely guided by her sense of touch must present it- 
 self in sadly unfavorable contrast to the handwriting of other, 
 women who could see, she persisted in petitioning Grosse to 
 permit her to learn to " write with her eyes instead of her 
 finger," until she fairly wearied out the worthy German's 
 power of resistance. The rapid improvement in her sight 
 after her removal to the sea-side justified him (as I was after- 
 ward informed) in letting her have her way. Little by little, 
 using her eyes for a longer and longer time on each succeed- 
 ing day, she mastered the serious difficulty of teaching her-
 
 POOR MISS FIXCH. 349 
 
 self to write by sight instead of by touch. Beginning with 
 lines in copy-books, she got on to writing easy words to dic- 
 tation. From that, again, she advanced to writing notes; 
 and from writing notes to keeping a journal this last at the 
 suggestion of her aunt, who had lived in the days before 
 penny postage, when people kept journals and wrote long 
 letters : in short, when people had time to think of them- 
 selves, and, more wonderful still, to write about it too. 
 
 Lucilla's Journal at Ramsgate lies before me as I trace 
 these lines. 
 
 I had planned at first to make use of it, so as to continue 
 the course of my narrative without a check, still writing in 
 my own person, as I have written thus far, and as I propose 
 to write again when I re-appear on the scene. 
 
 But on thinking over it once more, and after reading the 
 Journal again, it strikes me as the wiser proceeding to let 
 Lucilla tell the story of her life at Ramsgate herself, adding 
 notes of my own occasionally where they appear to be re- 
 quired. Variety, freshness, and reality I believe I shall se- 
 cure them all three by following this plan. Why is History 
 in general (I know there are brilliant exceptions to the rule) 
 such dull reading? Because it is the narrative of events 
 written at second-hand. Now I will be any thing else you 
 please except dull. You may say I have been dull already? 
 As I am an honest woman, I don't agree with you. There 
 are some people who bring dull minds to their reading, and 
 then blame the writer for it. I say no more. 
 
 Consider it arranged, then. During my absence on the 
 Continent Lucilla shall tell the story of events at Ramsgate. 
 (And I will sprinkle a few notes over it here and there, sign- 
 ed P.) 
 
 LUCILLA'S JOURNAL. 
 
 East Cliff, Ramsgate, August 28. A fortnight to-day since 
 my aunt and I arrived at this place. I sent Zillali back to 
 the rectory from London. Her rheumatic infirmities trouble 
 her tenfold, poor old soul, in the moist air of the sea-side. 
 
 How has my writing got on for the last week? I am be- 
 coming a little better satisfied with it I use my pen more 
 easily; my hand is less like the hand of a backward child
 
 350 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 than it was. I shall be able to write as well as other ladies 
 do when I am Oscar's wife. 
 
 [Note. She is easily satisfied, poor dear. Her improved 
 handwriting is sadly crooked. Some of the letters embrace 
 each other at close quarters like dear friends, and some start 
 asunder like bitter enemies. This is not to reflect on Lucilla, 
 but to excuse myself if I make any mistakes in transcribing 
 the Journal. Now let her go on. P.] 
 
 Oscar's wife ! When shall I be Oscar's wife ? I have not 
 so much as seen him yet. Something I am afraid a diffi- 
 culty with his brother still keeps him on the Continent. 
 The tone in which he writes continues to have a certain re- 
 serve in it which disquiets and puzzles me. Am I quite as 
 happy as I expected to be when I recovered my sight? 
 Not yet ! 
 
 It is not Oscar's fault if I am out of spirits every now and 
 then. It is my own fault. I have offended my father; and 
 I sometimes fear I have not acted justly toward Madame Pra- 
 tolungo. These things vex me. 
 
 It seems to be my fate to be always misunderstood.' My 
 sudden flight from the rectory meant no disrespect to my 
 father. I left as I did because I was incapable of facing the 
 woman whom I had once dearly loved thinking of her as I 
 think now. It is so unendurable to feel that your confidence 
 is lost in a person whom you once trusted without limit, and 
 to go on meeting that person every hour in the day with a 
 smooth face, as if nothing had happened ! The impulse to 
 escape more meetings (when I discovered that she had lelt 
 the house for a walk) was irresistible. I should do it again, 
 if I was in the same position again. I have hinted at this in 
 writing to my father; telling him that something unpleasant 
 had happened between Madame Pratolungo and me, and that 
 I went away so suddenly on that account alone. No use ! 
 He has not answered my letter. I have written since to my 
 step-mother. Mrs. Finch's reply has informed me of the un- 
 just manner in which he speaks of my aunt. Without the 
 slightest reason for it, he is even more deeply offended with 
 Miss Batchford than he is with me ! 
 
 Sad as this estrangement is, there is one consolation, so far
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 351 
 
 as I am concerned : it will not last. My father and I are 
 sure, sooner or later, to come to an understanding together. 
 When I return to the rectory I shall make my peace with 
 him, and we shall get on again as smoothly as ever. 
 
 But how will it end between Madame Pratolungo and me? 
 
 She has not answered the letter I wrote to her. (I begin 
 to wish I had never written it, or at least some of it the lat- 
 ter part of it, I mean.) I have heard absolutely nothing of 
 her since she has been abroad. I don't know when she will 
 return, or if she will ever return, to live at Diiuchurch again. 
 Oh, what would I not give to have this dreadful mystery 
 cleared up ! to know whether I ought to fall down on my 
 knees before her and beg her pardon, or whether I ought to 
 count among the saddest days of my life the day which 
 brought that womati to live with me as companion and 
 friend ? 
 
 Have I acted rashly, or have I acted wisely? 
 
 There is the question which always comes to me and tor- 
 ments me when I wake in the night. Let me look again (for 
 the fiftieth time at least) at Oscar's letter. 
 
 [Note. I copy the letter. Other eyes than hers ought to 
 see : it in this place. It is Nugent, of course, who here writes 
 in Oscar's character and in Oscar's name. You will observe 
 that his good resolutions, when he left me, held out as far as 
 Paris, and then gave way, as follows. P.] 
 
 "Mr OWN DEAREST, I have reached Paris, and have found 
 my first opportunity of writing to you since I left Brown- 
 down. Madame Pratolungo has no doubt told you that a 
 sudden necessity has called me to my brother. I have not 
 yet reached the place at which I am to meet him. Before I 
 meet him, let me tell you what the necessity which parted us 
 really is. Madame Pratolungo no longer possesses my con- 
 fidence. When you have read on a little farther, she will no 
 longer possess yours. 
 
 "Alas, my love, I must ama/c you, shock you, grieve you 
 I who would lay down my life for your happiness ! Let me 
 write it in the fewest words. I have made a terrible discov- 
 ery. Lucilla, you have trusted Madame Pratolungo as your 
 friend. Trust her no longer. She is your enemy, and mine !
 
 352 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "I suspected her some time since. My worst suspicions 
 have been confirmed. 
 
 "Long ere this I ought to have told you what I tell you 
 now. But I shrink from distressing you. To see a sad look 
 on your dear face breaks my heart. It is only when I am 
 away from you when I fear the consequences if you are not 
 warned of your danger that I can summon the courage to 
 tear off the mask from that woman's false face, and show her 
 to you as she really is. It is impossible for me to enter into 
 details in the space of a letter; I reserve all particulars until 
 we meet again, and until I can produce what you have a 
 right to ask for proof that I am speaking the truth. 
 
 "In the mean while I beg you to look back into your 
 own thoughts, to recall your own words, on the day when 
 Madame Pratolungo offended you in the rectory garden. On 
 that occasion'the truth escaped the Frenchwoman's lips and 
 she knew it ! 
 
 "Do you remember what you said after she had followed 
 you to Browndown? I mean after she had declared that you 
 would have fallen in love with my brother if you had met 
 him first, and after Nugent (at her instigation no doubt) had 
 ; taken advantage of your blindness to make you believe that 
 you were speaking to me. When you were smarting under 
 ,the insult, and when you had found out the trick, what did 
 you say? 
 
 " You said these or nearly these words : 
 
 "'She hated you from the first, Oscar she took up with 
 your brother directly he came here. Don't marry me at 
 Dimchurch ! Find out some place that they don't know of! 
 They are both in a conspiracy together against you and 
 against me. Take care of them ! take care of them !' 
 
 "Lucilla, I echo your own words to you! I return the 
 warning the prophetic warning which you unconsciously 
 gave me in that past time. I am afraid my unhappy brother 
 loves you and I know for certain that Madame Pratolungo 
 feels the interest in him which she has never felt in me. 
 What you said, I say. They are in a conspiracy together 
 against us. Take care of them ! take care of them ! 
 
 "When we meet again I shall be prepared to defeat the 
 conspiracy. Till that time comes, as you value your happi- 
 ness and mine, don't let Madame Pratolungo suspect that you
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 353 
 
 have discovered her. It is she, I firmly believe, who is to 
 blame. I am going to my brother as yon will now under- 
 stand with an object far different to the object which I put 
 forward as an excuse to your false friend. Fear no dispute 
 between Nugent and me. I know him. I firmly believe that 
 I shall find that he has been tempted and misled. I answer 
 now that no evil influences are at work on him for his 
 acting like an honorable man, and deserving your pardon and 
 mine. The excuse I have made to Madame Pratolungo will 
 prevent her from interfering between us. That was my one 
 object in making it. 
 
 " Keep me correctly informed of your movements and of 
 hers. I inclose an address to which you can write with the 
 certainty that your letters will be forwarded. 
 
 "On my side, I promise to write constantly. Once more, 
 don't trust a living creature about you with the secret which 
 this letter reveals ! Expect me back at the earliest possible 
 moment to free you with a husband's authority from the 
 woman who has so cruelly deceived us. 
 
 " Yours, with the truest affection, the fondest love, 
 
 " OSCAR." 
 
 [Note. It is quite needless for me to dwell here on the 
 devilish cunning I can use no other phrase which inspired 
 this abominable letter. Look back to the twenty-seventh and 
 twenty-eighth chapters, and you will see how skillfully what 
 I said in a moment of foolish irritation, and what Lucilla said 
 Avhen she too had lost her temper, is turned to account to 
 poison her mind against me. We are made innocently to 
 supply our enemy with the foundation on which he builds 
 his plot. For the rest, the letter explains itself. Nugent 
 still persists in personating his brother. He guesses easily 
 at the excuse I should make to Lucilla for his absence ; and 
 he gets over the difficulty of appearing to have confided his 
 errand to a woman whom he distrusts by declaring that.he 
 felt it necessary to deceive me as to what the nature of that 
 errand really was. As the Journal proceeds you will see how 
 dexterously he works the machinery which his letter has set 
 in motion. All I need add here, in the way of explanation, 
 is that the delay in his arrival at Kamsgate, of which Lucilla 
 complains, was caused by nothing but his own hesitation.
 
 3.34 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 His sense of honor as I know from discoveries made at a 
 later time was not entirely lost yet. The lower he sank, 
 the harder his better nature struggled to raise him. Noth- 
 ing, positively nothing, but his own remorse need have kept 
 him at Paris (it is needless to say that he never stirred far- 
 ther, and never discovered the place of his brother's retreat) 
 after Lucilla had informed him by letter that I had gone 
 abroad, and that she was at Ramsgate with her aunt. I have 
 done : let Lucilla go on again. P.] 
 
 I have read Oscar's letter once more. 
 
 He is the soul of honor ; he is incapable of deceiving me. 
 I remember saying what he tells me I said, and thinking it 
 too for the moment only when I was beside myself with 
 rage. Still, may it not be possible that appearances have 
 misled Oscar? Oh, Madame Pratolungo! I had such a high 
 
 o o 
 
 opinion of yon, I loved you so dearly can you have been 
 unworthy of the admiration and affection that you once in- 
 spired in me ? 
 
 I quite agree with Oscar that his brother is not to blame. 
 It is sad and shocking that Mr. Nugent Dtibourg should have 
 allowed himself to fall in love with me. But I can not help 
 pitying him. Poor disfigured man, I hope he will get a good 
 wife ! How he must have suffered ! 
 
 It is impossible to endure any longer my present state of 
 suspense. Oscar must and shall satisfy me about Madame 
 Pratolungo with his own lips. I shall write to him by this 
 post, and insist on his coming to Ramsgate. 
 
 August 29. I wrote to him yesterday, to the address in 
 Paris. My letter will be delivered to-morrow. Where is he ? 
 when will he get it? 
 
 [Note. That innocent letter did its fatal mischief. It end- 
 ed the struggle against himself which had kept Nugent Du- 
 bourg in Paris. On the morning when he received it he 
 started for England. Here is the entry in Lucilla's Journal. 
 -P.] 
 
 August 31. A telegram for me at breakfast-time. I am 
 too happy to keep my hand steady ; I am writing horribly. 
 It doesn't matter: nothing matters but my telegram. (Oh,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 355 
 
 what .a noble creature the man was who invented telegrams !) 
 Oscar is on his way to Kamsgate ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY-THIRD. 
 
 LUCILLA'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED. 
 
 September 1. I am composed enough to return to my Jour- 
 nal, and to let my mind dwell a little on all that I have thought 
 and felt since Oscar has been here. 
 
 Now that I have lost Madame Pratolungo, I have no friend 
 with whom I can talk over my little secrets. My aunt is all 
 that is kind and good to me ; but with a person so much older 
 than I am who has lived in such a different world from my 
 world, and whose ideas seem to be so far away from mine 
 how can I talk about my follies and extravagances, and ex- 
 pect sympathy in return ! My one confidential friend is my 
 Journal I can only talk, about myself to myself, in these 
 pages. My position feels sometimes like a very lonely one. 
 I saw two girls telling all their secrets to each other on the 
 sands to-day and I am afraid I envied them. 
 
 Well, my dear Journal, how did I feel after longing for 
 Oscar when Oscar came to me? 
 
 It is dreadful to own it; but my book locks up, and my 
 book can be trusted with the truth. I felt ready to cry I 
 was so unexpectedly, so horribly, disappointed. 
 
 No. " Disappointed " is not the word. I can't find the 
 word. There was a moment I hardly dare write it: it seems 
 so atrociously wicked there was a moment when I almost 
 wished myself blind again. 
 
 He took me in his arms ; he held my hand in his. IT the 
 time when I was blind, how I should have felt it! how the 
 delicious tingle would have run through me when he touched 
 me ! Nothing of the kind happened no\v. He might have 
 been Oscar's brother for all the effect he produced on me. I 
 have myself taken his hand since, and shut my eyes to try 
 and renew my blindness, and put myself back completely 
 as I was in the old time. The same result still. Nothing, 
 nothing, nothing ! 
 
 Is it that he is a little restrained with me, on his side?
 
 356 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 He certainly is ! I felt it the moment lie came into the room 
 I have felt it ever since. 
 
 No : it is not that. In the old time, when we were only 
 beginning to love each other, he was restrained with me. 
 But it made no difference then. I was not the insensible 
 creature in those days, that I have become since. 
 
 I can only account for it in one way. The restoration of 
 my sight has made a new creature of me. I have gained a 
 sense I am no longer the same woman. This great change 
 must have had some influence over me that I never suspected 
 until Oscar came here. Can the loss of my sense of feeling 
 be the price that I have paid for the recovery of my sense of 
 sight ? 
 
 When Grosse comes next I shall put that question to him. 
 
 In the mean while I have had a second disappointment. 
 He is not nearly so beautiful as I thought he was when I was 
 blind. 
 
 On the day when my bandage was taken off for the first 
 time I could only see indistinctly. When I ran into the room 
 at the rectory, I guessed it was Oscar rather than knew it 
 was Oscar. My father's gray head and Mrs. Finch's woman's 
 dress would, no doubt, have helped any body in my place to 
 fix, as I did, on the right man. But this is all different now. 
 I can see his features in detail, and the result is (though I 
 won't own it to any of them) that I find my idea of him in 
 the days of my blindness oh, so unlike the reality ! The 
 one thing that is not a disappointment to me is his voice. 
 When he can not see me I close my eyes and let my ears feel 
 the old charm again so far. 
 
 And this is what I have gained by submitting to the oper- 
 ation, and enduring my imprisonment in the darkened room ! 
 
 What am I writing? I ought to be ashamed of myself ! 
 Is it nothing to have had all the beauty of land and sea, all 
 the glory of cloud and sunshine, revealed to me? Is it noth- 
 ing to be able to look at my fellow-creatures to see the bright 
 faces of children smile at me when I speak to them ? Enough 
 of myself! I am unhappy and ungrateful when I think of 
 myself. 
 
 Let me write about Oscar. 
 
 My aunt approves of him. She thinks him handsome, and 
 says he has the manners of a gentleman. This last is high
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 357 
 
 praise from Miss Batchford. She despises the present gener- 
 ation of young men. "In my time," she said the other day, 
 "I used to see young gentlemen. I only see young animals 
 now well-fed, well- washed, well-dressed; riding animals, 
 rowing animals, betting animals nothing more." 
 
 Oscar, on his side, seems to like Miss Batchford on better 
 acquaintance. When I first presented him to her, he rather 
 surprised me by changing color and looking very uneasy. 
 He is almost distressingly nervous, on certain occasions. 1 
 suppose my aunt's grand manner daunted him. 
 
 [Note. I really must break in here. Her aunt's "grand 
 manner" makes me sick. It is nothing (between ourselves) 
 but a hook-nose and a stiff pair of stays. What daunted 
 Nugent Dubourg, when he first found himself in the old 
 lady's presence, was the fear of discovery. He would, no 
 doubt, have learned from his brother that Oscar and Miss 
 Batchford had never met. You will see, if you look back, 
 that it was, in the nature of things, impossible they should 
 have met. But is it equally clear that Nugent could find 
 out beforehand that Miss Batchford had been left in igno- 
 rance of what had happened at Dimchurch ? He could do 
 nothing of the sort he could feel no assurance of his secu- 
 rity from exposure, until he had tried the ground in his own 
 proper person first. The risk here was certainly serious 
 enough to make even Nugent Dubourg feel uneasy. And 
 Lucilla talks of her aunt's " grand manner !" Poor innocent ! 
 I leave her to go on. P.] 
 
 As soon as my aunt left us together, the first words I aid 
 to Oscar referred (of course) to his letter about Madame Pra- 
 tolungo. 
 
 He made a little sign of entreaty, and looked distressed. 
 
 "Why should we spoil the pleasure of our first meeting 
 by talking of her?" he said. "It is so inexpressibly painful 
 to you and to me. Let us return to it in a day or two. Not 
 now, Lucilla not now !" 
 
 His brother was the next subject in my mind. I was not 
 at all sure how he would take my speaking about it. I risk- 
 ed a question, however, for all that. He made another sign 
 of entreaty, and looked distressed again.
 
 358 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "My brother and I understand each other, Lucilla. He will 
 remain abroad for the present. Shall we drop that subject 
 too? Let me hear your own news I want to know what is 
 going on at the rectory. I have heard nothing since you 
 wrote me word that you were here with your aunt, and that 
 Madame Pratolungo had gone abroad to her father. Is Mr. 
 Finch well? Is he coming to Ramsgate to see you?" 
 
 I was unwilling to tell him of the misunderstanding at 
 
 o o 
 
 home. 
 
 " I have not heard from my father since I have been here," 
 I said. "Now you have come back, I can write and announce 
 your return, and get all the news from the rectory." 
 
 He looked at me rather strangely in a way which led me 
 to fear that he saw some objection to my writing to my 
 father. 
 
 "I suppose you would like Mr. Finch to come here?" he 
 said ; and then stopped suddenly, and looked at me again. 
 
 "There is very little chance of his coming here," I an- 
 swered. 
 
 Oscar seemed to be wonderfully interested about my fa- 
 ther. "Very little chance?" he repeated. "Why?" 
 
 I was obliged to refer to the family quarrel still, however, 
 saying nothing of the unjust manner in which my father had 
 spoken of my aunt. 
 
 "As long as I am with Miss Batehford," I said, "it is use- 
 less to hope that my father will come here. They are on bad 
 terms; and I am afraid there is no prospect, at present, of 
 their being friends again. Do you object to my writing 
 home to say you have come to Ramsgate?" I asked. 
 
 "I!" he exclaimed, looking the picture of astonishment. 
 "What could possibly make you think that? Write by all 
 means and leave a little space for me. I will add a few 
 lines to your letter." 
 
 It is impossible to say how his answer relieved me. It 
 was quite plain that I had stupidly misinterpreted him. Oh, 
 my new eyes! my new eyes! shall I ever be able to depend 
 on you as I could once depend on my touch? 
 
 [Note. I must intrude myself again. I shall burst with 
 indignation, while I am copying the Journal, if I don't relieve 
 my mind at certain places in it. Remark, before you go any
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 359 
 
 fai'ther, how skillfully Nugent contrives to ascertain his ex- 
 act position at Ramsgate, and see with what a fatal una- 
 nimity all the chances of his personating Oscar, without dis- 
 covery, declare themselves in his favor ! Miss Batchford, as 
 you have seen, is entirely at his mercy. She not only knows 
 nothing herself, but she operates as a check on Mr. Finch, who 
 would otherwise have joined his daughter at Ramsgate, and 
 have instantly exposed the conspiracy. On every side of 
 him Nugent is, to all appearance, safe. I am away in one di- 
 rection. Oscar is away in another. Mrs. Finch is anchored 
 immovably in her nursery. Zillah has been sent back from 
 London to the rectory. The Dimchurch doctor (who attend- 
 ed Oscar, and who might have proved an awkward witness) 
 is settled in India, as you will see, if you refer to the twenty- 
 second chapter. The London doctor with whom he consult- 
 ed has long since ceased to have any relations with his former 
 patient. As for Herr Grosse, if he appears on the scene, he 
 can be trusted to shut his eyes professionally to all that is 
 going on, and to let matters take their course in the only in- 
 terest he recognizes the interest of Lucilla's health. There 
 is literally no obstacle in Nugent's way; and no sort of pro- 
 tection for Lucilla, except in the faithful instinct which per- 
 sists in warning her that this is the wrong man though it 
 speaks in an unknown tongue 1 . Will she end in understand- 
 ing the warning before it is too late? My friend, this note 
 is intended to relieve my mind not yours. All you have to 
 do is to read on. Here is the Journal. I won't stand another 
 moment in your way. P.] 
 
 September 2. A rainy day. Very little said that is worth 
 recording between Oscar and me. 
 
 My aunt, whose spirits are always affected by bad weather, 
 kept me a long time in her sitting-room, amusing herself by 
 making me exercise my sight. Oscar was present by special 
 invitation, and assisted the old lady in setting this new see- 
 ing-sense of mine all sorts of tasks. He tried hard to prevail 
 on me to let him see my writing. I refused. It is improv- 
 ing as fast as it can ; but it is not good enough yet. 
 
 I notice here what a dreadfully difficult thing it is to get 
 back in such a case as mine to the exercise of one's sight. 
 
 We have a cat and a dosr in the house. Would it be cred-
 
 300 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 ited, if I was telling it to the world instead of telling it to 
 my Journal, that I actually mistook one for the other to-day ? 
 after seeing so well, too, as I do now, and being able to 
 write with so few false strokes in making my letters ! It is 
 nevertheless true that I did mistake the two animals; having 
 trusted to nothing but my memory to inform my eyes which 
 was which, instead of helping my memory by my touch. 1 
 have now set this right. I caught up puss, and shut my eyes 
 (oh, that habit! when shall I get over it?), and felt her soft 
 fur (so different from a dog's hair !), and opened my eyes 
 again, and associated the feel of it forever afterward with the 
 sight of a cat. 
 
 To-day's experience has also informed me that I make 
 slow progress in teaching myself to judge correctly of dis- 
 tances. 
 
 In spite of this drawback, however, there is nothing I en- 
 joy so much in using my sight as looking at a great wide 
 prospect of any kind provided I am not asked to judge how 
 far or how near objects may be. It seems like escaping out 
 of prison to look (after having been shut up in my blindness) 
 at the long curve of the beach, and the bold promontory of 
 the pier, and the grand sweep of the sea beyond all visible 
 from our windows. The moment my aunt begins to ques- 
 tion me about distances she makes a toil of my pleasure. It 
 is worse still when I am asked about the relative sizes of 
 ships and boats. When I sec nothing but a boat I fancy it 
 larger than it is. When I see the boat in comparison with 
 a ship, and then look back at the boat, I instantly go to 
 the other extreme, and fancy it smaller than it is. The set- 
 ting this right still vexes me almost as keenly as my stupid- 
 ity vexed me some time since when I saw my first horse and 
 cart from an upper window, and took it for a dog drawing a 
 wheelbarrow! Let me add in my own defense that both 
 horse and cart were figured at least five times their proper 
 size in my blind fancy which makes my mistake, I think, 
 not so very stupid, after all. 
 
 Well, I amused my aunt. And what effect did I produce 
 on Oscar? 
 
 If I could trust my eyes, I should say I produced exactly 
 the contrary effect on him I made him melancholy. But I 
 don't trust my eyes. They must be deceiving me when they
 
 POOR MiS3 FINCH. 301 
 
 tell me that he looked, in ray company, a moping, anxious, 
 miserable man. 
 
 Or is it that he sees and feels something changed in Me ? 
 
 o 
 
 I could scream with vexation and rage against myself. Here 
 is my Oscar and yet he is not the Oscar I knew when I was 
 blind. Contradictory as it seems, I used to understand how 
 he looked at me when I was unable to see it. Now that I 
 can see it, I ask myself, Is this really love that is looking at 
 me in his eyes? or is it something else? How should I 
 know ? I knew when I had only my own fancy to tell me. 
 But now, try as I may, I can not make the old fancy and the 
 new sight to serve me in harmony both together. I am 
 afraid he sees that I don't understand him. Oh dear ! dear ! 
 why did I not meet rny good old Grosse, and become the new 
 creature that he has made me, before I met Oscar? I should 
 have had no blind memories and prepossessions to get over 
 then. I shall become used to my new self, I hope and be- 
 lieve, with time and that will accustom me to my new im- 
 pressions of Oscar and so it may all come right in the end. 
 It is all wrong enough now. He put his arm round me, and 
 gave me a little tender squeeze, while we were following Miss 
 Batch ford dcwn to the dining-room this afternoon. Nothing 
 in me answered to it. I should have felt it all over me a few 
 months since. 
 
 Here is a tear on the paper. What a fool I am? Why 
 can't I write about something else? 
 
 I sent my second letter to my father to-day, telling him 
 of Oscar's return from abroad, and taking no notice of his not 
 having replied to my first letter. The only way to manage 
 my father is not to take notice, and to let him come right by 
 himself. I showed Oscar my letter, with a space left at the 
 end for his postscript. While he was writing it he asked me 
 to get something which happened to be np stairs in my 
 room. When I came back he had sealed the envelope, forget - 
 tins; to show me his postscript. It was not worth while to 
 open the letter again ; he told me what he had written, and 
 that did just as well. 
 
 [Note. I must trouble you with a copy of what Nugent 
 really did write. It shows why he sent her out of the room, 
 and closed the envelope before she could come back. The 
 
 Q
 
 302 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 postscript is also worthy of notice, in this respect th.-it it 
 plays a part in a page of my narrative which is still to come. 
 Thus Nugent writes, in Oscar's name and character, to the 
 rector ofDimchurch. (He would find the imitation of his 
 brother's handwriting no obstacle in his way. A close simi- 
 larity of handwritings was as I have, I think, already men- 
 tioned one among the other striking points of resemblance 
 between the twins.) 
 
 "DEAR MR. FINCH, Lucilla's letter will have told you 
 that I have come to my senses, and that I am again paying 
 my addresses to her as her affianced husband. My principal 
 object in adding these lines is to propose that we should for- 
 get the past, and go on again as if nothing had happened. 
 
 "Nugent has behaved nobly. He absolves me from the 
 engagements toward him into which I so rashly entered at 
 our last interview before I left Browndown. Most generous- 
 ly and amply he has redeemed his pledge to Madame Prato- 
 lungo to discover the place of my retreat and to restore me 
 to Lucilla. For the present he remains abroad. 
 
 "If you favor me with a reply to this, I must warn you to 
 be careful how you write; for Lucilla is sure to ask to see 
 your letter. Remember that she only supposes me to have 
 returned to her after a brief absence from England, caused 
 by a necessity for joining my brother on the Continent. It 
 will be also desirable to say nothing on the subject of my 
 unfortunate peculiarity of complexion. I have made it all 
 right with Lucilla, and she is getting accustomed to me. 
 Still, the subject is a sore one, and the less it is referred to 
 the better. Truly yours, OSCAR." 
 
 Unless I add a word of explanation here, you will hardly 
 appreciate the extraordinary skillfulness with which the de- 
 ception is continued by means of this postscript. 
 
 Written in Oscar's character (and representing Nugent 
 as having done all that he had promised me to do), it design- 
 edly omits the customary courtesy of Oscar's style. The 
 object of'this is to offend Mr. Finch with what end in view 
 you will presently see. The rector was the last man in ex- 
 istence to dispense with the necessary apologies and expres- 
 sions of regret from a man engaged to his daughter, who had
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 363 
 
 left her as Oscar had left her no matter how the circum- 
 stances might appear to excuse him. The curt, off-hand 
 postscript signed "Oscar" was the very thing to exasperate 
 the wound already inflicted on Mr. Finch's self-esteem, and 
 to render it at least probable that he would reconsider his 
 intention of himself performing the marriage ceremony. In 
 the event of his refusal, what would happen ? A stranger, 
 entirely ignorant of which was Nugent and which was Oscar, 
 would officiate in his place. Do you see. it now? 
 
 But even the cleverest people are not always capable of 
 providing for every emergency. The completes! plot gen- 
 erally has its weak place. 
 
 The postscript, as you have seen, was a little masterpiece. 
 But it nevertheless exposed the writer to a danger which 
 (as the Journal will tell you) he only appreciated at its true 
 value when it was too late to alter his mind. Finding him- 
 self forced, for the sake of appearances, to permit Lucilla tc 
 inform her father of his arrival at Ramsgale, he was now 
 obliged to run the risk of having that important piece of 
 domestic news communicated either by Mr. Finch or by his 
 wife to no less a person than myself. You will remember 
 that worthy Mrs. Finch, when we parted at the rectory, had 
 asked me to write to her while I was abroad and you will 
 see, after the hint I have given you, that clever Mr. Nugent 
 is beginning already to walk upon delicate ground. I say no 
 more: Lucilla's turn now. P.] 
 
 September 3. Oscar has (I suppose) forgotten something 
 which he ought to have included in his postscript to my letter. 
 
 More than two hours after I had sent it to the post he 
 asked if the letter had gone. For the moment he looked an- 
 noyed when I said, Yes. But he soon recovered himself. 
 It mattered nothing (he said) ; he could easily write again. 
 "Talking of letters," he added, " do you expect Madame 
 Pratolungo to write to you?" (This time it was he who re- 
 ferred to her!) I told him that there was itot much chance, 
 after what had passed on her side and on mine, of her writing 
 to me and then tried to put some of those questions about 
 her which he had once already requested me not to press 
 yet. For the second time he entreated me to defer the dis- 
 cussion of that unpleasant subject for thy present and yet,
 
 364 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 with a curious inconsistency, lie made another inquiry relating 
 to the subject in the same breath. 
 
 " Do you think she is likely to be in correspondence with 
 your father or your step-mother while she is out of England?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "I should doubt her writing to my father," I said. "But 
 she might correspond with Mrs. Finch." 
 
 He considered a little, and then turned the talk to the 
 topic of our residence at Ramsgate next. 
 
 " How long do you stay here ?" he inquired. 
 
 " It depends on Herr Grosse," I answered. " I will ask 
 him when he comes next." 
 
 He turned away to the window suddenly, as if he was a 
 little put out. 
 
 "Are you tired of Ramsgate already?" I asked. 
 
 He came back to me and took my hand my cold, insensi- 
 ble hand, that won't feel his touch as it ought ! 
 
 "Let me be your husband, Lucilla," he whispered ; "and I 
 will live at Ramsgate if you like for your sake." 
 
 Although there was every thing to please me in those 
 words, there was something that startled me I can not de- 
 scribe it in his look and manner when he said them. I made 
 no answer at the moment. He went on. 
 
 "Why should we not be married at once?" he asked. 
 " We are both of age. We have only ourselves to think of." 
 
 [Note. Alter his words as follows : " Why should we not 
 be married before Madame Pratolungo can hear of my ar- 
 rival at Ramsgate?" and you will rightly interpret his mo- 
 tives. The situation is now fast reaching its climax of peril. 
 Nugent's one chance is to persuade Lucilla to marry him 
 before any discoveries can reach my ears, and before Grosse 
 considers her sufficiently recovered to leave Ramsgate. P.] 
 
 "You forget," I answered, more surprised than ever: "we 
 have my father to think of. It was always arranged that he 
 was to marry us at Dimchurch." 
 
 Oscar smiled not at all the charming smile I used to im- 
 agine when I was blind ! 
 
 "We shall wait a long time, I am afraid," he said, "if we 
 wait until vour father marries us."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 365 
 
 " What do you moan ?" I asked. 
 
 "When we enter on the painful subject of Madame Pra- 
 tolungo," he replied, " I will tell you. In the mean time, do 
 you think Mr. Finch will answer your letter?" 
 
 " I hope so." 
 
 "Do you think he will answer my postscript?" 
 
 " I am sure he will !" 
 
 The same unpleasant smile showed itself again in his face. 
 He abruptly dropped the conversation, and went to play 
 piquet with my aunt. 
 
 All this happened yesterday evening. I went to bed, sad- 
 ly dissatisfied with somebody. Was it with Oscar? or with 
 myself? or with both ? I fancy with both. 
 
 To-day we went out together for a walk on the cliffs. 
 What a delight it was to move through the fresh briny air, 
 and see the lovely sights on every side of rne ! Oscar enjoyed 
 it too. All through the first part of our walk he was charm- 
 ing, and I was more in love with him than ever. On our 
 return a little incident occurred which altered him for the 
 worse, and which made my spirits sink again. 
 
 It happened in this way. 
 
 I proposed returning by the sands. Ramsgate is still 
 crowded with visitors; and the animated scene on the beach 
 in the later part of the day has attractions for me, after my 
 blind life, which it docs not (I dare say) possess for people 
 who have always enjoyed the use of their eyes. Oscar, who 
 has a nervous horror of crowds, and who shrinks from contact 
 with people not so refined as himself, svas surprised at my 
 wishing to mix with what he called "the mob on the sands." 
 However, he said he would go if I particularly wished it. I 
 did particularly wish it. So we went. 
 
 There were chairs on the beach. We hired two, and sat 
 down to look about us. 
 
 All sorts of diversions were going on. Monkeys, organs, 
 girls on stilts, a conjurer, and a troop of negro minstrels were 
 all at work to amuse the visitors. I thought the varied color 
 and bustling enjoyment of the crowd, with the bright blue 
 sea beyond and the glorious sunshine overhead, quite de- 
 lightful I declare I felt as if two eyes were not half enough 
 to see with ! A nice old lady, sitting near, entered into con- 
 versation with me, hospitably offering me biscuits and sherry
 
 366 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 out of her own bag. Oscar, to ray disappointment, looked 
 quite disgusted with all of us. He thought my nice old lady 
 vulgar, and he called the company on the beach " a herd of 
 snobs." While he was still muttering under his breath about 
 the " mixture of low people," he suddenly cast a side-look at 
 some person or thing I could not at the moment tell which 
 and, rising, placed himself so as to intercept my view of 
 the promenade on the sands immediately before me. I 
 happened to have noticed, at the same moment, a lady ap- 
 proaching us in a dress of a peculiar color; and I pulled Os- 
 car on one side, to look at her as she passed in front of me. 
 " Why do you get in my way ?" I asked. Before he could 
 answer the question the lady passed, with two lovely chil- 
 dren, and with a tall man at her side. My eyes, looking first 
 at the lady and the children, found their way next to the 
 gentleman and saw, repeated in his face, the same black- 
 blue complexion which had startled me in the face of Oscar's 
 brother when I first opened my eyes at the rectory ! For 
 the moment I felt startled again more, as I believe, by the 
 unexpected repetition of the blue face in the face of a stran- 
 ger than by the ugliness of the complexion itself. At any 
 rate, I was composed enough to admire the lady's dress and 
 the beauty of the children before they had passed beyond my 
 range of view. Oscar spoke to me, while I was looking at 
 them, in a tone of reproach, for which, as I thought, there was 
 no occasion and no excuse. 
 
 " I tried to spare you," he said. " You have yourself to 
 thank, if that man has frightened you." 
 
 "He has not frightened me," I answered sharply enough. 
 
 Oscar looked at me very attentively, and sat down again 
 without saying a word more. 
 
 The good-humored old woman on my other side, who had 
 seen and heard all that had passed, began to talk of the gen- 
 tleman with the discolored face, and of the lady and the 
 children who accompanied him. He was a retired Indian 
 officer, she said. The lady was his wife, and the two beauti- 
 ful children were his own children. "It seems a pity that 
 such a handsome man should be disfigured in that way," my 
 new acquaintance remarked. "But still it don't matter 
 much, after all. There he is, as you see, with a fine woman 
 for a wife, and with two lovely children. I know the land-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 367 
 
 lady of the house where they lodge and a happier family 
 you couldn't lay your hand on in all England. That is my 
 friend's account of them. Even a blue face don't seem such 
 a dreadful misfortune, when you look at it in that light 
 does it, miss?" 
 
 I entirely agreed with the old lady. Our talk seemed, for 
 some incomprehensible reason, to irritate Oscar. He got up 
 again impatiently, and looked at his watch. 
 
 " Your aunt will be wondering what has become of us," 
 he said. "Surely you have had enough of the mob on the 
 sands by this time !" 
 
 I had not had enough of it, and I should have been quite 
 content to have made one of the mob for some time longer. 
 
 o 
 
 But I saw that Oscar would be seriously vexed if I persisted 
 in keeping my place. So I took leave of my nice old lady, 
 and lel't the pleasant sands not very willingly. 
 
 He said nothing more until we had threaded our way out 
 of the crowd. Then he returned, without any reason for it 
 that I could discover, to the subject of the Indian officer, and 
 to the remembrance which the stranger's complexion must 
 have awakened in me of his brother's face. 
 
 " I don't understand your telling me you were not fright- 
 ened when you saw that man," he said. " You were terribly 
 frightened by my brother when you first saw him." 
 
 " I was terribly frightened by my own imagination before 
 I saw him," I answered. ''After I saw him I soon got over 
 it." 
 
 " So you say," he rejoined. 
 
 There is something excessively provoking at least to me 
 in being told to my face that I have said something which 
 is not worthy of belief. It was not a very becoming act on 
 my part (after what he had told me in his letter about his 
 brother's infatuation) to mention his brother. I ought not 
 to have done it. I did it, for all that. 
 
 "I say what I mean," I replied. "Before I knew what 
 you told me about your brother I was going to propose to 
 you, for your sake and for his, that he should live with us 
 after we were married." 
 
 Oscar suddenly stopped. He had given me his arm to 
 lead me through the crowd he dropped it now. 
 
 " You say that because you are angry with me !" he said.
 
 368 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I denied being angry with him ; I declared once more that 
 I was only speaking the truth. 
 
 "You really mean," he went on, "that you could have 
 lived comfortably with my brother's blue face before you 
 every hour of the day ?" 
 
 " Quite comfortably if he would have been my brother 
 too." 
 
 Oscar pointed to the house in which my aunt and I are 
 living within a few yards of the place on which we stood. 
 
 "You are close at home," he said, speaking in an odd, 
 muffled voice, with his eyes on the ground. " I want a lon- 
 ger Avalk. We shall meet at dinner-time." 
 
 He left me without looking up, and without saying a 
 word more. 
 
 Jealous of his brother ! There is something unnatural, 
 something degrading, in such jealousy as that. I am 
 ashamed of myself for thinking it of him. And yet what 
 else could his conduct mean ? 
 
 [Note. It is for me to answer that question. Give the 
 miserable wretch his due. His conduct meant, in one plain 
 word remorse. The only excuse left that he could make 
 to his own conscience for the infamous part which he was 
 playing was this that his brother's personal disfigurement 
 presented a fatal obstacle in the way of his brother's mar- 
 riage. And now Lucilla's own words, Lucilla's own actions, 
 had told him that Oscar's face was no obstacle to her seeing 
 Oscar perpetually in the familiar intercourse of domestic 
 life. The torture of self-reproach which this discovery in- 
 flicted on him drove him out of her presence. His own lips 
 would have betrayed him if he had spoken a word more to 
 her at that moment. This is no speculation of mine. I 
 know what I am now writing to be the truth. P.] 
 
 It is night again. I am in my bedroom too nervous and 
 too anxious to go to rest yet. Let me employ myself in fin- 
 ishing this private record of the events of the day. 
 
 Oscar came a little before dinner-time, haggard and pale, 
 and so absent in mind that he hardly seemed to know what 
 he was talking about. No explanations passed between us. 
 He asked my pardon for the hard things lie had said, and
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 369 
 
 the ill-temper he had shown earlier in the day. I readily 
 accepted his excuses, and did my best to conceal the un- 
 easiness which his vacant, preoccupied manner caused me. 
 All the time he was speaking to me he was plainly think 
 ing of something else he was more unlike the Oscar of 
 my blind remembrances than ever. It was the old voice 
 talking in a new way : I can only describe it to myself in 
 those terms. 
 
 As for his manner, I know it used to be always more or 
 less quiet and retiring in the old days ; but was it ever so 
 hopelessly subdued and depressed as I have seen it to-day? 
 Useless to ask ! In the by-gone time I was not able to see 
 it. My past judgment of him and my present judgment of 
 him have been arrived at by such totally different means 
 that it seems useless to compare them. Oh, how I miss 
 Madame Pratolungo! What a relief, what a consolation it 
 would have been to have said all this to her, and to have 
 heard what she thought of it in return ! 
 
 There is, however, a chnnce of my finding my way out of 
 some of my perplexities, at any rate if I can only wait till 
 to-morrow. 
 
 Oscar seems to have made up his mind at last to enter into 
 the explanations which he has hitherto withheld from me. 
 He has asked me to give him a private interview in the 
 morning. The circumstances which led to his making this 
 request have highly excited my curiosity. Something is ev- 
 idently going on under the surface, in which my interests 
 are concerned and possibly Oscar's interests too. 
 
 It all came about in this way. 
 
 On returning to the house after Oscar had left me, I found 
 that a letter from Grosse had arrived by the afternoon post. 
 My dear old surgeon wrote to say that he was coming to 
 see me and added in a postscript that he would arrive the 
 next day at luncheon-time. Past experience told me that 
 this meant a demand on my aunt's housekeeping for all the 
 good things that it could produce. (Ah, dear ! I thought of 
 Madame Pratolungo and the Mayonnaise. Will those times 
 never come again ?) Well at dinner I announced Grosse's 
 visit, adding significantly, "at luncheon-time." 
 
 My aunt looked up from her plate with a little start not 
 interested, as I was prepared to hear, in the serious question 
 
 Q2
 
 370 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 of luncheon, but in the opinion which my medical adviser 
 was likely to give of the state of my health. 
 
 "I am anxious to hear what Mr. Grosse says about you 
 to-morrow," the old lady began. " I shall insist on his giv- 
 ing me a far more complete report of you than he gave last 
 time. The recovery of your sight appears to me, ray dear, 
 to be quite complete." 
 
 " Do you want me to be cured, aunt, because you want to 
 get away ?" I asked. " Are you weary of Ramsgate ?" 
 
 Miss Batchford's quick temper flashed at me out of Miss 
 Batchford's bright old eyes. 
 
 " I am weary of keeping a letter of yours," she burst out, 
 with n look of disgust. 
 
 " A letter of mine !" I exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes. A letter which is only to be given to you when 
 Mr. Grosse pronounces that you are quite yourself again." 
 
 Oscar who had not taken the slightest interest in the 
 conversation thus far suddenly stopped, with his fork half- 
 way to his mouth, changed color, and looked eagerly at my 
 aunt. 
 
 "What letter?" I asked. "Who gave it to you? Why 
 am I not to see it until I am quite myself again ?" 
 
 Miss Batchford obstinately shook her head three times in 
 answer to those three questions. 
 
 " I hate secrets and mysteries," she said, impatiently. 
 "This is a secret and a mystery and I long to have done 
 with it. That is all. I have said too much already. I 
 shall say no more." 
 
 All my entreaties were of no avail. My aunt's quick tem- 
 per had evidently led her into committing an imprudence of 
 some sort. Having done that, she was now provokingly de- 
 termined not to make bad worse. Nothing that I could say 
 would induce her to open her lips on the subject of the mys- 
 terious letter. "Wait till Mr. Grosse comes to-morrow. " 
 That was the only reply I could get. 
 
 As for Oscar, this little incident appeared to have an ef- 
 fect on him which added immensely to the curiosity that my 
 aunt had roused in me. 
 
 He listened with breathless attention while I was trying 
 to induce Miss Batchford to answer my questions. When I 
 gave it up ho pushed a way his plate and ate no more. On
 
 POOB MISS FINCH. 371 
 
 the other hand (though generally the most temperate of 
 men), he drank a great deal of wine, both at dinner and aft- 
 er. In the evening he made so many mistakes in playing 
 cards with my aunt that she dismissed him from the game 
 in disgrace. He sat in a corner for the rest of the time, pre- 
 tending to listen while I was playing the piano really lost 
 to me and my music ; buried, fathoms deep, in some uneasy 
 thoughts of his own. 
 
 When he took his leave he whispered these words in my 
 ear, anxiously pressing my hand while he spoke: 
 
 " I must see you alone to-morrow, before Grosse comes. 
 Can you manage it ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 " At the stairs on the cliff at eleven o'clock." 
 
 On that he left me. But one question lias pursued me 
 ever since. Does Oscar know the writer of the mysterious 
 letter? I firmly believe he does. To-morrow will prove 
 whether I am right or wrong. How I long for to-morrow 
 to come ! 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY-FOURTH. 
 
 LUCILLA'S JOURNAL, CONTINUED. 
 
 September 4. I mark this day as one of the saddest days 
 of my life. Oscar has shown Madame Pratolungo to me in 
 her true colors. He has reasoned out this miserable matter 
 with a plainness which it is impossible for me to resist. I 
 have thrown away my love and my confidence on a false 
 woman : there is no sense of honor, no feeling of gratitude 
 or of delicacy, in her nature. And I once thought her it 
 sickens me to recall it ! I will see her no more. 
 
 [Note. Did it ever occur to you to be obliged to copy 
 out, with your own hand, this sort of opinion of your own 
 character? I can recommend the sensation produced as 
 something quite new, and the temptation to add a line or 
 two on your own account to be as nearly as possible beyond 
 mortal resistance. P.]
 
 372 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Oscar and I met at the stairs at eleven o'clock, as we had 
 arranged. 
 
 He took me to the west pier. At that hour of the morn- 
 ing (excepting a few sailors who paid no heed to us) the 
 place was a solitude. It was one of the loveliest d:iys of the 
 season. When we were tired of pacing to and fro \\e could 
 sit down under the mellow sunshine and enjoy the balmy 
 sea air. In that pure light, with all those lovely colors 
 about us, there was something, to my mind, horribly and 
 shamefully out of place in the talk that engrossed us talk 
 that still turned, hour after hour, on nothing but plots and 
 lies, cruelty, ingratitude, and deceit ! 
 
 I managed to ask my first question so as to make him en- 
 ter on the subject at once, without wasting time in phrases 
 to prepare me for what was to come. 
 
 "When my aunt mentioned that letter at dinner yester- 
 day," I said, "I fancied that you knew something about it. 
 Was I right ?" 
 
 "Very nearly right," he answered. "I can't say I knew 
 any thing about it. I only suspected that it was the pro- 
 duction of an enemy of yours and mine." 
 
 "Not Madame Pratolungo?" 
 
 "Yes! Madame Pratolungo." 
 
 I disagreed with him at the outset. Madame Pratolungo 
 and my aunt had quarreled about politics. Any correspond- 
 ence between them a confidential correspondence especially 
 seemed to be one of the most unlikely things that could 
 take place. I asked Oscar if he could guess what the letter 
 contained, and why it was not to be given to me until Grosse 
 reported that I was quite cured. 
 
 "I can't guess at the contents I can only guess at the 
 object of the letter," he said. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 " The object which she has had in view from the first to 
 place every possible obstacle in the way of my marrying you." 
 
 " What interest can she have in doing that ?" 
 
 "My brother's interest." 
 
 "Forgive me, Oscar. I can not believe it of her." 
 
 We were walking while these words were passing be- 
 tween us. When I said that, he stopped and looked at me 
 very earnestly
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 373 
 
 " You believed it of her when you answered my letter," 
 he said. 
 
 I admitted that. 
 
 "I believed your letter," I replied; "and I shared your 
 opinion of her as long as she was in the same house with me. 
 Her presence fed my anger and rny horror of her in some 
 way that I can't account for. Now she has left me now I 
 have time to think there is something in her absence that 
 pleads for her, and tortures me with doubts if I have done 
 right. I can't explain it I don't understand it. I only 
 know that so it is." 
 
 He still looked at me more and more attentively. " Your 
 good opinion of her must have been very firmly rooted, to 
 assert itself in this obstinate manner," he said. " What can 
 she have done to deserve it?" 
 
 If I had looked back through all my old recollections of 
 her, and had recalled them one by one, it would only have 
 ended in making me cry. And yet I felt that I ought to 
 stand up for her as long as I could. I managed to meet the 
 difficulty in this way. 
 
 "I will tell you what she did," I said, "after I received 
 your letter. Fortunately for me, she was not very well that 
 morning, and she breakfasted in bed. I had plenty of time 
 to compose myself, and to caution Zillah (who read your let- 
 ter to me), before we met for the first time that day. On 
 the previous day I had felt hurt and offended with the man- 
 ner in which she accounted for your absence from Brown- 
 down. I thought she was not treating me with the same 
 confidence which I should have placed in her, if our posi- 
 tions had been reversed. When I next saw her, having your 
 warning in my mind, I made my excuses, and said what I 
 thought she would expect me to say under the circum- 
 stances. In my excitement and my wretchedness, I dare 
 say I overacted my part. At any rate, I roused the suspi- 
 cion in her that something was wrong. She not only asked 
 me if any thing had happened she went the length of say- 
 ing, in so many words, that she thought she saw a change in 
 me. I stopped it there by declaring that I did not under- 
 stand her. She must have seen that I was not telling the 
 truth she must have known as well as I knew that I was 
 concealing something from her. For all that, not one word
 
 374 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 more escaped her lips. A proud delicacy I saw it as plain- 
 ly in her face as I now see you a proud delicacy silenced 
 her: she looked wounded and hurt. I have been thinking 
 of that look since I have been here. I have asked myself 
 (what did not occur to me at the time) if a false woman, who 
 knew herself to be guilty, would have behaved in that way? 
 Surely a false woman would have set her wits against mine, 
 and have tried to lead me into betraying to her what dis- 
 coveries I had really made? Oscar! that delicate silence, 
 that wounded look, will plead for her when I think of her in 
 her absence. I can not feel as satisfied as I once did that 
 she is the abominable creature you declare her to be. I 
 know you are incapable of deceiving rne I know you be- 
 lieve what you say. But is it not possible that appearances 
 have misled you? Can you really be sure that you have 
 not made some dreadful mistake?" 
 
 Without answering me, he suddenly stopped at a seat un- 
 der the stone parapet of the pier, and signed to me to sit 
 down by him. I obeyed. Instead of looking at me, he kept 
 his head turned away, looking out over the sea. I could 
 not make him out. He perplexed he almost alarmed me. 
 
 "Have I offended you?" I asked. 
 
 He turned toward me again as abruptly as he had turned 
 away. His eyes wandered ; his face was pale. 
 
 " You are a good, generous creature," he said, in a con- 
 fused, hasty way. " Let us talk of something else." 
 
 "No !" I answered. " I am too deeply interested in know- 
 ing the truth to talk of any thing else." 
 
 His color changed again at that. His face flushed ; he 
 gave a heavy sigh as one does sometimes when one is mak- 
 ing a great effort. 
 
 " You will have it ?" he said. 
 
 " I will have it." 
 
 He rose again. The nearer he was to telling me all that 
 he had kept concealed from me thus far, the harder it seemed 
 to be to him to say the first words. 
 
 "Do you mind walking on again ?" he asked. 
 
 I silently rose on my side, and put my arm in his. We 
 walked on slowly toward the end of the pier. Arrived there, 
 he stood still, and spoke those first hard words looking out 
 over the broa<i bhie waters: not looking at me.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 375 
 
 "I won't ask you to take any thing for granted on my as- 
 sertion only," he began. "The woman's own words, the 
 woman's own actions, shall prove her guilty. How I first 
 came to suspect her how I afterward found my suspicions 
 confirmed I refrain from telling you, for this reason, that I 
 am determined not to use my influence to shape your views 
 to mine. Carry your memory back to the time I have al- 
 ready mentioned in my letter the time when she betrayed 
 herself to you in the rectory garden. Is it true that she 
 said you would have fallen in love with my brother, if you 
 had met him first, instead of me?" 
 
 " It is true that she said it," I answered : " at a moment," 
 I added, " when her temper had got the better of her, and 
 when mine had got the better of me." 
 
 "Advance the hour a little," he went on "to the time 
 when she followed you to Browndown. Was she still out 
 of temper when she made her excuses to you?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Did she interfere when Nugent took advantage of your 
 blindness to make you believe you were talking to me?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Was she out of temper then ?" 
 
 I still defended her. "She might well have been angry," 
 I said. "She had made her excuses to me in the kindest 
 manner, and I had received them with the most unpardona- 
 ble rudeness." 
 
 My defense produced no effect 0:1 him. lie summed it up 
 coolly so far. "She compared me tlisudvantageously with 
 ?ny brother, and she allowed my brother to personate me, in 
 speaking to you, without interfering to stop it. In both 
 these cases her temper excuses and accounts for her conduct. 
 Very good. We may, or may not, differ so far. Before we 
 go farther let us, if we can, agree on one unanswerable fact. 
 Which of us two brothers was her favorite from the first?" 
 
 About that there could be no doubt. I admitted at once 
 that Nugent was her favorite. And more than this, I re- 
 membered accusing her myself of never having done justice 
 to Oscar from the first. (Note. See the sixteenth chapter, 
 and Madame Pratolungo's remark, warning you that you 
 would hear of this circumstance again. P.) 
 
 Oscar went on :
 
 376 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Bear that in mind," he said. "And now let us get to 
 the time when we were assembled in your sitting-room, to 
 discuss the subject of the operation on your eyes. The ques- 
 tion before us, as I remember it, was this. Were you to mar- 
 ry me before the operation, or were you to keep me waiting 
 until the operation had been performed, and the cure was 
 complete? How did Madame Pratolungo decide on that oc- 
 casion ? She decided against my interests ; she encouraged 
 you to delay our marriage." 
 
 I persisted in defending her. " She did that out of sym- 
 pathy with me," I said. 
 
 He surprised me by again accepting my view of the mat- 
 ter without attempting to dispute it. 
 
 "We will say she did it out of sympathy with you," he 
 proceeded. " Whatever her motives might be, the result 
 was the same. My marriage to you was indefinitely put off, 
 and Madame Pratolungo voted for that delay," 
 
 " And your brother," I added, " took the other side, and 
 tried to persuade me to marry you first. How can you rec- 
 oncile that with what you have told me " 
 
 He interposed before I could say more. "Don't bring my 
 brother into the inquiry," he said. "My brother at that 
 time could still behave like an honorable man, and sacrifice 
 his own feelings to his duty to me. Let us strictly confine 
 ourselves, for the present, to what Madame Pratolungo said 
 and did. And let us advance again to a few minutes later 
 on the same day, when our little domestic debate had ended. 
 My brother was the first to go. Then you retired, and left 
 Madame Pratolungo and me alone in the room. Do you re- 
 member ?" 
 
 I remembered perfectly. 
 
 "You had bitterly disappointed me," I said. "You had 
 shown no sympathy with my eagerness to be restored to the 
 blessing of sight. You made objections and started difficul- 
 ties. I recollect speaking to yon with some of the bitterness 
 that I felt blaming you for not believing in my future ag I 
 believed in it, and hoping as I hoped and then leaving you 
 and locking myself up in my own room." 
 
 In those terms I satisfied him that my memory of the events 
 of that day was as clear as his own. He listened without 
 making any remark, and went on when I had done.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 377 
 
 "Madame Pratolungo shared your hard opinion of me on 
 that occasion," lie proceeded ; " and expressed it in infinitely 
 stronger terms. She betrayed herself to you in the rectory 
 garden. She betrayed herself to me after you had left us to- 
 gether in the sitting-room. Her hasty temper again, beyond 
 all doubt! I quite agree with you. What she said to me 
 in your absence she would never have said if she had been 
 mistress of herself." 
 
 I began to feel a little startled. "How is it that you now 
 tell me of this for the first time?" I said. "Were you afraid 
 of distressing me?" 
 
 " I was afraid of losing you," he answered. 
 
 Hitherto I had kept my arm in his. I drew it out now. 
 If his reply meant any thing, it meant that he had once 
 thought me capable of breaking faith with him. He saw 
 that I was hurt. 
 
 " Remember," he said, " that I had unhappily offended you 
 that day, and that you have not heard yet what Madame 
 Pratolungo had the audacity to say to me under those cir- 
 cumstances." 
 
 "What did she say to you?" 
 
 "This: 'It would have been a happier prospect for Lu- 
 cilla if she had been going to marry your brother, instead of 
 marrying you.' I repeat literally : those were the words." 
 
 I could no more believe it of her than I could have believed 
 it of myself. 
 
 " Arc you really sure?" I asked him. '"''Can she have said 
 any thing so cruel to you as that?" 
 
 Instead of answering me, he took his pocket-book from the 
 breast pocket of his coat, searched in it, and produced a mor- 
 sel of folded and crumpled paper. He opened the paper, and 
 showed me some writing inside. 
 
 " Is that my writing ?" he asked. 
 
 It was his writing. I had seen enough of his letters since 
 the recovery of my sight to feel sure of that. 
 
 "Read it," he said, "and judge for yourself." 
 
 [Note. You have made your acquaintance with this let- 
 ter already, in my thirty-second chapter. I had said those 
 foolish words to Oscar (as you will find in my record of the 
 ti:r.t>), under the influence of a natural indignation, which anv
 
 378 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 other woman with a spark of spirit in her would have felt in 
 my place. Instead of personally remonstrating with me, Os- 
 car had (as usual) gone home, and written me a letter of ex- 
 postulation. Having, on my side, had time to cool, and feel- 
 ing the absurdity of our exchanging letters when we were 
 within a few minutes' walk of each other, I had gone straight 
 to Browndown on receiving the letter, first crumpling it up 
 and (as I supposed) throwing it into the fire. After person- 
 ally setting myself right with Oscar, I had returned to the 
 rectory, and had there heard that Nugent had been to see 
 me in my absence, had waited a little while alone in the sit- 
 ting-room, and had gone away again. When I tell you that 
 the letter which he was now showing to Lucilla was that 
 same letter of Oscar's, which I had (as I believed) destroyed, 
 you will understand that I had thrown it into the fender in- 
 stead of into the fire, and that I failed to see it in the fender 
 on my return simply because Nugent had seen it first, and 
 had taken it away with him. These particulars are described 
 in greater detail in the chapter to which I have referred, the 
 letter itself being there inserted at full length. However, I 
 will save you the trouble of looking back I know how you 
 hate trouble ! by transcribing literally what I find before 
 me in the Journal. The original letter is pasted on the page : 
 I will copy it from the page for the second time. Am I not 
 good to you ? What author by profession would do as much 
 for you as this? I am afraid I am praising myself! Let Lu- 
 cilla proceed. P.] 
 
 I took the letter from him, and read it. At my request, 
 he has permitted me to keep it. The letter is my justifica- 
 tion for thinking of Madame Pratolungo as I now think of 
 her. I place it here before I write another line in my Jour- 
 nal. 
 
 "MADAME PRATOLUNGO, You have distressed and pained 
 me more than I can say. There are faults, and serious ones, 
 on my side, I know. I heartily beg your pardon for any thing 
 that I may have said or done to offend you. I can not sub- 
 mit to your hard verdict on me. If you knew how I adore 
 Lucilla, you would make allowances for me you would un- 
 derstand me better than you do. I can not get your last
 
 POOR MISS FINCFI. 379 
 
 cruel words out of my cars. I can not meet you again with- 
 out some explanation of them. You stabbed me to the heart 
 when you said this evening that it would be a happier pros- 
 pect for Lucilla if she had been going to marry my brother 
 instead of marrying me. I hope you did not really mean 
 that? Will you please write and tell me whether you did 
 or not ? OSCAR." 
 
 My first proceeding after reading those lines was, of course, 
 to put my arm again in his, and to draw him as close to me 
 as close could be. My second proceeding followed in due 
 time. I asked, naturally, for Madame Pratolungo's answer 
 to that most affectionate and most touching letter. 
 
 " I have no answer to show you," he said. 
 
 " You have lost it ?" I asked. 
 
 " I never had it." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Madame Pratolungo never answered my letter." 
 
 I made him repeat that once, twice. Was it not incredi- 
 ble that such an appeal could be made to any woman not ut- 
 terly depraved, and be left unnoticed? Twice he reiterated 
 the same answer. Twice he declared on his honor that not 
 a line of reply had been returned to him. She tea,?, then, 
 utterly depraved ? No ! there was a last excuse left that 
 justice and friendship might still make for her. I made it. 
 
 "There is but one explanation of her conduct," I said. 
 " She never received the letter. Where did YOU send it 
 to?" 
 
 " To the rectory." 
 
 " Who took it ?" 
 
 "My own servant." 
 
 " He may have lost it on the way, and have been afraid to 
 tell you. Or the servant at the rectory may have forgotten 
 to deliver it." 
 
 Oscar shook his head. " Quite impossible ! I know Ma- 
 dame Pratolungo received the letter." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 "I found it crumpled up in a corner inside the fender in 
 yow sitting-room at the rectory" 
 
 " Had it been opened ?" 
 
 " It had been opened. She had received it ; she had read
 
 380 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 it ; and she had not thrown quite far enough to throw it into 
 the lire. Now, Lucillal Is Madame Pratolungo an injured 
 woman? and am I a man who has slandered her?" 
 
 There was another public seat a few paces distant from us. 
 I could stand no longer I went away by myself and sat 
 down. A dull sensation possessed me. I could neither speak 
 nor cry. There I sat in silence; slowly wringing my hands 
 in my lap, and feeling the last ties that still bound me to the 
 once-loved friend of former days falling away one after the 
 other, and leaving us parted for life. 
 
 He followed me, and stood over me he summed her up 
 in stern, quiet tones, which carried conviction into my mind, 
 and made me feel ashamed of myself for having ever regret- 
 ted her. 
 
 "Look back for the last time, Lucilla, at what this woman 
 has said and done. You will find that the idea of your mar- 
 rying Nugent is, under one form or another, always present 
 to her mind. Present alike when she forgets herself and 
 speaks in a rage, or when she reflects and acts with a pur- 
 pose. At one time she tells you that you would have fallen 
 in love with my brother if you had seen him first. At an- 
 other time she stands by while my brother is personating me 
 to you, and never interferes to stop it. On a third occasion 
 she sees that you are offended with me, and triumphs so 
 cruelly in seeing it that she tells me to my face your pros- 
 pect would have been a much happier one if you had been 
 engaged to marry my brother instead of me. She is asked 
 in writing, civilly and kindly asked, to explain what she 
 means by those abominable words. She has had time to re- 
 flect since she spoke them; and what does she do? Does 
 she answer me? No! she contemptuously tosses my letter 
 into the fire-place. Add to these plain facts what you your- 
 self have observed. Nugent has all her admiration ; Nugent 
 is her favorite: from the first she has always disliked and 
 wronged me. Add to this, again, that Nugent (as I know 
 for certain) privately confessed to her that he was himself in 
 love with you. Look at all these circumstances, and what 
 plain conclusion follows? I ask you once more Is Madame 
 Pratolungo a slandered woman? or am I right in warning 
 you to beware of her?" 
 
 What could I do but own that he was rijjht? It was due
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 381 
 
 to him and due to me to close my heart to hi r from that mo- 
 ment. Oscar sat down by me and took my hand. 
 
 " After my experience of her in the past," he went on, soft- 
 ly, "can you wonder that I dread what she may do in the 
 future? Has no such thing ever happened as the parting of 
 true lovers by treachery which has secretly undermined their 
 confidence in each other? Is Madame Pratolungo not clever 
 enough and unscrupulous enough to undermine our confi- 
 dence, and to turn against us, to the wickedest purpose, the 
 influence which she already possesses at the rectory? How 
 do we know that she is not in communication with my broth- 
 er at this moment?" 
 
 I stopped him there I could not endure it. "You have 
 seen your brother," I said. "You have told me that you 
 and he understand each other. What have you to dread 
 after that ?" 
 
 "I have to dread Madame Pratolungo's influence, and my 
 brother's infatuation for you," he answered. "The promises 
 which he lias honestly made to me are promises which I can 
 not depend on when my back is turned, and when Madame 
 Pratolungo may be with him in my absence. Something 
 under the surface is going on already ! I don't like that 
 mysterious letter, which is only to be shown to you on cer- 
 tain conditions. I don't like your father's silence. He has 
 had time to answer your letter. Has he done it? He has 
 had time to answer my postscript. Has he done it?" 
 
 Those were awkward questions. He had certainly left both 
 our letters unanswered thus far. Still, the next post might 
 bring his reply. I persisted in taking this view, and I s:iid 
 so to Oscar. He persisted just as obstinately on his side. 
 
 "Suppose we go on to the end of the week," he said, "ami 
 still no letter from your father comes for you or for me? 
 Will you admit then that his silence is suspicious?" 
 
 "I will admit that his silence shows a sad want of proper 
 consideration for you" I replied. 
 
 "And there you will stop? You won't see (what I see) 
 the influence of Madame Pratolungo making itself felt at the 
 rectory, and poisoning your father's mind against our mar- 
 riage ?" 
 
 He was pressing me rather hardly. I did my best, how- 
 ever, to tell him honestly what was passing in my mind.
 
 382 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 " I can see," I said, " that Madame Pratolungo has behaved 
 most cruelly to you. And I believe, after what you have 
 told me, that she would rejoice if I broke my engagement, 
 and married your brother. But I can not understand that 
 she is mad enough to be actually plotting to make me do it. 
 Nobody knows better than she does how faithfully I love 
 you, and how hopeless it would be to attempt to make me 
 marry another man. Would the stupidest woman living, 
 who looked at you two brothers (knowing what she knows), 
 be stupid enough to do what you suspect Madame Pratolungo 
 of doing ?" 
 
 I thought this unanswerable. He had his reply to it ready, 
 for all that. 
 
 "If you had seen more of the world, Lucilla," he said, " you 
 would know that a true love like yours is a mystery to a 
 woman like Madame Pratolungo. She doesn't believe in it 
 she doesn't understand it. She knows herself to be capable 
 of breaking any engagement, if the circumstances encouraged 
 her, and she estimates your fidelity by her knowledge of her 
 own nature. There is nothing in her experience of you, or in 
 her knowledge of my brother's disfigurement, to discourage 
 such a woman from scheming to part us. She has seen for 
 herself what you have already told me that you have got 
 over your first aversion to him. She knows that women as 
 charming as you are have over and over again married men 
 far more personally repulsive than my brother. Lucilla ! 
 something which is not to be outargued, and not to be con- 
 tradicted, tells me that her return to England will be fatal to 
 my hopes, if that return finds you and me with no closer tie 
 between us than the tie that binds us now. Are these fanci- 
 ful apprehensions unworthy of a man ? My darling, worthy 
 or not worthy, you ought to make allowances for them. 
 They are apprehensions inspired by my love for You !" 
 
 Under those circumstances, I could make every allowance 
 for him and I said so. He moved nearer to me, and put his 
 arm round me. 
 
 " Are we not engaged to each other to be man and wife ?" 
 he whispered. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Are we not both of age, and both free to do as we like?" 
 
 "Yes."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 383 
 
 '' Would you relieve me from the anxieties under whicb I 
 srn suffering if you could ?" 
 
 "You know I would !" . 
 
 "You can relieve me." 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 "By giving me a husband's claim to you, Lucilla by con- 
 senting to marry me in London in a fortnight's time." 
 
 I started back and looked at him in amazement. For the 
 moment I was incapable of answering in any other way than 
 that. 
 
 " I ask you to do nothing unworthy of you," he said. " I 
 have spoken to a relative of mine living near London a 
 married lady whose house is open to you in the interval be- 
 fore our wedding-day. In a fortnight from the time when I 
 get the License we can be married. Write home by all 
 means to prevent them from feeling anxious about you. Tell 
 them that you are safe and happy, and under responsible and 
 respectable care but say no more. As long as it is possible 
 for Madame Pratolungo to make mischief between us, con- 
 ceal the place in which you are living. The instant we are 
 married, reveal every thing. Let all your friends, let all the 
 world, know that we are man and wife !" 
 
 His arm trembled round me; his face flushed deep; his 
 eyes devoured me. Some women, in my place, might have 
 been offended ; others might have been flattered. As for me 
 I can trust the secret to these pages I was frightened. 
 
 "Is it an elopement that you are proposing to me?" I 
 asked. 
 
 "An elopement !" he repeated: "between two engaged 
 people who have only themselves to think of!" 
 
 " I have my father to think of, and my aunt to think of," I 
 said. "You arc proposing to me to run away from them, 
 and to keep in hiding from them." 
 
 "I am asking you to pay a fortnight's visit at the house 
 of a married lady, and to keep the knowledge of that visit 
 from the ears of the worst enemy you have until you have 
 become my wife," he answered. " Is there any thing so very 
 terrible in my request that you should turn pale at it, and 
 look at me in that frightened way ? Have I not courted you 
 with your father's consent? Am I not your promised hus- 
 band? Are we not free to decide for ourselves? Thero is
 
 384 POOK MISS FLXCH. 
 
 literally no reason if it could be done why we should not 
 be married to-morro\v. And you still hesitate? Lucind! 
 Lucilla ! you force me to own the doubt that has made me 
 miserable ever since I have been here. Are you indeed as 
 changed toward me as you seem? Do you really no longer 
 love me as you once loved me in the days that are gone?" 
 
 He rose and walked away a few paces, leaning over tne 
 parapet with his head in his hands. 
 
 I sat alone, not knowing what to say or do. The uneasy 
 sense in me that he had reason to complain of my treating 
 him coldly was not to be dismissed from my mind by any 
 effort that I could make. He had no right to expect me to 
 take the step which he had proposed there were objections 
 to it which any woman would have felt in my place. Still, 
 though I was satisfied of this, there was an obstinate some- 
 thing in me which would take his part. It could not have 
 been my conscience surely which said to me, " There was a 
 time when his entreaties would have prevailed on you ; there 
 was a time when you would not have hesitated as you are 
 hesitating now ?" 
 
 Whatever the influence was, it moved me to rise from my 
 seat, and join him at the parapet. 
 
 "You can not expect me to decide on such a serious mat- 
 ter as this at once," I said. " Will you give me a little time 
 to think?" 
 
 " You are your own mistress," he rejoined, bitterly. " Why 
 ask me to give you time? You take any time you please; 
 you can do as you like." 
 
 " Give me till the end of the week," I went on. " Let me 
 be sure that my father persists in not answering cither your 
 letter or mine. Though I am my own mistress, nothing bitt 
 his silence can justify me in going away secretly, and being 
 married to you by a stranger. Don't press me, Oscar. It 
 isn't very long to the end of the week." 
 
 Something seemed to startle him something in my voice 
 perhaps which told him that I was really distressed. He 
 looked round at me quickly, and caught me with the tears 
 in my eyes. 
 
 "Don't cry, for God's sake!" he said. " It shall be as you 
 wish. Take your time. We will say no more about it till 
 tiie end of the week."
 
 FOOK MISS FINCH. 387 
 
 He kissed me in a hurried, startled way, and gave me his 
 arm to walk back. 
 
 "Grosse is coming to-day," he continued. "He mustn't 
 see you looking as you are looking now. You must rest and 
 compose yourself. Come homo." 
 
 I went back with him, feeling oh, so sad and sore at heart! 
 My last faint hope of a renewal of my once pleasant intimacy 
 with Madame Pratolungo was at an end. She stood revealed 
 to me now as a woman whom I ought never to have known 
 a woman 'with whom I could never aniin exchange a friend- 
 
 o o 
 
 ly word. I had lost the companion with whom I had once 
 been so happy and I had pained and disappointed Oscar. 
 My life has never looked so wretched and so worthless to me 
 as it looked to-day on the pier at Ilamsgate. 
 
 He left me at the door, with a gentle, encouraging pressure 
 of my hand. 
 
 "1 will call again, later," lie said, "and hear what Grosse's 
 report of you is, before lie goes back to London. Rest, Lu- 
 cilla rest and compose yourself." 
 
 A heavy footstep sounded suddenly behind us as he spoke. 
 We both turned round. Time had slipped by more rapidly 
 than we had thought. There stood Herr Grossc, just arrived 
 on foot from the railway station. 
 
 His first look at me seemed to startle and disappoint him. 
 His eyes stared into mine through his spectacles, with an 
 expression of surprise and anxiety which I had never seen in 
 them before. Then he turned his head, and looked at Oscar 
 with a sudden change a change unpleasantly suggestive (to 
 my fancy) of auger or distrust. Not a word fell from his lips. 
 Oscar was left to break the awkward silence. He spoke to 
 Grosse. 
 
 "I won't disturb you and your patient now," lie said. "I 
 will come back in an hour's time." 
 
 "No! you will come in along with me, if you please. I 
 have something, my young gentlemans, that I may want to 
 say to you." He spoke with a frown on his bushy eye- 
 brows, and pointed in a very peremptory manner to the 
 house door. 
 
 Oscar rang the bell. At the same moment my aunt, hear- 
 ing us outside, appeared on the balcony above the door. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mr. Grosse," she said. "I hope you find
 
 388 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Lucilla looking her best. Only yesterday I expressed my 
 opinion that she was quite well again." 
 
 Grosse took off his hat sulkily to my aunt, and looked 
 back again at me looked so hard and so long that he began 
 to confuse me. 
 
 "Your aunt's opinions is not my opinions," lie growled, 
 close at my ear. " I don't like the looks of you, miss. Go in !" 
 
 The servant was waiting for us at the open door. I went 
 in without making any answer. Grosse waited to see Oscar 
 enter the house before him. Oscar's face darkened as he 
 joined me in the hall. He looked half angry, half confused. 
 Grosse pushed himself roughly between us, and gave me his 
 arm. I went up stairs with him, wondering what it all meant. 
 
 CHAPTER TPIE FORTY-FIFTH. 
 
 LUCILLA'S JOURNAL, CONCLUDED. 
 
 /September 4 (continued). Arrived in the drawing-room, 
 Grosse placed me in a chair near the window. He leaned 
 forward, and looked at me close ; he drew back, and looked 
 at me from a distance ; he took out his mngnifying-glass, and 
 had a long stare through it at my eyes; he felt my pulse, 
 dropped my wrist as if it disgusted him, and, turning to the 
 window, looked out in grim silence, without taking the slight- 
 est notice of any one in the room. 
 
 My ' ant was the first person who spoke, under these dis- 
 couraging circumstances. 
 
 "Mr. Grosse!" she said, sharply. "Have you nothing to 
 tell me about your patient to-day? Do you find Lucilla 
 
 He turned suddenly round from the window, and inter- 
 rupted Miss Batchford without the slightest ceremony. 
 
 "I find her gone back, back, back!" he growled, getting 
 louder and louder at each repetition of the word. "When I 
 sent her here, I said 'Keep her comfortable-easy.' You 
 have not kept her- comfortable-easy. Something has turned 
 her poor little mind topsy-turvies. What is it ? Who is it ?" 
 He looked fiercely backward and forward between Oscar and 
 my aunt then turned my way, and putting his heavy hands 
 on my shoulders, looked down at me with an odd angry kind 
 of pity in his "face. "My childs is melancholic; my childs is
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 389 
 
 ill," lie went on. "Where is our goot-dear Pratolungo? 
 What did you tell me about her, my little-lofe, when I last 
 saw you? You said she had gone aways to see her Papa. 
 Send a telegrams and say I want Pratolungo here." 
 
 At the repetition of Madame Pratolungo's name Miss Hatch- 
 ford rose to her feet, and stood (apparently) several inches 
 higher than usual. 
 
 "Am I to understand, Sir," inquired the old lady, "that 
 your extraordinary language is intended to cast a reproach 
 on my conduct toward my niece?" 
 
 "You are to understand this, madam. In the face of the 
 goot sea airs, miss your niece is fretting herself ill. I sent 
 her to this place for to get a rosy face, for to put on a firm 
 flesh. How do I find her? She has got nothing, she has put 
 on nothing she is emphatically flabby-pale. In this fine 
 airs, she can be flabby-pale but for one reason. She is fret- 
 ting herself about something or anodder. Is fretting herself 
 goot for her eyes? Ho-damn-damn ! it is as bad for her eyes 
 as bad can be. If you can do no better than this, take her 
 aways back again. You are wasting your moneys in this 
 lodgment here." 
 
 My aunt addressed herself to me in her grandest manner. 
 
 "You will understand, Lucilla, that it is impossible for me 
 to notice such language as this in any other way than by 
 leaving the room. If you can bring Mr. Grosse to his senses, 
 inform him that I will receive his apologies and explanations 
 in writing." Pronouncing these lofty words with her sever- 
 est emphasis, Miss Batchford rose another inch, and sailed 
 majestically out of the room. 
 
 Grosse took no notice of the offended lady : he only put his 
 hands in his pockets, and looked out of window once more. 
 As the door closed, Oscar left the corner in which he had 
 seated himself, not overgraciously, when we entered the room. 
 
 " Am I wanted here ?" he asked. 
 
 Grosse was on the point of answering the question even 
 less amiably than it had been put when I stopped him by a 
 look. "I want to speak to you," I whispered in his ear. He 
 nodded, and, turning sharply to Oscar, put this question to 
 him : 
 
 "Are you living in the house?" 
 
 "I am staying at the hotel at the corner."
 
 390 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 "Go to the hotel, and wait there till I come to you." 
 
 Greatly to ray surprise, Oscar submitted to be treated in 
 this peremptory manner. He took his leave of me silent- 
 ly, and left the room. Grosse drew a chair close to mine, 
 and sat down by me in a comforting, confidential, fatherly 
 way. 
 
 "Now, my goot-girls," he said. "What have you been 
 fretting yourself about since I was last in this house? Open 
 it all, if you please, to Papa Grosse. Come-begin-begin !" 
 
 I suppose he had exhausted his ill-temper on my aunt and 
 Oscar. He said those words more than kindly almost ten- 
 derly. His fierce eyes seemed to soften behind his specta- 
 cles : lie took my hand and patted it to encourage me. 
 
 There are some things written in these pages of mine which 
 it was, of course, impossible for me to confide to him. With 
 those necessary reservations and without entering on the 
 painful subject of my altered relations with Madame Prato- 
 lungo I owned quite frankly how sadly changed I felt my- 
 self to be toward Oscar, and how much less happy I was with 
 him, in consequence of the change. "I am not ill as you sup- 
 pose," I explained. "I am only disappointed in myself, and 
 a little downhearted when I think of the future." Having 
 opened it to him in this way, I thought it time to put the 
 question which I had determined to ask when I next saw 
 him. 
 
 "The restoration of my sight," I said, "has made a new 
 being of me. In gaining the sense of seeing, have I lost the 
 sense of feeling which 1 had when I was blind? I want to 
 
 O 
 
 know if it will come back when I have got used to the nov- 
 elty of my position? I want to know if I shall ever enjoy 
 Oscar's society again, as I used to enjoy it in the old days 
 before you cured me the happy days, Papa Grosae, when I 
 was an object of pity, and when all the people spoke of rne 
 as Poor Miss Finch ?" 
 
 I had more to say but at this place, Grosse (without mean- 
 ing it, I am sure) suddenly stopped me. To my amazement, 
 he let go of my hand, and turned his face away sharply, 
 as if he resented my looking at him. His big head sank 
 on his breast. He lifted his great hairy hands, shook them 
 mournfully, and let them fall on his knees. This strange be- 
 havior, and the still stranger silence which accompanied it,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 391 
 
 made me so uneasy that I insisted on his explaining himself. 
 "What is the matter with you?" I said. "Why don't you 
 answer me ?" 
 
 He roused himself with a start, and put his arm round me 
 with a wonderful gentleness for a man who was so rough at 
 other times. 
 
 " It is nothing, my pretly lofe," he said. " I am out of sort, 
 as you call it. Your English climate sometimes gives your 
 English blue-devil to foreign mens like me. I have got him 
 now an English blue-devil in a German inside. Soh ! I 
 shall go and walk him out, and come back empty-cheerful, 
 and see you again." He rose, after this curious explanation, 
 and attempted some sort of answer a very odd one to tho 
 question which I had asked of him. "As to that odder thing," 
 he went on, " yes-indeed-yes. You have hit your nail on his 
 head. It is, as you say, your seeings which has got in the 
 way of your feelings. When your seeings-feelings has got 
 used to one anodder, your seeings will stay where he is, your 
 feelings will come back to where they was; one will balance 
 the odder; you will feel as you did; you will see as you 
 didn't, all at the same times, all jolly-nice again as before. 
 You have my opinions. Now let me walk out my blue-devil. 
 I swear to come back again with a new inside. By-by-my- 
 Feench-good-by." 
 
 Saying all this in a violent hurry, as if he was eager to get 
 away, he gave me a kiss on the forehead, snatched up his 
 shabby hat, and ran out of the room. 
 
 What did it mean? 
 
 Does he persist in thinking me seriously ill ? I am too 
 weary to puzzle my brains in the effort to understand my 
 dear old surgeon. It is one o'clock in the morning ; and I 
 have still to write the story of all that happened later in the 
 day. My eyes arc beginning to ache ; and, strange to say, I 
 have hardly been able to see the last two or three lines I 
 have written. They look as if the ink was fading from them. 
 If Grosse knew what I am about at this moment! His last 
 words to me, when he went back to his patients in London, 
 were: "No more readings! no more writings till I come 
 again !" It is all very well to talk in that way. I have got 
 so used to my Journal that I can't do without it. Neverthe- 
 less I must stop now for the best of reasons. Though I
 
 392 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 have got three lighted candles on my table, I really can not 
 see to write any more. 
 To bed ! to bed ! 
 
 [Note. I have purposely abstained from interrupting Lu- 
 cilla's Journal until my extracts from it reached this place. 
 Here the writer pauses and gives me a chance, and here there 
 are matters that must be mentioned of which she had person- 
 ally no knowledge at the time. 
 
 You have seen how her faithful instinct still tries to re- 
 veal to my poor darling the cruel deception that is being 
 practiced on her, and still tries in vain. In spite of herself 
 she shrinks from the man who is tempting her to go away 
 with him, though he pleads in the character of her betrothed 
 husband. In spite of herself she detects the weak places in 
 the case which Nugent has made out against me the ab- 
 sence of sufficient motive for the conduct of which he accuses 
 me, and the utter improbability of my plotting and intriguing 
 (without any thing to gain by it) to make her marry the man 
 who was not the man of her choice. She feels these hesita- 
 tions and difficulties. But what they really signify it is mor- 
 ally impossible for her to guess. 
 
 Thus far, no doubt, her strange and touching position has 
 been plainly revealed to you. But can I feel quite so sure 
 that you understand how seriously she has been affected by 
 the anxiety, disappointment, and suspense which have com- 
 bined together to torture her at this critical interval in her 
 life. 
 
 I doubt it, for the sufficient reason that you have only had 
 her Journal to enlighten you, and that her Journal shows she 
 does not understand it herself. As things are, it seems to be 
 time for me to step on the stage, and to discover to you 
 plainly what her surgeon really thought of her by telling 
 you what passed between Grosse and Nugent when the Ger- 
 man presented himself at the hotel. 
 
 I am writing now (as a matter of course) from information 
 given to me, at an after-period, by the persons themselves. 
 As to particulars, the accounts vary. As to results, they 
 both agree. 
 
 The discovery that Nugent was at Ramsgate necessarily 
 took Grosse by surprise. With his previous knowledge,
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 393 
 
 however, of the situation of affairs at Dimchurch, he could be 
 at no loss to understand in what character Nugent had pre- 
 sented himself to Lucilla ; and he could certainly not fail to 
 understand after what he had seen and what she had her- 
 self told him that the deception was, under present circum- 
 stances, producing the worst possible effect on her mind. 
 Arriving at this conclusion, he was not a man to hesitate 
 about the duty that lay before him. When he entered the 
 room at the hotel in which Nugent was waiting for him, he 
 announced the object of his visit in these four plain words, 
 as follows : 
 
 " Pack up and go !" 
 
 Nugent coolly offered him a chair, and asked what he 
 meant. 
 
 Grosse refused the chair, but consented to explain himself 
 in terms variously reported by the two parties. Combining 
 the statements, and translating Grosse (in this grave matter) 
 into plain English, I find that the German must have ex- 
 pressed himself in these or nearly in these words: 
 
 "As a professional man, Mr. Nugent, I invariably refuse to 
 enter into domestic considerations connected with my pa- 
 tients with which I have nothing to do. In the case of Miss 
 Finch, my business is not with your family complications. 
 My business is to secure the recovery of the young lady's 
 sight. If I find her health improving, I don't inquire how or 
 why. No matter what private and personal frauds you may 
 be practicing upon her, I have nothing to say to them 
 more, I am ready to take advantage of them myself so long 
 as their influence is directly beneficial in keeping her moral- 
 ly and physically in the condition in which I wish her to be. 
 But the instant I discover that this domestic conspiracy of 
 yours this personation of your brother, which once quieted 
 and comforted her is unfavorably affecting her health of 
 body and peace of mind, I interfere between you in the 
 character of her medical attendant, and stop it on medical 
 grounds. You are producing in my patient a conflict of feel- 
 ing which, in a nervous temperament like hers, can not go on 
 without serious injury to her health. And serious injury to 
 her health means serious injury to her eyes. I won't have 
 that I tell you plainly to pack up and go I meddle witli 
 nothing else. After what you have yourself seen, I leave 
 
 "it 2
 
 394 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 you to decide whether you will restore your brother to Miss 
 Finch or not. All I say is, Go. Make any excuse you like, 
 but go before you have done more mischief. You shake your 
 head ! Is that a sign that you refuse ? Take a day to think 
 before you make up your mind. I have patients in London 
 to whom I am obliged to go back. But the day after to- 
 morrow I shall return to Ramsgate. If I find you still here, 
 I shall tell Miss Finch you are no more Oscar Dubourg than 
 I am. In her present state, I see less danger in giving her 
 even that serious shock than in leaving her to the slow tor- 
 ment of mind which you are inflicting by your continued 
 presence in this place. My last word is said. I go back by 
 the next train in an hour's time. Good morning, Mr. Nu- 
 gent. If you are a wise man, you will meet me at the sta- 
 tion." 
 
 After this the accounts vary. Nugent's statement asserts 
 that he accompanied Grosse on his way back to Miss Batch- 
 ford's lodging, arguing the matter with him, and only leav- 
 ing him at the door of the house. Grosse's statement, on the 
 other hand, makes no allusion to this. The disagreement be- 
 tween them is, however, of no consequence here. It is ad- 
 mitted, on either side, that the result of the interview was 
 the same. When Grosse took the train for London, Nugent 
 Dubourg was not at the station. The next entry in the Jour- 
 nal shows that he remained that day and night, at least, at 
 Ramsgate. 
 
 You now know, from the narrative of the surgeon's own 
 proceedings, how seriously he thought of his patient's case, 
 and how firmly he did his duty as an honorable man. Having 
 given you this necessary information, I again retire, and 
 leave Lucilla to take up the next link in the chain of events. 
 
 -P.] 
 
 September 5. Six o'clock in the morning. A few hours of 
 restless, broken sleep, disturbed by horrid dreams, and wak- 
 ing over and over again with starlings that seemed to shrfke 
 me from head to foot. I can bear it no longer. The sun is 
 rising. I have got up and here I am at the writing-table, 
 trying to finish the long story of yesterday, still uncompleted 
 in my Journal. 
 
 I have just been looking at tho view f.-om my window, and
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 395 
 
 I notice one thing which has struck me. The mist this morn- 
 ing is the thickest mist I have yet seen here. 
 
 The sea view is almost invisible, it is so dim and dull. 
 Even the objects about me in my room are nothing like so 
 plain as usual. The mist is stealing in, no doubt, through 
 my open window. It gets between me and my paper, and 
 obliges me to bend down close over the page to see what I 
 am about. When the sun is higher, things will be clear 
 
 o * o 
 
 a^ain. In the mean time I must do as well as I can. 
 
 
 
 Grosse came back after his walk as mysterious as ever. 
 
 He was quite peremptory in ordering me not to overtask 
 my eyes forbidding reading and writing, as I have already 
 mentioned. But when I asked for his reasons, he had, for the 
 first time in my experience of him, no reasons to give. I 
 have the less scruple about disobeying him on that account. 
 Still I am a little uneasy, I confess, when I think of his 
 strange behavior yesterday. He looked at me, in the oddest 
 way, as if he saw something in my face which he had never 
 seen before. Twice he took his leave, and twice he return- 
 ed, doubtful whether he would not remain at Ramsgate, and 
 let his patients in London take care of themselves. His ex- 
 traordinary indecision was put an end to at last by the arriv- 
 al of a telegram which had followed him from London an 
 urgent message, I suppose, from one of the patients. He 
 went away in a bad temper and a violent hurry, and told 
 me, at the door, to expect him back on the sixth. 
 
 When Oscar came, later, there was another surprise for me. 
 
 Like Grosse, he was not himself he too behaved strangely! 
 First, he was so cold and so silent that I thought he was of- 
 fended. Then he went straight to the other extreme, and 
 became so loudly talkative, so obstreperously cheerful, that 
 my aunt asked me privately whether I did not suspect (as 
 she did) that he had been taking too much wine. It ended 
 in his trying to sing to my accompaniment on the piano, 
 and in his breaking down. He walked away to the other end 
 of the room without explanation or apology. When I fol- 
 lowed him there, a little while after, he had a look that in- 
 describably distressed me a look as if he had been crying. 
 Toward the end of the evening my aunt fell asleep over her 
 book, and gave us a chance of speaking to each other in a 
 little second room which opens out of the drawing-room in
 
 396 POOR MISS FIXCII. 
 
 this house. It was I who took the chance not he. He was 
 so incomprehensibly unwilling to go into the room and speak 
 to me that I had to do a very unladylike thing : I mean that 
 I had to take his arm and lead him in myself, and entreat 
 him (in a whisper) to tell me what was the matter with him. 
 
 " Only the old complaint," he answered. 
 
 I made him sit down by me on a little old-fashioned couch 
 that just held two. 
 
 " What do you mean by the old complaint ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh ! you know !" 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " You would know if you really loved me." 
 
 " Oscar ! it is a shame to say that. " It is a shame to doubt 
 that I love you !" 
 
 " Is it ? Ever since I have been here I have doubted that 
 you love me. It is getting to be an old complaint of mine 
 now. I still suffer a little sometimes. Don't notice it !" 
 
 He was so cruel and so unjust that I got up to leave him 
 without saying a word more. But, oh ! he looked so forlorn 
 and so submissive sitting with his head down, and his 
 hands crossed listlessly over his knees that I could not find 
 it in my heart to treat him harshly. Was I wrong ? I don't 
 know ! I have no idea how to manage men and no Madame 
 Pratolungo now to teach me. Right or wrong, it ended in my 
 .sitting down by him again in the place which I had just left. 
 
 "You ought to beg my pardon," I said, "for thinking of 
 me as you think, and talking to me as you talk." 
 
 "I do beg your pardon," he answered, humbly. "I am 
 sorry if I have offended you." 
 
 How could I resist that ? I put my hand on his shoulder, 
 and tried to make him lift up his head and look at me. 
 
 "You will always believe in me in the future?" I went 
 on. " Promise me that." 
 
 " I can promise to try, Lucilla. As things are now, I can 
 promise no more." 
 
 " As things are now ? You are speaking in riddles to- 
 night. Explain yourself." 
 
 " I explained myself this morning on the pier." 
 
 Surely this was hard on me after he had promised to 
 give me till the end of the week to consider his proposal ! 
 I took mv hand off his shoulder. He, who never used to dis-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. .197 
 
 please or disappoint me when I was blind, had displeased 
 and disappointed me for the second time in a few minutes ! 
 
 " Do you wish to force me ?" I asked. " After telling 
 me this morning that you would give me time to reflect?" 
 
 lie rose, on his side, languidly and mechanically, like a 
 man who neither knew nor cared what he was doing. 
 
 ." Force you ?" he repeated. '' Did I say that ? I don't 
 know what I am talking about ; I don't know what I am tim- 
 ing. You are right and I am wronjr. I am a miserable 
 
 o o o 
 
 wretch, Lucilla I am utterly unworthy of you. It would be 
 better for you if you never saw me again !" He paused, and, 
 taking me by both hands, looked earnestly and sadly into my 
 face. " Good-night, my dear !" he said, and suddenly drop- 
 ped my hands, and turned away to go out. 
 
 I stopped him. " Going already ?" I said. " It is not 
 Kite yet," 
 
 " It is best for me to go." 
 
 " Why ?" 
 
 " I am in wretched spirits. It is better for me to be by 
 myself." 
 
 " Don't say that ! It sounds like a reproach to me." 
 
 " On the contrary, it is all my fault. Good-night !" 
 
 I refused to say good-night ; I refused to let him go. His 
 wanting to go was in itself a reproach to me. He had nev- 
 er done it before. I asked him to sit down again. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " For ten minutes !" 
 
 He shook his head again. 
 
 " For five minutes !" 
 
 Instead of answering, he gently lifted a long lock of my 
 hair which hung at the side of my neck. . (My head, I should 
 add, had been dressed that evening on the old-fashioned plan 
 by my aunt's maid to please my aunt.) 
 
 " If I stay five minutes longer," he said, " I shall ask for 
 something." 
 
 " For what ?" 
 
 " You have beautiful hair, Lucilla." 
 
 " You can't want a lock of my hair, surely ?" 
 
 " Why not ?" 
 
 "I gave you a keepsake of that sort ages ago. Have 
 you forgotten it ?"
 
 398 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 [Note. The keepsake had of course been given to the true 
 Oscar, and was then, as it is now, still in his possession. No- 
 tice, when he recovers himself, how quickly the false Oscar 
 infers this, and how cleverly he founds his excuse upon it. 
 
 -P.] 
 
 His face flushed deep, his eyes dropped before mine. I 
 could see that he was ashamed of himself ; I could only con- 
 clude that he had forgotten it ! A morsel of his hair was, at 
 that moment, in a locket which I wore round my neck. I 
 had more reason, I think, to doubt him than he had to doubt 
 me. I was so mortified that I stepped aside, and made way 
 for him to go out. 
 
 " You wish to go away," I said ; " I won't keep you any 
 longer." 
 
 It was his turn now to plead with me. 
 
 " Suppose I have been deprived of your keepsake ?" lie 
 said. " Suppose somebody whom I would rather not men- 
 tion has taken it away from me ?" 
 
 I instantly understood him. His miserable brother had 
 taken it. My work-basket was close by. I cut off a lock of 
 my hair, and tied it at each end with a morsel of my favorite 
 light blue ribbon. 
 
 " Are we friends again, Oscar ?" was all I said as I put it 
 into his hand. 
 
 He caught me in his arms in a kind of frenzy holding me 
 to him so violently that lie hurt me ; kissing me so fierce- 
 ly that he frightened me. Before I had recovered breath 
 enough to speak to him he had released me, and had gone 
 out in such headlong haste that he knocked down a little 
 round table with books on it, and awoke my aunt. 
 
 The old lady called for me in her most formidable voice, 
 and showed me the family temper in its sourest aspect. 
 Grosse had gone back to London without making any apolo- 
 gy to her, and Oscar had knocked down her books. The in- 
 dignation aroused by these two outrages called loudly for a 
 victim and (no else being near at the moment) selected Me. 
 Miss Batchford discovered for the first time that she had un- 
 dertaken too much in undertaking to take the sole oharp' of 
 her niece at Ramsgate. 
 
 "I decline to assume the entire responsibility," said my
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 399 
 
 aunt. " At my age, the entire responsibility is too much for 
 me. I shall write to your father, Lucillu. I always did, and 
 always shall, detest him, as you know. His views on politics 
 and religion are (in a clergyman) simply detestable. JStill he 
 is your lather; and it is a duty on my part, after what that 
 rude foreigner has said about your health, to offer to restore 
 you to your father's roof- or, at least, to obtain your father's 
 sanction to your continuing to remain under my care. This 
 course, in either case, you will observe, relieves me from the 
 entire responsibility." I am doing nothing to compromise 
 my position. My position is quite plain to me. I should have 
 formally accepted your father's hospitality on the occasion 
 of your wedding, if I had been well enough, and if the wed- 
 ding had taken place. It follows as a matter of course that 
 I may formally report to your father what the medical opin- 
 ion is of your health. However brutally it may have been 
 given, it is a medical opinion and as such I am bound to 
 communicate it." 
 
 Knowing but too well how bitterly my aunt's aversion to 
 him is reciprocated by my father, I did my best to combat 
 Miss Batchford's resolution, without making matters worse 
 by telling her what my motives really were. With some 
 difficulty I prevailed on her to defer the proposed report 
 of me for a day or two and we parted for the night (the 
 old lady's fits of temper are soon over) as good friends 38 
 usual. 
 
 This little episode in the history of the evening diverted 
 my mind for the time from Oscar's strange conduct yester- 
 day evening. But once up here by myself in my own room, 
 I have been thinking of it, or dreaming of it (such horrid 
 dreams ! I can not write them down !), almost incessantly 
 from that time to this. When we meet again to-day, how 
 will lie look ? what will he say ? 
 
 He was right yesterday. I am cold to him ; there is 
 some change in me toward him which I don't understand. my- 
 self. My conscience accuses me now T am alone and Vet, 
 God knows, it is not my fault. Poor Oscar ! Poor Me ! 
 
 I have never longed to see him, since we met at this place, 
 as I long now. He sometimes comes to breakfast. Will he 
 come to breakfast to-day ? 
 
 Oh, how my eyes ache ! and how obstinately the mist
 
 400 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 stops in the room ! Suppose I close the window, and gc 
 back to bed again for a little while? 
 
 Nine o'clock. The maid came in half an hour since and 
 awoke me. She went to open the window as usual. I stop- 
 ped her. 
 
 " Is the mist gone ?" I asked. 
 
 The girl started. " What mist, miss ?" 
 
 " Haven't you seen it ?" 
 
 " No. miss." 
 
 " What time did you get up ?" 
 
 " At seven, miss." 
 
 At seven I was still writing in my Journal, and the mist 
 was still over every thing in the room. Persons in the low- 
 er ranks of life are curiously unobservant of the aspects of 
 Nature. I never (in the days of my blindness) got any in- 
 formation from servants or laborers about the views round 
 Dimchurch. They seemed to have no eyes for any thing 
 beyond the range of the kitchen or the plowed field. I 
 got out of bed, and took the maid myself to the window, and 
 opened it. 
 
 " There !" I said. " It is not quite so thick as it was some 
 hours since. But there is the mist as plain as can be !" 
 
 The girl looked backward and forward in a state of be- 
 wilderment between me and the view. 
 
 "Mist?" she repeated. " Begging your pardon, miss, it's 
 a beautiful clear morning as I see it." 
 
 " Clear ?" I repeated, on my side. 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me it's clear over the sea ?" 
 
 " The sea is a beautiful blue, miss. Far and near you can 
 see the ships." 
 
 " Where are the ships ?" 
 
 She pointed out of the window to a certain spot. 
 
 " There are two of them, miss. A big ship with three 
 masts. And a little ship, just behind, with one." 
 
 I looked along her finger, and strained my eyes to see. 
 All I could make out was a dim, grayish mist, with something 
 like a little spot or blur on it at the place which the maid's 
 finger indicated as the position occupied by the two ships. 
 
 The Klea struck me for the first time that the dimness 
 which I had attributed to the mist was,in plain truth, t IK: dim-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 401 
 
 ness in my own eyes. For the moment I was a little start- 
 led. I left the window, and made the best excuse that I 
 could to the girl. As soon as it was possible to dismiss her 
 I sent her away, and bathed my eyes with one of Grosse's 
 lotions, and then tried them again in writing this entry. To 
 my relief, I can see to write better than I did earlier in the 
 morning. Still I have had a warning to pay a little more 
 attention to Grosse's directions than I have hitherto done. 
 Is it possible that he saw something in the state of my eyes 
 which he was afraid to tell me of? Nonsense ! Grosse is 
 not the sort of man who shrinks from speaking out. I have 
 fatigued my eyes that is all. Let me shut up my book, and 
 go down stairs to breakfast. 
 
 Ten o'clock. For a moment I open my Journal. 
 
 Something has happened which I must positively set down 
 in this history of my life. I am so vexed and so angry ! 
 The maid (wretched, chattering fool) has told my aunt what 
 passed between us this morning at my window. Miss Batch- 
 ford has taken the alarm, and has insisted on writing not only 
 to Grosse, but to my father. In the present irnbittered 
 state of my father's feeling against my aunt, he will either 
 leave her letter unanswered, or he will often d her by an an- 
 gry reply. In either case I shall be the sutferer: my aunt's 
 sense of injury which can not address itself to my father 
 will find a convenient object to assail in me. I shall never 
 hear the last of it. Being already nervous and dispirited, 
 the prospect of finding myself involved in a new family quar- 
 rel quite daunts me. I feel ungratefully inclined to run away 
 from Miss Batchford when I think of it ! 
 
 No signs of Oscar ; and no news of Oscar yet. 
 
 Ttcclue o'clock. But one trial more was wanted to make 
 my life here quite unendurable. The trial has come. 
 
 A letter from Oscar (sent by messenger from his hotel) has 
 just been placed in my hands. It informs me that he has 
 decided on leaving Kamsgate by the next train. The next 
 train starts in forty minutes. Good God ! what am I to do? 
 
 My eyes are burning. I know it does them harm to cry. 
 How can I help crying? It is all over between us if I let 
 Oscar go away alone his letter as good as tells me so. Oh, 
 why have I behaved so coldly to him? I ought to make any 
 sacrifice of my own feelings, to atone for it. And yet there
 
 402 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 is an obstinate something in me that shrinks. What am I 
 to do? what am I to do? 
 
 I must drop the pen. and try if I can think. My eyes com- 
 pletely fail me. I can write no more. 
 
 [Note. I copy the letter to which Lucilla refers. 
 Nugent's own assertion is that he wrote it in a moment of 
 
 o 
 
 remorse, to give her an opportunity of breaking the engage- 
 ment by which she innocently supposed herself to be held to- 
 him. He declared that he honestly believed the letter would 
 offend her when he wrote it. The other interpretation of the 
 document is that, finding himself obliged to leave Ramsajate 
 
 7 O O O 
 
 under penalty (if he remained) of being exposed by Grosse 
 as an impostor when the surgeon visited his patient on the 
 next day Nugent seized the opportunity of making his 
 absence the means of working on Lucillu's feelings so as to 
 persuade her to accompany him to London. Don't ask me 
 which of these two conclusions I favor. For reasons which 
 you will understand when you have come to the end of my 
 narrative, I would rather not express my opinion either one 
 way or the other. 
 
 Read the letter, and decide for yourselves : 
 
 "My DARLING, After a sleepless night I have decided on 
 leaving Ramsgate by the next train that starts after you re- 
 ceive these lines. Last night's experience has satisfied me 
 that my presence here (after what I said to you on the pier) 
 only distresses you. Some influence that is too strong for 
 you to resist has changed your heart toward me. When the 
 time comes for you to determine whether you will be my 
 wife on the conditions that I have proposed, I see but too 
 plainly that you will say No. Let me make it less hard for 
 you, my love, to. do that by leaving you to write the word, 
 instead of saying it to me. If you wish for your freedom, 
 cost me what it may, I will absolve you from your engage- 
 ment. I love you too dearly to blame you. My address in 
 London is on the other leaf. Farewell ! OSCAR." 
 
 The address given on the blank leaf is at a hotel. 
 A few lines more in the Journal follow the lines last quoted 
 in this place. Except a word or two here and there, it is im-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 403 
 
 possible any longer to decipher the writing. The mischief 
 done to her eyes by her reckless use of them, by her fits of 
 crying, by her disturbed nights, by the long-continued strain 
 on her of agitation and suspense, has evidently justified the 
 worst of those unacknowledged forebodings which Grouse felt 
 when he saw her. The last lines of the Journal are, as writ- 
 ing, actually inferior to her worst writing in the days when 
 she was blind. 
 
 However, the course which she ended in taking on receipt 
 of the letter which you have just read is sufficiently indicated 
 by a note of Nugent's writing, left at Miss Batchford's resi- 
 dence at Ramsgate by a porter from the railway. After- 
 events make it necessary to preserve this note also. It runs 
 thus: 
 
 "MADAM, I write, by Lucilla's wish, to beg that you will 
 not be anxious on discovering that your niece has left Rams- 
 gate. She accompanies me, at my express request, to the 
 house of a married lady who is a relative of mine, and under 
 whose care she will remain until the time arrives for our 
 marriage. The reasons which have led to her taking this 
 step, and which oblige 1 her to keep her new place of residence 
 concealed for the present, will be frankly stated to you and 
 to her father on the day when we are man and wife. In the 
 mean time Lucilla begs that you will excuse her abrupt de- 
 parture, and that you will be so good as to send this letter 
 on to her father. Both you and he will, I hope, remember 
 that she is of an age to act for herself, and that she is only 
 hastening her marriage with a man to whom she has long 
 been engaged with the sanction and approval of her family. 
 Believe me, madam, your faithful servant, 
 
 " OSCAR DUBOURG." 
 
 This letter was delivered at luncheon-time almost at the 
 moment when the servant had announced to her mistress 
 lhat, Miss Finch was nowhere to be found, and that her trav- 
 eling-bag had disappeared from her room. The London train 
 had then started. Miss Batch ford, having no right to inter- 
 fere, decided after consultation with a friend on at once 
 traveling to Dimchurch and placing the matter in Mr. Finch's 
 hands. P.]
 
 404 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 MADAME PRATOLUNGO'S NARRATIVE RESUMED. 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY- SIXTH. 
 
 THE ITALIAN STEAMER. 
 
 LUCILLA'S Journal lias told you all that Lucilla can tell. 
 Permit me to re-appear in these pages. Shall I say, with your 
 favorite English clown, re-appearing every year in your bar- 
 barous English pantomime, "Here I am again: how do you 
 do?" No I had better leave that out. Your clown is one 
 of your national institutions. With this mysterious source 
 of British amusement let no foreign person presume to trifle! 
 
 I arrived at Marseilles, as well as I can remember, on the 
 fifteenth of August. 
 
 You can not be expected to feel my interest in good Papa. 
 I will pass over this venerable victim of the amiable delusions 
 cf the heart as rapidly as respect and affection will permit. 
 The duel (I hope you remember the duel?) had been fought 
 with pistols, and the bullet had not been extracted when I 
 joined my sisters at the sufferer's bedside. He was delirious 
 and did not know me. Two days later, the removal of the 
 bullet was accomplished by the surgeon in attendance. For 
 a time he improved after this. Then there was a relapse. It 
 was only on the first of September that we were permitted 
 to hope that he might still be spared to us. 
 
 On that day I was composed enough to think again of Lu- 
 cilla, and to remember Mrs. Finch's polite request to me that 
 I would write to her from Marseilles. 
 
 I wrote briefly, telling the damp lady of the rectory (only 
 at greater length) what I have told here. My main motive 
 in doing this was, I confess, to obtain, through Mrs. Finch, 
 some news of Lucilla. After posting the letter I attended 
 to another duty which I had neglected while my father was 
 in danger of death. I went to the person to whom my lawyer 
 had recommended me, to institute that search for Oscar which 
 I had determined to set on foot when I left London. The 
 person was connected with the police, in the capacity (as
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 405 
 
 cearly as I can express it in English) of a sort of private su- 
 perintendent not officially recognized, but secretly trusted 
 for all that. 
 
 When he heard of the time that had elapsed without any 
 discovery of the slightest trace of the fugitive, lie looked 
 grave, and declared, honestly enough, that he doubted if he 
 could reward my confidence in him by proving himself to be 
 of the slightest service to me. Seeing, however, that I was 
 earnestly bent on making some sort of effort, lie put a last 
 question to me in these terms : 
 
 "You have not described the gentleman yet. Is there, by 
 lucky chance, any thing remarkable in his personal appear- 
 ance?" 
 
 "There is something very remarkable, Sir," I answered. 
 
 "Describe it exactly, ma'am, if you please." 
 
 I described Oscar's complexion. My excellent superintend- 
 ent showed encouraging signs of interest as he listened. He 
 was a most elegantly dressed gentleman, with the gracious 
 manners of a prince. It was quite a privilege to be allowed 
 to talk to him. 
 
 " If the missing man has passed through France," he said, 
 " with such a remarkable face as that, there is a lair chance 
 of finding him. I will set preliminary inquiries going at the 
 railway station, at the steam-packet office, and at the port. 
 You shall hear the result to-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 well remembers selling a ticket to a stranger 
 with a terrible blue face. Unhappily, his memory is not 
 equally good as to other matters. He can not accurately 
 call to mind either the name of the stranger or the place for 
 which the stranger embarked. We know that he must either 
 have gone to some port in Italy or to some port in the East. 
 And, thus far, we know no more." 
 
 "What are we to do next?" I inquired. 
 
 "I propose with your permission sending personal de- 
 scriptions of the gentleman, by telegraph, .to the different 
 ports in Italy first. If nothing is heard of him in reply, we 
 will try the ports in the East next. That is the course which
 
 406 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I have the honor of submitting to your consideration. Do 
 you approve of it?" 
 
 I cordially approved of it, and waited for the results with 
 all the patience that I could command. 
 
 The next day passed, and nothing happened. My unhappy 
 father got on very slowly. The vile woman who had caused 
 the disaster (and who had run off with his antagonist) was 
 perpetually in his mind, disturbing him and keeping him 
 back. Why is a destroying wretch of this sort, a pitiless, 
 treacherous, devouring monster in female form, allowed to be 
 out of prison ? You shut up in a cage a poor tigress, who 
 only eats you when she is hungry, and can't provide for her 
 deal 1 little children in any other way, and you let the other 
 and far more dangerous beast of the two range at large un- 
 der protection of the law ! Ah, it is easy to see that the men 
 make the laws. Never mind. The women are coming to the 
 front. Wait a little. The tigresses on two legs will have a 
 bad time of it when we get into Parliament. 
 
 On the fourth of the month the superintendent wrote to 
 me. More news of the lost Oscar already ! 
 
 The blue man had disembarked at Genoa, and had been 
 traced to the station of the railway running to Turin. More 
 inquiries had been, thereupon, sent by telegraph to Turin. I:i 
 the mean time, and in the possible event of the missing per- 
 son returning to England by way of Marseilles, experienced 
 men, provided with a personal description of him, would bo 
 posted at various public places, to pass in review all travelers 
 arriving either by land or sea, and to report to me if the 
 right traveler appeared. Once more my princely superin- 
 tendent submitted this course to my consideration, and wait- 
 ed for my approval and got it, with my admiration thrown 
 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 as usual on my shoulders. Day by day my pros- 
 pect of returning to England seemed to grow more and more 
 remote. Not a line of reply reached me from Mrs. Finch. This 
 in itself fidgeted and disturbed me. Lucilla was now hardly 
 ever out of my thoughts. Over and over again my anxiety 
 urged me to run the risk, and write to her. But the same
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 407 
 
 obstacle always raised itself in my way. After what had 
 happened between us, it was impossible for me to write to 
 her directly without first restoring myself to my former 
 place in her estimation. And I could only do this by enter- 
 ing into particulars which, for all I knew to the contrary, it 
 might still be cruel and dangerous to reveal. 
 
 As for writing to Miss Batchford, I had already tried the 
 old lady's patience in that way before leaving England. If 
 I tried it again, with no better excuse ibr a second intrusion 
 than my own anxieties might suggest, the chances were that 
 this uncompromising royalist would throw my letter into the 
 fire, and treat her republican correspondent with contempt- 
 uous silence. Grosse was the third and last person from whom 
 I might hope to obtain information. But shall I confess it? 
 I did not know what Lucilla might have told him of the 
 estrangement between us, and my pride (remember, if you 
 please, that I am a poverty-stricken foreigner) revolted at 
 the idea of exposing myself to a possible repulse. 
 
 However, by the eleventh of the month 1 began to feel my 
 suspense so keenly, and to suffer under such painful doubts 
 of what Nugent might be doing in my absence, that I re- 
 solved at all hazards on writing to Grosse. It was at least 
 possible, as I calculated and the Journal will show you that 
 I calculated right that Lucilla had only told him of my 
 melancholy errand at Marseilles, and had mentioned nothing 
 more. I had just opened my desk, when our surgeon in at- 
 tendance entered the room, and announced the joyful intelli- 
 gence that he could answer at last for the recovery of good 
 Papa. 
 
 " Can I go back to England ?" I asked, eagerly. 
 
 "Not immediately. You are his favorite nurse you mus* 
 gradually accustom him to the idea of your going away. If 
 you do any thing sudden you may cause a relapse." 
 
 "I will do nothing sudden. Only tell me when it will b.> 
 safe absolutely safe 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 in England as soon as I could receive Grosse's 
 answer at Marseilles. Under these circumstances, it would
 
 408 POOR MISS FIXCH. 
 
 be better to wait until I could make my inquiries, safely and 
 independently, in my own proper person. Comparison of 
 dates will show that if I had written to the German oculist, 
 it would have been too late. It was now the eleventh, and 
 Lucilla had left Ramsgate with Nugent on the fifth. 
 
 All this time but one small morsel of news rewarded our 
 inquiries after Oscar 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 of Alessandria, in Piedmont, I think acting, 
 under the surgeons, as attendant on the badly wounded men 
 who had survived the famous campaign of France and Italy 
 against Austria, (l-car in mind, if you please, that I am 
 writing of the year eighteen hundred and fifty-nine, and that 
 the peace of Villafranca was only signed in the July of that 
 year.) Occupation as hospital-man-nurse was, to my mind, 
 occupation so utterly at variance with Oscar's temperament 
 and character that I persisted in considering the intelligence 
 thus received of him to be on the face of it false. 
 
 On the seventeenth of the month I had got my passport 
 regulated, and had packed up the greater part of my bag- 
 gage in anticipation of my journey back to England on the 
 next day. 
 
 Carefully as I had tried to accustom his mind to the idea, 
 my poor father remained so immovably reluctant to let me 
 leave him that I was obliged to consent to a sort of compro- 
 mise. I promised, when the business which took me to En- 
 gland was settled, to return again to Marseilles, and to travel 
 back with him to his home in Paris as soon as he was fit to 
 be moved. On this condition I gained permission to go. 
 Poor as I was, I infinitely preferred charging my slender 
 purse with the expenses of the double journey to remaining 
 'any longer in ignorance of what was going on at Kamsgnte 
 or at Dimchurch, as the case might be. Now that my 
 mind was free from anxiety about my father I don't know 
 which tormented me most my eagerness to set myself right 
 with my sister-friend, or my vague dread of the mischief 
 which Nugent might have done while my back was turned. 
 Over and over again I asked myself whether Miss Batch ford 
 had or had not shown my letter to LuciMa. Over and over 
 again I wondered whether it had been my happy privilege
 
 POOIl MISS FINCH. 409 
 
 to reveal Nugent under his true aspect, and to preserve Lu- 
 cilla for Oscar after all. 
 
 Toward the afternoon, on the seventeenth,! went out alone 
 to get a breath of fresh air, and a look at the shop windows. 
 I don't care who or what she may be high or low, handsome 
 or ugly, young or old it always relieves 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 contem- 
 plating the barren prospect which his last words had placed 
 before me. So many steamers had arrived at Marseilles, 
 without bringing any news of the missing man, that I at- 
 tached 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 as well stroll down to the port and see the 
 vessel come in. 
 
 The vessel was just entering the harbor by the time I got 
 to the landing-stage. 
 
 I found our man employed to investigate travelers arriv- 
 ing by sea punctually at his post. His influence broke 
 through the vexatious French rules and regulations which 
 forbid all freedom of public movement within official limits, 
 and procured me a place in the room at the custom-house 
 through which the passengers by the steamer would be 
 obliged to pass. I accepted his polite attention, simply be- 
 cause I was glad to sit down and rest in a quiet place after 
 my walk not even the shadow of an idea that any thing 
 would come of my visit to the harbor being in my mind at 
 the time. 
 
 After a long interval the passengers began to stream into 
 the room. Looking languidly enough at the first half-dozen 
 strangers who came in, I felt myself touched on the shoulder 
 from behind. There was our man, in a state of indescribable 
 excitement, entreating me to compose myself ! 
 
 S
 
 410 POOK MISS FINCH. 
 
 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 every body's eyes on me. Yes ! there was 
 the poor, dear discolored face there was Oscar himself, 
 thunderstruck, on his side, at the sight of Me! 
 
 I snatched the key of his portmanteau out of his hand, and 
 gave it to our man, who undertook to submit it to the cus- 
 tom-house examination, and to bring it to my lodging after- 
 ward. Holding Oscar last by the arm, I pushed my way 
 through the crowd in the room, got outside, and hailed a cab 
 at the dock-gates. The people about, noticing my agitation, 
 said to each other, compassionately, "It's the blue man's 
 mother!" Idiots! They might have seen, I think, that I 
 was only old enough to be his sister. 
 
 Once sheltered in the vehicle, I could draw my breath 
 again, and reward him for all the anxiety he had caused mo 
 by giving him a kiss. I might have given him a thousand 
 kisses. Amazement made him a perfectly passive creature 
 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 be too fond of you to give you up !" I said. "I 
 am one of the fools. You will come to England with me to- 
 morrow, and see for yourself if Lucilla is not another." 
 
 That reference to Lucilla restored him to the possession of 
 his senses. He began to ask the questions that naturally oc- 
 curred to him under the circumstances. Having plenty of 
 questions in reserve, on my side, I told him briefly enough 
 what had brought me to Marseilles, and what I had done 
 during my residence in that city toward discovering the 
 place of his retreat. 
 
 When he asked me next after a momentary struggle with 
 himself what I could tell him of Nugent and Lucilla, it is 
 not to be denied that I hesitated before I answered him. A 
 moment's consideration, however, was enough to decide me 
 on speaking out, for this plain reason, that a moment's con- 
 sideration reminded me of the troubles and annoyances which 
 had already befallen iis as the result of concealing the. truth.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 411 
 
 I told Oscar honestly all that I have related here starting 
 from my night interview with Nugent at Browndown, and 
 ending with my precautionary measures for the protection 
 of Lucilla while she was living under the care of her aunt. 
 
 I was greatly interested in watching the effect which these 
 disclosures produced on Oscar. 
 
 My observation led me to form two conclusions. First 
 conclusion, that time and absence had not produced the 
 slightest change in the love which the poor fellow bore to 
 Lucilla. Second conclusion, that nothing but absolute proof 
 would induce him to agree in my unfavorable opinion of his 
 brother's character. It was in vain I declared that Nugent 
 had quitted England pledged to find him, and had left it to 
 me (as the event had now proved) to make the discovery. 
 He owned readily that he had seen nothing and heard noth- 
 ing of Nugent. Nevertheless his confidence in his brother 
 remained unshaken. " Nugent is the soul of honor," he re- 
 peated again and again, with a side-look at me which sug- 
 gested that my frankly avowed opinion of his brother had 
 hurt and offended him. 
 
 I had barely time to notice this before we reached my 
 lodgings. He appeared 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 court-yard. 
 "Have you written tt> England since you have been here? 
 and have you had a reply?" 
 
 " I have written to Mrs. Finch," I answered ; " and I have 
 not had a word in reply." 
 
 "Have you written to no one else?" 
 
 I explained to him the position in which I stood toward 
 Miss Batchford, and the hesitation which I had felt about 
 writing toGrosse. The smouldering resentment against me 
 that had been in him ever since I had spoken of his brother 
 and of Lucilla flamed up at last. 
 
 "I entirely disagree with you," he broke out, angrily. 
 "You are wronging Lucilla and wronging Nugent. Lucilla is 
 incapable of saying any thing against you to (irosse, and Nu- 
 gent is equally incapable of misleading her as you suppose. 
 What horrible ingratitude you attribute to one of them 
 and what horrible baseness to the other! I have listened to
 
 412 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 you as patiently as I can ; and I feel sincerely obliged by the 
 interest which you have shown in me but I can not remain 
 in your company any longer. Madame Pratoltingo, your 
 suspicions are inhuman ! You have not brought forward 
 a shadow of proof in support of them. I will send here for 
 my luggage, if you will allow me, and I will start for En- 
 gland by the next train. After what you have said, I can't 
 rest till I have found out the truth for myself." 
 
 This was my reward for all the trouble that I had taken 
 to discover Oscar Dubourg ! Never mind the money I had 
 spent I am not rich enough to care about money only 
 consider the trouble. If I had been a man, I do really think 
 I should have knocked him down. Being only a woman, I 
 dropped him a low courtesy, and stung him with my tongue* 
 
 "As you please, Sir," I said. "I have done my best to 
 serve you and you quarrel with me and leave me in return. 
 Go ! You are not the first fool who has quarreled with his 
 best friend." 
 
 Either the words or the courtesy or both together 
 brought him to his senses. He made me an apology, which 
 I received. And he looked excessively foolish, which put me 
 in an excellent humor again. "You stupid boy," I said, tak- 
 ing his arm, and leading him to the stairs. "When we first 
 met at Dimchurch did you find me a suspicious woman or an 
 inhuman woman? Answer me that !" 
 
 He answered frankly enough. 
 
 " I found you all that was kind and good. Still, it is sure- 
 ly only natural to want some confirmation He checked 
 himself there, and reverted abruptly to my letter to Mrs. 
 Finch. The silence of the rector's wife evidently 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 was still uppermost in his 
 mind. 
 
 " Mrs. Finch loses every thing that can be lost," he said. 
 "Is it not likely with her habits that when she had writ- 
 ten her answer, and wanted your letter to look at to put the 
 address on it, your letter was like her handkerchief, or her 
 novel, or any thing else not to be found?"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 413 
 
 So far, no doubt, this was quite in Mrs. Finch's character. 
 I could see that, but my mind was too much preoccupied to 
 draw the inference that followed. Oscar's next words en- 
 lightened me. 
 
 "Have you tried the Poste-Restante?" he asked. 
 
 What could I possibly have been thinking of? Of course 
 she had lost my letter. Of course the whole house would 
 be upset in looking for it, and the rector would silence the 
 uproar by ordering his wife to try the Poste-Restante. How 
 strangely we had changed places ! Instead of my clear head 
 thinking for Oscar, here was Oscar's clear head thinking for 
 Me. Is my stupidity quite incredible ? Remember, if you 
 please, what a weight of trouble and anxiety had lain on my 
 mind while I was at Marseilles. Can one think of every 
 thing while one is afflicted as I was ? Not even such a clever 
 person as You can do that. If, as the saying is, "Homer 
 sometimes nods" why not Madame Pratolungo? 
 
 "I never thought of the Poste-Restante," I said to Oscar. 
 " If you don't mind going back a little way, shall we inquire 
 at once ?" 
 
 He was perfectly willing. We went down stairs again, 
 and out into the street. On our way to the post-office I 
 seized my first opportunity of making Oscar give me some 
 account of himself. 
 
 " I have satisfied your curiosity to the best of my ability," 
 I said, as we 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 the only 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 at him. 
 
 "Was that the occupation which you had in view when 
 you left England ?" I asked. 
 
 "I had no object in leaving England but the object which 
 I mentioned in my letter to you. After what had happened, 
 I owed it to Lucilla and I owed it to Nugent to go. I left 
 England without caring where I went. The train to Lyons 
 happened to be the first train that started on my arrival at
 
 414 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Paris. I took the first train. At Lyons I saw by chance an 
 account in a French newspaper of the sufferings of some of 
 the badly wounded men left still uncured after the battle of 
 Solferino. I felt an impulse, in my own wretchedness, to 
 help these other sufferers in their misery. On every other 
 side of it my life was wasted. The one worthy use to which 
 I could put 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 the help of these I 
 made myself of some use (under the regular surgeons and 
 dressers) in nursing the poor mutilated, crippled men ; and 
 I have helped a little afterward, from my own resources, in 
 starting them comfortably in 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 
 hidden reserves of strength in the character of this innocent 
 young fellow which had utterly escaped my superficial ob- 
 servation of him. In choosing his vocation, he was, no 
 doubt, only following the conventional modern course in such 
 cases. Despair has its fashions as well as dress. Ancient 
 despair (especially of Oscar's sort) used to turn soldier, or go 
 into a monastery. Modern despair turns nurse, binds up 
 wounds, gives physic, and gets cured or not in that useful 
 but nasty way. Oscar had certainly struck out nothing new 
 for himself: he had only followed the fashion. Still, it im- 
 plied, as I thought, both courage and resolution to have con- 
 quered the obstacles which he must have overcome, and to 
 have held steadily on his course after he had once entered it. 
 Having begun by quarreling with him, I was in a fair way 
 to end by respecting him. Surely this man was worth pre- 
 serving 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 be cured?" 
 
 "There was no more work for me at the hospital to which 
 I was attached," he said. "And there were certain obsta- 
 cles in my way, as a stranger and a Protestant, among the 
 poor and afflicted population outside the hospital. I might 
 have overcome those obstacles, with little trouble, among a 
 people so essentially good-tempered and courteous as the 
 Italians, if I had tried. But it occurred to me that my first
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 415 
 
 duty was to my own countrymen. The misery crying for 
 relief in London is misery not paralleled in any city of Italy. 
 When you met me I was on my way to London to place my 
 services at the disposal of any clergyman in a poor neigh- 
 borhood who would accept such help as I can offer him." 
 He paused a little hesitated and added, in lower tones: 
 "That was one of my objects in returning to England. It is 
 only honest to own to you that I had another motive be- 
 sides." 
 
 "A motive connected with your brother and with Lucil- 
 la ?" I suggested. 
 
 "Yes. Don't misinterpret me. I am not returning to En- 
 gland to retract what I said to Nugent. I still leave him 
 free to plead his own cause with Lucilla in his own person. I 
 am still resolved not to distress myself and distress them by 
 returning to Dimchurch. But I have a longing that nothing 
 can subdue to know how it has ended between them. Don't 
 ask me to say more than that! In spite of the time that has 
 passed, it breaks my heart to talk of Lucilla. I had looked 
 forward to a meeting with you in London, and to hearing 
 what I longed to hear from your lips. Judge for yourself 
 what my hopes were when I first saw your face ; and forgive 
 me if I felt my disappointment bitterly when I found that 
 you had really no news to tell, and when you spoke of Nu- 
 gent as you did." He stopped, and pressed my arm earnest- 
 ly. "Suppose I am right about Mrs. 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 answer- 
 ed "I don't know what news you most want to hear." 
 
 I said those words with a purpose. What was the news 
 he was longing for? In spite of what he had smd, my wom- 
 an's observation answered, News that Lucilla is still a sin- 
 gle woman. My object in speaking as I had just spoken was 
 to tempt him into a reply which might confirm me in this 
 opinion. 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,
 
 416 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 passing, as you see, entirely over what I had just said to 
 him. 
 
 " Yes, if you wish it," I answered, not over-well pleased 
 with his want of confidence in me. 
 
 " No matter what the letter contains ?" he went on, evi- 
 dently 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 let me read the letter myself?" 
 
 My temper, as you are well aware by this time, is not the 
 temper of a saint. 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 dis- 
 trust me." 
 
 He protested, of course, that he did nothing of the kind 
 without producing the slightest effect on me. Just run over 
 in your mind the insults, worries, and anxieties which had 
 assailed me as the reward for my friendly interest in this 
 man's welfare. Or, if that is too great an effort, be so good 
 as to remember that Lucilla's farewell letter to me at Dim- 
 church was now followed by the equally ungracious expres- 
 sion of Oscar's distrust and this at a time when I had had 
 serious trials of my own to sustain at my father's bedside. I 
 think you will admit that a sweeter temper than mine might 
 have not unnaturally turned a little sour under present cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 I answered not a word to Oscar's protestations I only 
 searched vehemently in the pocket of my dress. 
 
 "Here," I said, opening my card-case, "is my address in 
 this place ; and here," I went on, producing the document, 
 " is my passport, if they want it." 
 
 I forced the card and the passport into his hands. He 
 took them in helpless astonishment. 
 
 "What am I to do with these?" he asked. 
 
 "Take them to the Poste-Restante. If there is a letter for 
 me Avith the Dimchurch post-mark, I authorize you to open 
 it. Read it before it comes into my hands and then per- 
 haps you will be satisfied." 
 
 He declared that he would do nothing of the sort, and
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 417 
 
 tried to force my documents back into my own posses- 
 sion. 
 
 " 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 the Poste-Kestante, I shall not trouble my- 
 self to ask for it. What concern have I with news about 
 Lucilla? What does it matter to me whether she is married 
 or not? I am going back to my father and my sisters. De- 
 cide for 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 expressed to Oscar in the street. Why should I leave 
 my poor old father to go back to England, and mix myself 
 up in Lucilla's affairs? After the manner in which she had 
 taken her leave of me, had I any reasonable prospect of be- 
 ing civilly received? Oscar was on his way back to En- 
 gland let Oscar manage his own affairs ; let them all three 
 (Oscar, Nugent, Lucilla) fight it out together among them- 
 selves. What had I, Pratolungo's widow, to do with this 
 trumpery family entanglement ? Nothing ! It was a warm 
 day for the time of year Pratolungo's widow, like a wise 
 woman, determined to make herself comfortable. She un- 
 locked her packed box ; she loosened her stays; she put on 
 her dressing-gown ; she took a turn in the room and, if you 
 had come across her at tltnt moment, I wouldn't have stood 
 in your shoes for something, I can tell you ! 
 
 (What do you think of my consistency by this time? 
 How often have I changed my mind about Lucilla and Os- 
 car? Reckon it up from the time when I left Dimchurch. 
 What a picture of perpetual self-contradiction I present 
 and how improbable it is that I should act in this illogical 
 way! You never alter your mind under the influence of 
 your temper or your 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 I have no 
 business to be in a book.) 
 
 In about half an hour's time, the servant appeared with a 
 little paper parcel for me. It had been left by a stranger 
 with an English accent and a terrible face. He had an- 
 nounced his intention of calling a little Inter. The servant, 
 
 S 2
 
 418 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 a bouncing fat wench, trembled as she repeated the message, 
 arid asked if there was any thing amiss between me and the 
 man with the terrible face. 
 
 I opened the parcel. It contained my passport, and, sure 
 enough, the letter from Mrs. Finch. 
 
 Had he opened it ? Yes ! He had not been able to resist 
 the temptation to read it. And more, he had written a line 
 or two on it in pencil, thus : " As soon as I am fit to see you, 
 I will implore your pardon. I dare not trust myself in your 
 presence yet. Read the letter, and you will understand 
 why." 
 
 I opened the letter. 
 
 It \vas dated the fifth of September. I ran over the first 
 few sentences carelessly enough. Thanks for my letter 
 congratulations on my father's prospect of recovery infor- 
 mation about baby's gums and the rector's last sermon 
 more information about somebody else, which Mrs. Finch 
 felt quite sure would interest and delight me. What ! ! ! 
 "Mr. Oscar Dubourg has come back, and is now with Lucilla 
 at Rarasgate." 
 
 I crumpled the letter up in my hand. Nugent had justi- 
 fied my worst anticipations of what he would do in my ab- 
 sence. What did the true Mi'. Oscar Dubourg, reading that 
 sentence at Marseilles, think of his brother now ? We are 
 all mortal we are all wicked. It is monstrous, but it is 
 true. I had a moment's triumph. 
 
 The wicked moment gone, I was good again that is to 
 say, I was ashamed of myself. 
 
 I smoothed out the letter, and looked eagerly for news of 
 Lucilla's health. If the news was favorable, my letter com- 
 mitted to Miss Batchford's care must have been shown to 
 Lucilla by this time, must have exposed Nugent's abomina- 
 ble personation of his brother, and must have thus preserved 
 her for Oscar. In that case, all would be well again (and 
 my darling herself would own it) thanks to Me! 
 
 After telling me the news from Ramsgate, Mrs. Finch be- 
 gan to drift into what you call Twaddle. She had just dis- 
 covered (exactly as Oscar had supposed) that she had lost 
 my letter. She would keep her own letter back until the 
 next day on the chance of finding it. If she failed she must 
 try Post-Restante, nt the suggestion (not of Mr. Finch
 
 POOR. MISS FINCH. 419 
 
 there I was wrong) at the suggestion of Zillah, who had 
 relatives in foreign parts, and had tried Poste-Kestante in 
 her case too. So Mrs. Finch driveled mildly on, in her large, 
 loose, untidy handwriting, to the bottom of the third page. 
 
 I turned over. The handwriting suddenly grew untidier 
 than ever; two great blots defaced the paper; the style be- 
 came feebly hysterical. Good Heavens ! 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, my dear 
 friend, I can hardly hold the pen, I tremble so would you 
 believe it, Miss Batchford has arrived at the rectory she 
 brings the dreadful news that Lucilla has eloped with Oscar 
 we don't know why we don't know where, except that 
 they have gone away together privately a letter from Os- 
 car tells Miss Batchford as much as that, and no more oh, 
 pray come back as soon as you can Mr. Finch washes his 
 hands of it and Miss Batchford has left the house again in 
 a fury with him I am in a dreadful agitation, and I have 
 given it, Mr. Finch says, to baby, who is screaming black in 
 the face. Yours affectionately, AMELIA FINCH." 
 
 All the rages I had ever been in before in my life were as 
 nothing compared with the rage that devoured me when I 
 had read that fourth page of Mrs. Finch's letter. Nugent 
 had got the better of me and my precautions ! Nugent had 
 robbed his brother of Lucilla, in the vilest manner, with per- 
 fect impunity ! I cast all feminine restraints to the winds. 
 I sat down with my legs anyhow, like a man. I rammed my 
 hands into the pockets of my dressing-gown. Did I cry? 
 A word in your ear and let it go no farther. I swore. 
 
 How long the tit lasted I don't know. I only remember 
 that I was disturbed by a knock at my door. 
 
 I flung open the door in a fury, and confronted Oscar on 
 the threshold. 
 
 There was a look in his face that instantly quieted me. 
 There was a tone in his voice that brought the tears sudden- 
 ly into my eyes. 
 
 "I must leave for England in two hours," he said. " Will 
 you forgive me, and go with me?"
 
 420 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Only those words ! And yet it' yon had seen him, if you 
 had heard him, as he spoke them you would have been 
 ready to go to the ends of the earth with him, as I was; and 
 you would have told him so, as I did. 
 
 In two hours more we were in the train on our way to En- 
 gland. 
 
 . CHAPTER THE FORTY -SEVENTH. 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE END. FIRST STAGE. 
 
 You will perhaps expect me to give some account of how 
 Oscar bore the discovery of his brother's conduct. 
 
 I find it by no means easy to do this. Oscar baffled me. 
 
 The first words of any importance which he addressed to 
 me were spoken on our way to the station. Rousing him- 
 self from his own thoughts, he said, very earnestly, 
 
 "I want to know what conclusion you have drawn from 
 Mrs. Finch's letter." 
 
 Naturally enough, under the circumstances, I tried to avoid 
 answering him. He was not to be put off in that way. 
 
 "You will do me a favor," he went on, "if you will reply 
 to my question. The letter has bred in me such a vile sus- 
 picion of my dear, good brother, who never deceived me in 
 his life, that I would rather believe I am out of my mind 
 than believe in my own interpretation of it. Do you infer 
 from what Mrs. Finch writes that Nugent has presented 
 himself to Lucilla under my name ? Do you believe that he 
 has persuaded her to leave her friends under the impression 
 that she has yielded to My entreaties, and trusted herself to 
 My care ?" 
 
 There was no avoiding it. I answered in the fewest and 
 the plainest words, " That is what your brother has done." 
 
 I saw a change pass over him when I made the reply. 
 
 "That is what my brother has done," he repeated. "Aft- 
 er all that I sacrificed to him after all that I trusted to 
 his honor when I left England." He paused and considered 
 a little. "What does such a man deserve?" he went on, 
 speaking to himself in a low, threatening tone that startled 
 me. 
 
 "He deserves," I said, "what he will get when we reach 
 England. You have only to show yourself to make him re-
 
 :*;H)II MISS FINCH. 421 
 
 pent his wickedness to the Inst day of his life. Are expos- 
 ure arid defeat not punishment enough for such a man as 
 Nugent ?" I stopped and waited for his answer. 
 
 He turned his face away from me, and said no more until 
 we arrived at the station. There lie drew me aside for a 
 moment out of hearing of the strangers about us. 
 
 " Why should I take you away from your father?" he ask- 
 ed, abruptly. "I am behaving very selfishly and I only 
 see it now." 
 
 "Make your mind easy," I said. "If I had not met you 
 to-day, I should have gone to England to-morrow for Lucil- 
 la's sake. 
 
 "But now you have met me," he persisted, " why shouldn't 
 I spare you the journey? I could write and tell you every 
 thing, without putting you to this fatigue and expense." 
 
 "If you say a word more," I answered,"! shall think you 
 have some reason of your own for wishing to go to England 
 by yourself." 
 
 He cast one quick, suspicious look at me, and led the way 
 back to the booking-office without uttering another word. 
 I was not at all satisfied with him. I thought his conduct 
 very strange. 
 
 In silence we took our tickets; in silence we got into the 
 railway carriage. I attempted to say something encourag- 
 ing when we started. "Don't notice me," was all he replied. 
 "You will be doing me a kindness if you will let me bear it 
 by myself." In my former experience of him lie had talked 
 his way out of all his other troubles he had clamorously 
 demanded the expression of my sympathy with him. In this 
 greatest trouble he was like another being; I hardly knew 
 him again. Were the hidden reserves in his nature (stirred 
 up by another serious call on them) showing themselves once 
 more on the surface as they had shown themselves already 
 on the fatal first day when Lucilla tried her sight? In that 
 way I accounted for the mere superficial change in him at 
 the time. What was actually going on below the surface it 
 defied my ingenuity even to guess. Perhaps I shall best de- 
 scribe the sort of vague apprehension which he aroused in 
 me after what had passed between us at the station by 
 saying that I would not for worlds have allowed him to go 
 to England by himself.
 
 422 POOR MISS PINCH. 
 
 Left as I now was to my own resources, I occupied the first 
 hours of the journey in considering what course it would be 
 safest and best for us to take on reaching England. 
 
 I decided, in the first place, that we ought to go straight 
 to Dimchurch. If any tidings had been obtained of Lucilla, 
 they would be sure to have received them at the rectory. 
 Our route, after reaching Paris, must be, therefore, by way 
 of Dieppe ; thence across the channel to Newhaven, near 
 Brighton, and so to Dimchurch. 
 
 In the second place assuming it to be always possible that 
 we might see Lucilla at the rectory the risk of abruptly 
 presenting Oscar to her in his own proper person might, for 
 all 1 knew to. the contrary, be a very serious one. It would 
 relieve us, as I thought, of a grave responsibility, if we warned 
 Grosse of our arrival, and so enabled him to be present, if he 
 thought it necessary, in the interest of Lucilla's health. I 
 put this view (as also my plan for returning by way of 
 Dieppe) to Oscar. He briefly consented to every thing 
 he ungraciously left it all to me. 
 
 Accordingly, on our arrival at Lyons, having some time 
 for refreshment at our disposal before we went on, I tele- 
 graphed to Mr. Finch at the rectory, and to Grosse in Lon- 
 don, informing them (as well as I could calculate it) that, if 
 we were lucky in catching trains and steam-boats, Oscar and 
 I might be at Dimchurch in good time on the next night 
 that is to say, on the night of the eighteenth. In any case, 
 they were to expect us at the earliest possible moment. 
 
 These difficulties disposed of, and a little store of refresh- 
 ment for the night packed in my basket, we re-entered the 
 train for our Long journey to Paris. 
 
 Among the new passengers who joined us at Lyons was 
 a gentleman whose face was English, and whose dress was 
 the dress of a clergyman. For the first time in my life I 
 hailed the appearance of a priest with a feeling of relief. The 
 reason was this. From the moment when I had read Mrs. 
 Finch's letter until now a horrid doubt, which a priest was 
 just the man to solve, had laid its leaden weight on my mind 
 and, I firmly believe, on Oscar's mind as well. Had time 
 enough passed since Lucilla had left Ramsgate to allow of 
 Nugent's marrying her under his brother's name? 
 
 As the train rolled out of the station, I, the enemy of
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 423 
 
 priests, began to make myself agreeable to this priest. He 
 was young and shy, but I conquered him. Just as the other 
 travelers were beginning (with the exception of Oscar) to 
 compose themselves to sleep, I put rny case to the clergy- 
 man. "A and B, Sir, lady and gentleman, both of age, leave 
 one town in England, and go to another town, on the fifth 
 of this month how soon, if you please, can they be lawfully 
 married after that ?" 
 
 '' I presume you mean in church ?" said the young clergy- 
 man. 
 
 " In church, of course." (To that extent I believed I might 
 answer for Lucilla without any fear of making a mistake.) 
 
 " They may be married by License," said the clergyman 
 "providing one of them continues to reside in that other 
 town to which they traveled on the fifth on the twenty- 
 first, or (possibly) even the twentieth of this month." 
 
 " Not before ?" 
 
 "Certainly not before." 
 
 It was then the night of the seventeenth. I gave my 
 companion's hand a little squeeze in the dark. Here was a 
 glimpse of encouragement to cheer us on the journey. Be- 
 fore the marriage could take place we should be in England. 
 " We have time before us," I whispered to Oscar. " We will 
 save Lucilla yet." 
 
 "Shall Ave find Lucilla?" was all he whispered back. 
 
 I had forgotten that serious difficulty. No answer to Os- 
 car's question could possibly present itself until we reached 
 the rectory. Between this and then, there was nothing for 
 it but to keep patience and to keep hope. 
 
 I refrain from encumbering this part of my narrative with 
 any detailed account of the little accidents, lucky and un- 
 lucky, which alternately hastened or retarded our journey 
 home. Let me only say that before midnight on the eight- 
 eenth Oscar and I drove up to the rectory gate. 
 
 Mr. Finch himself came out to receive us, with a lamp in 
 his hand. lie lifted his eyes (and his lamp) devotionally to 
 the sky when he saw Oscar. The two first words he said 
 were, 
 
 " Inscrutable Providence!" 
 
 "Have you found Lncilla?" I asked. 
 
 Mr. Finch with his whole attention fixed on Oscar wrun<z
 
 424 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 my hand mechanically, and said I was a " good creature," 
 much as he might have patted and spoken to Oscar's com- 
 panion, if that companion had been a dog. I almost wished 
 myself that animal for the moment I should have had the 
 privilege of biting Mr. Finch. Oscar impatiently repeated 
 my question ; the rector at the time officiously assisting him 
 to descend from the carriage, and leaving me ta get out as 
 I could. 
 
 " Did you hear Madame Pratolungo ?" Oscar asked. " Is 
 Lucilla found ?" 
 
 " Dear Oscar, we hope to find her, now you have come." 
 
 That answer revealed to me the secret of Mr. Finch's ex- 
 traordinary politeness to his young friend. The last chance, 
 as things were, of preventing Lucilla's marriage to a man 
 who had squandered away every farthing of his money was 
 the chance of Oscar's arrival in England before the ceremony 
 could take place. The measure of Oscar's importance to Mr. 
 Finch was now, more literally than ever, the measure of Os- 
 car's fortune. 
 
 I asked for news of Grosse as we went in. The rector act- 
 ually found some comparatively high notes in his prodigious 
 voice to express his amazement at my audacity in speaking 
 to him of any body but Oscar. 
 
 " Oh dear, dear me !" cried Mr. Finch, impatiently conced- 
 ing to me one precious moment of his attention. " Don't 
 bother about Grosse ! Grosse is ill in London. There is a 
 note for you from Grosse. Take care of the door-step, dear 
 Oscar," he went on, in his deepest and gravest .bass notes. 
 " Mrs. Finch is so anxious to see you. We have both looked 
 forward to your arrival with such eager hope such impa- 
 tient affection, so to speak. Let me put down your hat. Ah ! 
 how you must have suffered ! Share my trust in an all-wise 
 Providence, and meet this trial with cheerful submission as I 
 do. All is not lost yet. Bear up! bear up!" He threw 
 open the parlor door. "Mrs. Finch ! compose yourself. Our 
 dear adopted son ! Our afflicted Oscar !" 
 
 Is it necessary to say what Mrs. Finch was about, and how 
 Mrs. Finch looked ? 
 
 There were the three unchangeable institutions the novel, 
 the baby, and the lost pocket-handkerchief! There was the 
 gaudy jacket over the long trailing dressing-gown and the
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 425 
 
 (.lamp lady inside them, damp as ever! Receiving Oscar 
 with a mouth drawn down at the corners, and a head that 
 shook sadly in sympathy with him, Mrs. Finch's face under- 
 went a most extraordinary transformation when she turned 
 my way next. To my astonishment, her dim eyes actually 
 sparkled ; a broad smile of irrepressible contentment showed 
 itself cunningly to wte, in place of the dismal expression which 
 had welcomed Oscar. Holding up the baby in triumph, the 
 lady of the rectory whispered these words in my ear, 
 
 "What do you think he has done since you have been 
 away ?" 
 
 " I really don't know," I answered. 
 
 " He has cut two teeth ! Put your finger in and feel." 
 
 Others might bewail the family misfortune. The family 
 triumph filled the secret mind of Mrs. Finch, to the exclu- 
 sion of every other earthly consideration. I put my finger 
 in as instructed, and got instantly bitten by the ferocious 
 baby. But for a new outburst of the rector's voice at the 
 moment, Mrs. Finch (if lam any judge of physiognomy) must 
 have certainly relieved herself by a scream of delight. As 
 it was she opened her mouth ; and (having lost her handker- 
 chief, as already stated) retired into a corner, and gagged 
 herself with the baby. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. Finch had produced from a cupboard 
 near the fire-place two letters. The first he threw down im- 
 patiently on the table. " Oh dear, dear ! what a nuisance 
 other people's letters are !" The second he handled with ex- 
 traordinary care, offering it to Oscar with a heavy sigh, and 
 with eyes that turned up martyr-like to the ceiling. "House 
 yourself and read it," said Mr. Finch, in his most pathetic 
 pulpit tones. " I would have spared you, Oscar, if I could. 
 All our hopes depend, dear boy, on what you can say to guide 
 us when you have read those lines." 
 
 Oscar took the inclosure out of the envelope ran over the 
 first words glanced at the signature and, with a look of 
 mingled rage and horror, threw the letter on the floor. 
 
 "Don't ask me to read it!" lie cried, in the first burst of 
 passion which had escaped him yet. " If I read it, I shall 
 kill him when we meet." He dropped into a chair and hid 
 his face in his hands. " Oh, Nugent ! Nugent ! Nugent !" he 
 moaned to himself with a crv that was dreadful to hear.
 
 426 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 It was no time for standing on ceremony. I picked up the 
 letter and looked at it without asking leave. It proved to 
 be the letter from Nugent (already inserted at the close of 
 Lucilla's Journal) informing Miss Batchford of her niece's 
 flight from Ramsgate, and signed in Oscar's name. The only 
 words which it is necessary to repeat here are these: "She 
 accompanies me, at my express request, to the house of a 
 married lady who is a relative of mine, and under whose care 
 she will remain until the time arrives for our marriage." 
 
 Those lines instantly lightened my heart of the burden that 
 had oppressed it on the journey. Nugent's married relative 
 was Oscar's married relative too. Oscar had only to tell us 
 where the lady lived and Lucilla would be found. 
 
 I stopped Mr. Finch in the act of maddening Oscar by ad- 
 ministering pastoral consolation to him. 
 
 "Leave it to me," I said, showing him the letter. "I know 
 what you want." 
 
 The rector stared at me indignantly. I turned to Mrs. 
 Finch. 
 
 " We have had a weary journey," I went on. " Oscar is 
 not so well used to traveling as I am. Where is his room ?" 
 
 Mrs. Finch rose to show the way. Her husband opened 
 his lips to interfere. 
 
 "Leave it to me," I repeated. "I understand him, and 
 you don't." 
 
 For once in his life the Pope of Dirnchurch was reduced to 
 silence. His amazement at my audacity defied even his pow- 
 ers of expression. I took Oscar's arm, and said, " You are 
 worn out. Go to your room. I will make you something 
 warm and bring it up to you myself in a few minutes." He 
 neither looked at me nor answered me he yielded silently, 
 and followed Mrs. Finch. I took from the sideboard on 
 which supper was waiting the materials I wanted, set the 
 kettle boiling, made my renovating mixture, and advanced 
 to the door with it followed from first to last, move where 
 I might, by the staring and scandalized eyes of Mr. Finch. 
 The moment in which I opened the door was also the mo- 
 ment in which the rector recovered himself. " Permit me to 
 inquire, Madame Pratolungo," he said, with his loftiest em- 
 phasis, "in what capacity are You here?" 
 
 "In the capacity of Oscar's friend," I answered. "You
 
 POOU MISS FINCH. 427 
 
 will get rid of us both to-morrow." I banged the door be- 
 hind me, and went up stairs. If I had been Mr. Finch's wife, 
 I believe I should have ended in making quite an agreeable 
 man of him. 
 
 Mrs. Finch met me in the passage on the first floor, and 
 pointed out Oscar's room. I found him walking backward 
 and forward restlessly. The first words he said alluded to 
 his brother's letter. I had arranged not to disturb him by 
 any reference to that painful matter until the next morning, 
 and I tried to change the topic. It was useless. There was 
 an anxiety in his mind which was not to be dismissed at will. 
 He insisted on my instantly setting that anxiety at rest. 
 
 " I don't want to see the letter," he said. " I only want to 
 know all that it says about Lucilla." 
 
 "All that it says may be summed up in this. Lucilla is 
 perfectly safe." 
 
 lie caught me by the arm, and looked me searchingly in 
 the face. 
 
 " Where ?" he asked. " With him ?" 
 With a married lady who is a relative of his." 
 
 He dropped my arm, and considered for a monient. 
 
 "My cousin at Sydenham !" he exclaimed. 
 
 " Do you know the house ?" 
 
 "Perfectly well." 
 
 "We will go there to-morrow. Let that content you for 
 to-night. Get to rest." 
 
 I gave him my hand. lie took it mechanically absorbed 
 in his own thoughts. 
 
 "Didn't I say something foolish down stairs?" he asked, 
 putting the question suddenly, with an odd, suspicious look 
 at me. 
 
 "You were quite worn out," I said, consolingly. "No- 
 body noticed it." 
 
 " You are sure of that ?" 
 
 "Quite sure. Good-night." 
 
 I left the room, feeling much as I had felt at the station at 
 Marseilles. I was not satisfied with him. I thought his con- 
 duct very strange. 
 
 On returning to the parlor I found nobody there but Mrs. 
 Finch. The rector's offended dignity had left the rector no
 
 428 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 honorable alternative but to withdraw to his own room. I 
 ate my supper in peace; and Mrs. Finch (rocking the cradle 
 with her foot) chattered away to her heart's content about 
 all that had happened in my absence. 
 
 I gathered, here and there, from what she said, some par- 
 ticulars worth mentioning. 
 
 The new disagreement between Mr. Finch and Miss Batch- 
 ford, which had driven the old lady out of the rectory al- 
 most as soon as she set foot in it, had originated in Mr. 
 Finch's exasperating composure when he heard of his daugh- 
 ter's flight. He supposed, of course, that Lucilla had left 
 Ramsgate with Oscar whose signed settlements on his fut- 
 
 O O 
 
 lire wife were safe in Mr. Finch's possession. It was only 
 when Miss Batchford had communicated with Grosse, and 
 when the discovery followed which revealed the penniless 
 Nugent as the man who had eloped with Lucilla, that Mr. 
 Finch's parental anxiety (seeing no money likely to come of 
 it) became roused to action. He, Miss Batchford, and Grosse 
 had all, in their various ways, done their best to trace the 
 fugitives, and had all alike been baffled by the impossibility 
 of discovering the residence of the lady mentioned in Nu- 
 gent's letter. My telegram, announcing my return to En- 
 gland with Oscar, had inspired them with their first hope of 
 being able to interfere, and stop the marriage before it was 
 too late. 
 
 The occurrence of Grosse's name in Mrs. Finch's rambling 
 narrative recalled to my memory what the rector had told 
 me at the garden gate. I had not yet received the letter 
 which the German had sent to wait my arrival at Dimchurch. 
 After a short search we found it where it had been con- 
 temptuously thrown by Mi 1 . Finch on the parlor table 1 . 
 
 A few lines comprised the whole letter. Grosse informed 
 me that he had so fretted himself about Lucilla that he had 
 been attacked by "a visitation of gouts." It was impossible 
 lo move his "foots" without instantly plunging into the 
 torture of the infernal regions. " If it is you, my goot dear, 
 who are going to find her," he concluded, " come to me first 
 in London. I have something most dismal-serious to say to 
 you about our poor little Feench's eyes." 
 
 Xo words can tell how that last sentence startled and 
 grieved me. Mrs. Finch increased my anxiety and alarm by
 
 POOK MISS FIXCII. 429 
 
 repeating what she had heard Miss Batchford say, during 
 her brief visit to the rectory, on the subject of Lncilla's 
 sight. Grosse had been seriously dissatisfied with the state 
 of his patient's eyes when lie had seen them as long ago as 
 the fourth of the month; and on the morning of the next 
 day the servant had reported Lucilla as being hardly able 
 to distinguish objects in the view from the window of her 
 room. Later on the same day she had secretly left Rams- 
 gate ; and Grosse's letter proved that she had not been near 
 her surgical attendant since. 
 
 Weary as I was after the journey, this miserable news 
 kept me waking long after I had gone to my bed. The next 
 morning I was up with the servants impatient to start for 
 London by the first train. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY- EIGHTH. 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE KN1X SECOM) STAGE. 
 
 EAKLY riser as I was, I found that Oscar had risen earlier 
 still. He had left the rectory, and had disturbed Mr. Gooth- 
 c-ridge's morning slumbers by an application at the inn for 
 the key of Browndown. 
 
 On his return to the rectory he merely said that lie had 
 been to see after various things belonging to him which were 
 still left in the empty house. His look and manner as he 
 gave us this brief explanation were, to my mind, more un- 
 satisfactory than ever. I made no remark: and, observing 
 
 *. ^ 
 
 that his loose traveling coat was buttoned awry over the 
 breast, I set it right for him. My hand, as I did this, touched 
 his breast pocket. lie started back directly, as if there was 
 something in the pocket which he did not wish me to feel. 
 Was it something he had brought from Browndown ? 
 
 We got away encumbered by Mr. Finch, who insisted on 
 attaching himself to Oscar by the first express train, which 
 took us straight to London. Comparison of time-tables, on 
 reaching the terminus, showed that I had leisure to spare for 
 a brief visit to Grosse before we again took the railway back 
 to Sydenham. Having decided not to mention the bad news 
 about Lucilla's eyes to Oscar until I had seen the German 
 first, I made the best excuse that suggested itself, and drove
 
 430 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 away, leaving the two gentlemen in the waiting-room at the 
 station. 
 
 I found Grosse confined to his easy-chair, with his gouty 
 foot enveloped in cool cabbage leaves. Between pain and 
 anxiety, his eyes were wilder, his broken English was more 
 grotesque, than ever. When I appeared at the door of his 
 room and said good-morning in the frenzy of his impatience 
 he shook his fist at me. 
 
 "Good-morning go-damn!" he roared out. "Where? 
 where? where is Feench ?" 
 
 I told him where we believed Lucilla to be. Grosse turned 
 his head, and shook his fist at a bottle on the chimney-piece 
 next. 
 
 "Get that bottles on the chimney," he said. "And the 
 eye-baths by the side of him. Don't stop with your talky- 
 talky-chatterations here. Go! Save her eyes! Look! You 
 do this. You throw her head back soh !" He illustra- 
 ted the position so forcibly with his own head that he shook 
 his gouty foot, and screamed with the pain of it. He went 
 on nevertheless, glaring frightfully through his spectacles, 
 gnashing his mustache fiercely between his teeth. "Throw 
 her head back. Fill the eye-baths; turn him upsides-down 
 over her open eyes. Drown them turn-turn-about in my 
 mixtures. Drown them, I say, one-down-todder-come-on, and 
 if she screech never mind it. Then bring her to me. For 
 the lofe of Gott, bring her to me. If you tie her hands and 
 foots, bring her to me. What is the womans stopping for? 
 Go ! go ! go !" 
 
 " I want to ask you a question about Oscar," I said, " be- 
 fore I go." 
 
 He seized the pillow which supported his head evidently 
 intending to expedite my departure by throwing it at me. I 
 produced the railway time-table as the best defensive weap- 
 on at my command. "Look at it for yourself," I said, "and 
 you will see that I must wait at the station, if I don't wait 
 here." 
 
 With some difficulty I satisfied him that it was impossible 
 to leave London for Sydenham before a certain hour, and 
 that I had at least ten minutes to spare, which might be just 
 as well passed in consulting him. lie closed his glaring eyes, 
 and laid his head back on the chair, thoroughly exhausted
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 431 
 
 with his own outbreak of excitement. "No matter how 
 things goes," he said, "a wornans must wag her tongue. 
 Goot. Wag yours." 
 
 "I am placed in a very difficult position," I began. "Os- 
 car is going with me to Lucilla. I shall, of course, take care, 
 in the first place, that lie and Nugent do not meet, unless I 
 am present at the interview. But I am not equally sure of 
 what I ought to do in the case of Lucilla. Must I keep them 
 apart until I have first prepared her to see Oscar?" 
 
 " Let her see the devil himself if you like," growled Grosse, 
 "so long as you bring her here afterwards-directly to me. 
 You will do the bettermost thing if you prepare Oscar. She 
 wants no preparations ! She is enough disappointed in him 
 as it is !" 
 
 "Disappointed in him?" I repeated. "I don't understand 
 you." 
 
 He settled himself wearily in his chair, and referred, in a 
 softened and saddened tone, to that private conversation of 
 his with Lucilla, at Kamsgate, which lias already been re- 
 ported in the Journal. I was now informed, for the first time, 
 of those changes in her sensations and in her ways of think- 
 ing which had so keenly vexed and mortified her. I heard 
 of the ominous absence of the old thrill of pleasure when 
 Nugent took her hand on meeting her at the sea-side I 
 heard how bitterly his personal appearance had disappointed 
 her (when she had seen his features in detail) by comparison 
 with the charming ideal picture which she had formed of her 
 lover in the days of her blindness: those happier days', as 
 she had called them, when she was Poor Miss Finch. 
 
 "Surely,"! said, "all the old feelings will come back to her 
 when she sees Oscar?" 
 
 "They will never come back to her no, not if she sees 
 fifty Oscars !" 
 
 lie was beginning to frighten me, or to irritate me I can 
 hardly say which. I only know that I persisted in disputing 
 with him. "When she sees the true man," I went on, "do 
 you mean to say she will feel the same disappointment 
 
 I could get no farther than that. lie cut me short there, 
 without ceremony. 
 
 "You foolish womans!" he interposed, "she will feel more 
 than the same. I have told von already it was one enormous
 
 432 POOli HISS FINCH. 
 
 disappointments to her when she saw the handsome brodrter 
 with the fair complexions. Ask your own self what will it 
 be when she sees the ugly brodder with the blue face. I teii 
 you this ! she will think your true man the worst impostor 
 of the two." 
 
 There I indignantly contradicted him. 
 
 " His face may be a disappointment to her," I said ; " I own 
 that. But there it will end. Her hand will tell her, when 
 he takes it, that there is no impostor deceiving her this time." 
 
 " Her hand will tell ner nothing no more than yours. I 
 had not so much hard hearts in me as to say that to her when 
 she asked me. I say it to you. Hold your tongue and listen. 
 All those thrill-tingles that she once had when he touched 
 her belong to anodder time the time gone -by, when her 
 sight was in her fingers and not in her eyes. With those 
 fine -superfine -feelings of the days when she was blind she 
 pays now for her grand new privilege of opening her eyes on 
 the world. (And worth the price too !) Do you understand 
 yet? It is a sort of swop-bargain between Nature and this 
 poor girls of ours. I take away your eyes I give you your 
 fine touch. I give you your eyes I take away your fine 
 touch. Soh ! that is plain. You see now ?" 
 
 I was too mortified and too miserable to answer him. 
 Through all our later troubles I had looked forward so confi- 
 dently to Oscar's re-appearance as tlve one sufficient condi- 
 tion on which Lucilla's happiness would be certainly restored! 
 What had become of my anticipations now ? I sat silent, star- 
 ing in stupid depression at the pattern of the carpet. Grosse 
 took out his watch. 
 
 "Your ten-minutes-time has counted himself out," lie said. 
 
 I neither moved nor heeded him. His ferocious eyes be- 
 gan to flame again behind his monstrous spectacles. 
 
 " Go-be-off-with-you !" he shouted at me as if I was deaf. 
 " Her eyes ! her eyes ! While you stop chatterboxing here, 
 her eyes are in danger. What with her frettings and her 
 cryings and her damn-nonsense-lofe-business, I swear you my 
 solemn oath her sight was in danger when I saw her a whole- 
 fortnight gone-by. Do you want my big pillow to fly bang 
 at your head ? You don't want him ? Be-off -a way with you, 
 then, or you will have him in one-two-three time ! Be-off- 
 away and bring her back to me before night !"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 433 
 
 I returned to the railway. Of all the women whom I pass- 
 ed in the crowded streets, I doubt if one had a heavier heart 
 in her bosom that morning than mine. 
 
 To make matters worse still, my traveling companions 
 (one in the refreshment-room, and one pacing the platform) 
 received my account of my interview with Grosse in a man- 
 ner which seriously disappointed and discouraged me. Mr. 
 Finch's inhuman conceit treated my melancholy news of his 
 daughter as a species of complimentary tribute to his own 
 foresight. " You remember, Madame Pratolungo, I took high 
 ground in this matter from the first. I protested against tho 
 proceedings of the man Grosse as involving a purely worldly 
 interference with the ways of an inscrutable Providence. 
 With what effect? My paternal influence was repudiated; 
 my Moral Weight was, so to speak, set aside. And now you 
 see the result. Take it to heart, dear friend. May it be a, 
 warning to you !" He sighed with ponderous complacency, 
 and turned from me to the girl behind the counter. " I will 
 take another cup of tea." 
 
 Oscar's reception of me, when I found him on the platform, 
 and told him next of Lucilla's critical state, was more than dis- 
 couraging. It is no exaggeration to say that he alarmed me. 
 
 " Another item in the debt I owe to Nugent !" he said. 
 Not a word of sympathy, not a word of sorrow. That vin- 
 dictive answer, and nothing more. 
 
 We started for Sydenham. 
 
 From time to time I looked at Oscar sitting opposite to 
 me, to see if any change appeared in him as we drew nearer 
 and nearer to the place in which Lucilla was now living. 
 No ! Still the same ominous silence, the same unnatural self- 
 repression possessed him. Except the momentary outbreak 
 when Mr. Finch had placed Xugent's letter in his hand on the 
 previous evening, not the faintest token of what was really 
 going on in his mind had escaped him since we had left Mar- 
 seilles. He, who could weep over all his other griefs as eas- 
 ily and as spontaneously as a woman, had not shed a tear 
 since the fatal day when he had discovered that his brother 
 had played him false that brother who had been the god of 
 his idolatry, the sacred object of his gratitude and love ! 
 When a man of Oscar's temperament becomes fro/.cn up for 
 days together in his own thoughts when he keeps his own 
 
 T
 
 434 POOE MISS FINCH. 
 
 counsel when he asks for no sympathy, and utters no com- 
 plaint the sign is a serious one. There are hidden forces 
 gathering in him which will burst their way to the surface 
 for good or for evil with an irresistible result. Watching 
 Oscar attentively behind my veil, I felt the certain assurance 
 that the part he would take in the terrible conflict of interests 
 now awaiting us would be a part which I should remember 
 to the latest day of my life. 
 
 We reached Sydenham, and went to the nearest hotel. 
 
 On the railway with other travelers in the carriage it 
 had been impossible to consult on the safest method of ap- 
 proaching Lucilla in the first instance. That serious question 
 now pressed for instant decision. We sat down to consult 
 on it in the room which we had hired at the hotel. 
 
 CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH. 
 
 ON THE WAY TO THE END. THIRD STAGE. 
 
 ON former occasions of doubt or difficulty it had always 
 been Oscar's habit to follow the opinions of others. On this 
 occasion he was the first to speak, and to assert an opinion 
 of his own. 
 
 "It seems needless to waste time in discussing our different 
 views," he said. " There is only one thing to be done. I am 
 the person principally concerned in this matter. Wait here, 
 while I go to the house." 
 
 He spoke without any of his usual hesitation, and took up 
 his hat without looking either at Mr. Finch or at me. I felt 
 more and more convinced that the influence which Xugent's 
 vile breach of confidence had exerted over Oscar's mind was 
 an influence which had made a dangerous man of him. Re- 
 solved to prevent him from leaving us, I insisted on his re- 
 turning to his chair, and hearing what I had to say. At the 
 same moment Mr. Finch rose, and placed himself between 
 Os<jar and the door. Seeing this, I thought it might be wise 
 if I kept my interference in reserve, and allowed the rector 
 to speak first. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Oscar," said Mr. Finch, gravely. " You 
 are forgetting Me." 
 
 Oscar waited doggedly, hat in hand.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 435 
 
 Mr. Finch paused, evidently considering what words ho 
 should use before he spoke again. His respect for Oscar's 
 pecuniary position was great; but his respect for himself 
 especially at the present crisis was, if possible, greater still. 
 In deference to the first sentiment he was as polite, and in 
 deference to the second he was as positive, in phrasing his 
 remonstrance, as a man could be. 
 
 " Permit me to remind you, dear Oscar, that my claim to 
 interfere, as Lucilla's father, is at least equal to yours," pro- 
 ceeded the rector. " In the hour of my daughter's need, it is 
 my parental duty to be present. If you go to your cousin's 
 house, my position imperatively requires that I should go 
 too." 
 
 Oscar's reception of this proposal confirmed the grave ap- 
 prehensions with which he had inspired me. He flatly re- 
 fused to have Mr. Finch for a companion. 
 
 "Excuse me," he answered, shortly. "I wish to go to the 
 house alone." 
 
 "Permit me to ask your reason," said the rector, still pre- 
 serving his conciliatory manner. 
 
 "I wish to see my brother in private," Oscar replied, with 
 his eyes on the ground. 
 
 Mr. Finch, still restraining himself, but still not moving 
 from the door, looked at me. I hastened to interfere before 
 there was any serious disagreement between them. 
 
 " I venture to think," I said, " that you are both wrong. 
 Whether one of you goes or both of you go, the result will 
 be the same. The chances are a hundred to one against 
 your being admitted into the house." 
 
 They both turned on me together, and asked what I meant. 
 
 " You can't force your way in," I said. " You must do one 
 of two things. You must either give your names to the 
 servant at the door, or you must withhold your names. If 
 yon give them, you Avarn Nugent of what is coming and he 
 is not the man to let you into the house under those circum- 
 stances. If you take the other way, and keep your names 
 concealed, you present yourselves as strangers. Is Nugent 
 likely to be accessible to strangers? Would Lucilla, in her 
 present position, consent to receive two men who are un- 
 known to her? Take my word for it you will not only 
 gain nothing if you go to the house you will actually make
 
 436 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 it more difficult to communicate with Lucilla than it is al- 
 ready." 
 
 There was a moment's silence. Both the men.i'elt that my 
 objections were not easy to answer. Once more Oscar took 
 the lead. 
 
 " Do you propose to go ?" he asked. 
 
 " No x " I answered. " I propose to send a letter to Lucilla. 
 A letter will find its way to her." 
 
 This again was unanswerable. Oscar inquired next what the 
 purport of the letter was to be. I replied " that I proposed to 
 ask her to grant me a private interview nothing more." 
 
 "Suppose Lucilla refuses?" sajd Mr. Finch. 
 
 " She will not refuse," I rejoined. " There was a little mis- 
 understanding between us I admit at the time when I 
 went abroad. I mean to refer frankly to that misunder- 
 standing as my reason for writing. I shall put your daugh- 
 ter on her honor to give me an opportunity of setting things 
 right between us. If I summon Lucilla to do an act of jus- 
 tice, I believe she will not refuse me." 
 
 (This, let me add in parenthesis, was the plan of action 
 which I had formed on the way to Sydenham. I had only 
 waited to mention it until I had heard what the two men 
 proposed to do first.) 
 
 Oscar, standing hat in hand, glanced at Mr. Finch (also hat 
 in hand), keeping obstinately near the door. If he persisted 
 in carrying out his purpose of going alone to his cousin's 
 house, the rector's face and manner expressed, with the po- 
 litest plainness, the intention of following him. Oscar was 
 placed between a clergyman and a woman both equally de- 
 termined to have their own way. Under those circum- 
 stances, there was no alternative unless he wished to pro- 
 duce a public scandal but to yield, or appear to yield, to 
 one or the other of us. He selected me. 
 
 "If you succeed in seeing her," he asked, "what do you 
 mean to do ?" 
 
 " I mean either to bring her back with me here to her fa- 
 ther and to you, or to make an appointment with her to see 
 you both where she is now living," I replied. 
 
 Oscar after another look at the immovable rector rang 
 the bell, and ordered writing materials. 
 
 "One more question," he said. "Assuming that Lucilla
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 437 
 
 receives you at the house, do you intend to see " He sto A > 
 ped ; his eyes shrank from meeting mine. " Do you intend 
 to see any body else?" he resumed: still evading the plain 
 utterance of his brother's name. 
 
 ."I intend to see nobody but Lucilla," I said. "It is no 
 business of mine to interfere between you and your brother." 
 (Heaven forgive me for speaking in that way to him, while 
 I had the firm resolution to interfere between them in my 
 mind all the time !) 
 
 " Write your letter," he said, " on condition that I see the 
 reply." 
 
 " It is needless, I presume, for me to make the same stipu- 
 lation ?" added the rector. " In my parental capacity 
 
 I recognized his parental capacity before he could say any 
 more. " You shall both see the reply," I said, and sat down 
 to my letter writing merely what I had told them I should 
 write: "Dear Lucilla, I have just returned from the Conti- 
 nent. For the sake of justice, and for the sake of old times, 
 let me see you immediately without mentioning our ap- 
 pointment to any body. I pledge myself to satisfy you in 
 five minutes that I have never been unworthy of your affec- 
 tion and your confidence. The bearer waits for your reply." 
 
 I handed those lines to the two gentlemen to read. Mr. 
 Finch made no remark he was palpably dissatisfied at the 
 secondary position which he occupied. Oscar said, "I see 
 no objection to the letter. I will do nothing until I have 
 read the answer." With those words, he dictated to me his 
 cousin's address. I gave the letter myself to one of the 
 servants at the hotel. 
 
 " Is it far from here?" I asked. 
 
 " Barely ten minutes' walk, ma'am." 
 
 "You understand that you are to wait for an answer?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 He went out. As well as I can remember, an interval of 
 at least half an hour passed before his return. You will 
 form some idea of the terrible oppression of suspense that 
 now laid its slowly torturing weight on all three of us, when 
 I tell you that not one word was spoken in the room from 
 the time when the servant went out to the time when the 
 servant came in again. 
 
 When the man returned he had a letter in his hand !
 
 438 POOfl MISS FINCH. 
 
 My fingers shook so that I could hardly open it. Before 
 I had read a word the sight of the writing struck a sudden 
 
 o o 
 
 chill through me. The body of the note was written by the 
 hand of a stranger ! And the signature at the end was 
 traced in the large, straggling, childish characters which I 
 remembered so well, when Lucilla had written her first let- 
 ter to Oscar in the days when she was blind ! 
 
 The note was expressed in these strange words : " I can 
 not receive you here ; but I can, and will, come to you at 
 your hotel if you will wait for me. I am not able to ap- 
 point a time. I can only promise to watch for my first op- 
 portunity, and to take advantage of it instantly for your 
 sake and for mine." 
 
 But one interpretation could be placed on such language 
 as this. Lucilla was not a free agent. Both Oscar and the 
 rector were now obliged to acknowledge that my view of 
 the case had been the correct one. If it was impossible for 
 me to be received into the house, how doubly impossible 
 would it be for the men to gain admission ! Oscar, after 
 reading the note, withdrew to the fai'ther end of the room, 
 keeping his thoughts to himself. Mr. Finch decided on step- 
 ping out of his secondary position by forthwith taking a 
 course of his own. 
 
 "Am I to infer," he began, "that it is really useless for 
 me to attempt to see my own child ?" 
 
 "Her letter speaks for itself," I replied. "If you attempt 
 to see her, you will probably be the means of preventing 
 your daughter from coming here." 
 
 " In my parental capacity," continued Mr. Finch, " it is im- 
 possible for me to remain passive. As a brother clergyman, 
 I have, I conceive, a claim on the rector of this parish. It is 
 quite likely that notice may have been already given of this 
 fraudulent marriage. In that case, it is not only my duty 
 to myself and my child it is my duty to the Church, to 
 confer with my reverend colleague. I go to confer with 
 him." He strutted to the door, and added, " If Lucilla ar- 
 rives in my absence, I invest you with my authority, Ma- 
 dame Pratolungo, to detain her until my return." With that 
 parting charge to me, he walked out. 
 
 I looked at Oscar. He came slowly toward me from the 
 Other end of the room.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 439 
 
 "You will wait here, of course?" he said. 
 
 "Of course. And you?" 
 
 "I shall go out for a little while." 
 
 "For any particular purpose?" 
 
 " No. To get through the time. I am weary of waiting.'' 
 
 I felt positively assured, from the manner in which he an- 
 swered me, that he was going now he had got rid of Mr. 
 Finch straight to his cousin's house. 
 
 "You forget," I said, "that Lucilla may come here while 
 you are out. Your presence in the room, or in the room 
 next to this, may be of the greatest importance, when I tell 
 her what your brother has done. Suppose she refuses to be- 
 lieve me ? What am I to do if I have not got you to ap- 
 peal to? In your own interest, as well as in Lucilla's, I re- 
 quest you to remain here with me till she comes." 
 
 Putting it on that ground only, I waited to see what he 
 would do. After a certain hesitation, he answered, with a 
 sullen assumption of indifference, " Just as you please !" and 
 walked away again toward the other end of the room. As 
 he turned his back on me I heard him say to himself, "It's 
 only waiting a little longer!" 
 
 " Waiting for what ?" I asked. 
 
 He looked round at me over his shoulder. 
 
 " Patience for the present !" he answered. " You will hear 
 soon enough." For the moment I said no more to him. 
 The tone in which he had replied warned me that it would 
 be useless. 
 
 After an interval how long an interval I can not well 
 say I heard the sound of women's dresses in the passage 
 outside. 
 
 The instant after there was a knock at the door. 
 
 I signed to Oscar to open a second door, close by him at 
 the lower end of the room, and (for the moment at least) to 
 keep out of sight. Then I answered the knock, and said as 
 steadily as I could, " Come in." 
 
 A woman unknown to me entered, dressed like a respecta- 
 ble servant. She came in leading Lucilla by the hand. My 
 first look at my darling told me the horrible truth. As I 
 had seen her in the corridor at the rectory on the first day 
 when we met, so I now saw her once more. Again the sight- 
 less eyes turned on me, insensibly reflecting the light that
 
 440 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 fell on them. Blind ! O God ! after a few brief weeks of 
 sight, blind again ! 
 
 In that miserable discovery I forgot every thing else. I 
 flew to her, and caught her in my arms. I cast one look at 
 her pale, wasted face, and burst out crying on her bosom. 
 
 She held my head gently with one hand, and waited with 
 the patience of an angel until that first outbreak of my grief 
 had exhausted itself. "Don't cry about my blindness," said 
 the soft, sweet voice that I knew so well. "The days wjien 
 I had my sight have been the unhappiest days of my life. 
 If I look as if I had been fretting, don't think it is about my 
 eyes." She paused, and sighed bitterly. "I may tell you" 
 she went on, in a. whisper. " It's a relief, it's a consolation, 
 to tell you. I arn fretting about my marriage." 
 
 Those words roused me. I lifted my head and kissed her. 
 " I have come back to comfort you," I said ; " and I have be- 
 haved like a fool." 
 
 She smiled faintly. "How like you," she exclaimed, "to 
 say that !" She tapped my cheek with her fingers in the 
 old familiar way. The repetition of that little trifling ac- 
 tion almost broke my heart. I nearly choked myself in forc- 
 ing back the stupid, cowardly, useless tears that tried to 
 burst from me again. " Come !" she said. " Xo more cry- 
 ing. Let us sit down and talk as if we were at Dimchurch." 
 
 I took her to the sofa ; we sat side by side. She put her 
 arm round my waist and laid her head on my shoulder. 
 Again the faint smile flickered like a dying light on her love- 
 ly face, wan and wasted, yet still beautiful still the Virgin's 
 face in Raphael's picture. " We are a strange pair," sho 
 said, with a momentary flash of her old irresistible humor. 
 "You are my bitterest enemy, and you burst out crying over 
 me the moment we meet. I have been shockingly treated 
 by you, and I have got my arm round your waist and my 
 head on your shoulder, and I wouldn't let go of you for the 
 world!" Her face saddened again; her voice suddenly al- 
 tered its tone. " Tell me," she went on, "how it is that ap- 
 pearances were so terribly against you ? Oscar satisfied me, 
 at Ramsgate, that I ought to give you up, that I ought nev- 
 er to see you again. I took his view there is no denying 
 it, my dear I agreed with him in detesting you, for a little 
 while. But when the blindness came back, I could keep it
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 441 
 
 up no longer. Little by little, as the light died out, ray 
 heart would turn to you again. When I heard your letter 
 read, when I knew that you were near me, it was just like 
 the old times ; I was mad to see you. And here I am sat- 
 isfied, before you explain it to me, that you have been the 
 victim of some terrible mistake." 
 
 I tried, in grateful acknowledgment of those generous 
 words, to enter on my justification there and then. It was 
 impossible. I could think of nothing, I could speak of noth- 
 ing, but the dreadful discovery of her blindness. 
 
 " Give me a few minutes," I said, " and you shall hear it 
 all. I can't talk of myself yet ; I can only talk of you. Oh, 
 Lucilla, why did you keep away from Grosse? Come with 
 me to him to-day. Let him try what he can do. At once, 
 my love before it is too late !" 
 
 " It is too late," she said. " I have been to another ocu- 
 list a stranger. He said what Mr. Sebright said: he doubted 
 if there was ever any chance for me; he thought the opera- 
 tion ought never to have been performed." 
 
 "Why did you go to a stranger?" I asked. "Why did 
 you give up Grosse?" 
 
 "You must ask Oscar," she answered. "It was at his de- 
 sire that I kept away from Grosse." 
 
 Hearing this, I penetrated for myself the motive which had 
 actuated Nugent, as I afterward found it set forth in the 
 Journal. If he had let Lucilla go to Grosse, our good Ger- 
 man might have noticed that her position was preying on 
 her mind, and might have seen his reasons for exposing the 
 deception that Nugent was practicing on her. For the rest, 
 I still persisted iu entreating Lucilla to go back with me to 
 our old friend. 
 
 "Remember our conversation on this very subject," she 
 rejoined, shaking her head decisively. "I mean at the time 
 when the operation was going to be performed. I told you 
 I was used to being blind. I said I only wanted to recover 
 my sight to see Oscar. And when I did see him what hap- 
 pened ? The disappointment was so dreadful, I wished my- 
 self blind again. Don't start ! don't cry out as if you were 
 shocked ! I mean what I say. You people who can see at- 
 tach such an absurd importance to your eyes! Don't you 
 recollect my saying that when we last talked about it?" 
 
 T2
 
 442 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 I recollected perfectly. She had said those words. She 
 had declared that she had never honestly envied any of us 
 the use of our eyes. She had even reviled our eyes ; compar- 
 ing them contemptuously with her touch ; deriding them as 
 deceivers who were constantly leading us wrong. I acknowl- 
 edged all this, without being in the least reconciled to the 
 catastrophe that had happened. If she would only have lis- 
 tened to me, I should still have gone on obstinately pleading 
 with her. But she flatly refused to listen. " We have very 
 little time to spare," she said. "Let us talk of something 
 more interesting before I am obliged to leave you." 
 
 "Obliged to leave me?" I repeated. "Are you not yo.ir 
 own mistress?" 
 
 Her face clouded over ; her manner became embarrassed. 
 
 " I can not honestly tell you that I am a prisoner," she an- 
 swered. " I can only say I am watched. When Oscar is away 
 from me, Oscar's cousin a sly, suspicious, false woman al- 
 ways contrives to put herself in his place. I heard her say 
 to her husband that she believed I should break my marriage 
 engagement unless I was closely looked after. I don't know 
 what I should do but for one of the servants in the house, 
 who is an excellent creature, who sympathizes with me and 
 helps me ' She stopped, and lifted her head inquiringly. 
 " Where is the servant ?" she asked. 
 
 I had forgotten the woman who had brought her into the 
 room. She must have delicately left us together after 
 leading Lucilla in. When I looked up she was not to be 
 seen. 
 
 "The servant is, no doubt, waiting down stairs," I said. 
 "Goon." 
 
 "But for that good creature," Lucilla resumed, "I should 
 never have got here. She brought me your letter, and read 
 it to me, and wrote my reply. I arranged with her to slip 
 out at the first opportunity. One chance was in our favor 
 we had only the cousin to keep an eye on us. Oscar was not 
 in the house." 
 
 She suddenly checked herself at the last word. A slight, 
 sound at the lower end of the room, which had passed unno- 
 ticed by me, had caught her delicate ear. " What is that 
 noise?" she asked. "Any body in the room with us?" 
 
 I looked up once more. While she was talking of the false
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 443 
 
 Oscar, the true Oscar was standing listening to her at the 
 other end of the room. 
 
 When he discovered that I was looking at him, he entreated 
 me by a gesture not to betray his presence. He had evident- 
 ly heard what we had been saying to each other before I 
 detected him, for he touched his eyes, and lifted his hands 
 pityingly in allusion to Lucilla's blindness. Whatever his 
 mood might be, that melancholy discovery must surely have 
 affected him Lucilla's influence over him now could only be 
 an influence for good ? I signed to him to remain, and told 
 Lucilla that there was nothing to be alarmed about. She 
 went on. 
 
 "Oscar went to London early this morning," she said. 
 "Can you guess what he has gone for? He has gone to get 
 the Marriage License he has given notice of the marriage at 
 the church ! My last hope is in you. In spite of every thing 
 that I can say to him, he has fixed the day for the twenty- 
 first in two days more ! I have done all I could to put 
 it off; I have insisted on every possible delay. Oh, if you 
 knew ' Her rising agitation stifled her utterance for the 
 moment. " I mustn't waste the precious minutes ; I must 
 get back before Oscar returns," she went on, rallying again. 
 "Oh, my old friend, you are never at a loss; you always 
 know what to do! Find me some way of putting off my 
 marriage. Suggest something which will take them by sur- 
 prise, and force them to give me time !" 
 
 I looked toward the lower end of the room. Listening in 
 breathless interest, Oscar had noiselessly advanced half-way 
 toward us. At a sign from me he checked himself, and came 
 no farther. 
 
 " Do you really mean, Lucilla, that you no longer love him?" 
 I said. 
 
 "I can tell you nothing about it," she answered, "except 
 that sonic dreadful change has come over me. While I had 
 my sight I could partly account for it I believed that the 
 new sense had made a new being of me. But now I have 
 lost my sight again now I am once more what I have been 
 all iny life still the same horrible insensibility possesses me. 
 I have so little feeling for him that I sometimes find it hard 
 to persuade myself that he really is Oscar. You know how 
 I used to adore him ; you know how enchanted I should once
 
 444 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 have been to marry him. Think of what I must suffer, feel- 
 ing toward him as I feel now !" 
 
 I looked up again. Oscar had stolen nearer ; I could see 
 his face plainly. The good influence of Lucilla was beginning 
 to do its good work! I saw the tears rising in his eyes; I 
 .saw love and pity taking the place of hatred and revenge. 
 The Oscar of my old recollections was standing before me 
 once more ! 
 
 "I don't want to go away," Lncilla went on; "I don't 
 want to leave him. All I ask for is a little more time. Time 
 must help me to get back again to my old self. My blind 
 days have been the days of my whole life. Can a few weeks 
 of sight have deprived me of the feelings which have been 
 growing in me for years? I won't believe it ! I can find my 
 way about the house ; I can tell things by my touch ; I can 
 do all that I did in my blindness, just as well as ever, now I 
 am blind again. The feeling for him will come back to me 
 like the rest. Only give me time! only give me time!" 
 
 At the last word she started to her feet in sudden alarm. 
 "There is some one in the room," she said. "Some one who 
 is crying ! Who is it ?" 
 
 Oscar was close to us. The tears were falling fast over his 
 cheeks ; the one faint, sobbing breath which had escaped him 
 had caught my ear as well as Lucilla's. I took his hand in 
 one of my hands, and I took Lucilla's hand in the other. For 
 good or for evil, the result rested with God's mercy. The time 
 had come. 
 
 "Who is it?" Lucilla repeated, impatiently. 
 
 "Try if you can tell, my love, without asking me." 
 
 With those words, I put her hand in Oscar's hand, and 
 stood close, watching her face. 
 
 For one awful moment, when she first felt the familiar 
 touch, the blood left her cheeks. Her blind eyes dilated fear- 
 fully. She stood petrified. Then, with a long, low cry a 
 cry of breathless rapture she flung her arms passionately 
 round his neck. The life flowed back into her face ; her 
 lovely smile just trembled on her parted lips; her breath 
 came faint and quick and fluttering. In soft tones of ecstasy, 
 with her lips on his cheek, she murmured the delicious words: 
 
 "Oh, Oscar ! I know you once more !"
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 445 
 
 CHAPTER THE FIFTIETH. 
 
 THE END OF THE JOURNEY. 
 
 A LITTLE interval of time elapsed. 
 
 Her first exquisite sense of the recognition by touch had 
 passed away. Her mind had recovered its balance. She 
 separated herself from Oscar, and turned to me, with the one 
 inevitable question which I knew must follow the joining of 
 their hands. 
 
 " What does it mean ?" 
 
 The exposure of Nugent's perfidy ; the revelation of the 
 fatal secret of Oscar's face ; and, last not leastj the defense 
 of my own conduct toward her, were all comprehended in 
 the answer for which that question called. As carefully, as 
 delicately, as mercifully as I could, I disclosed to her the 
 whole truth. How the shock affected her, she did not tell 
 me at the time,- and has never told me since. With her hand 
 in Oscar's hand, with her face hidden on Oscar's breast, she 
 listened ; not once interrupting me, from first to last, by so 
 much as a single word. Now and then I saw her tremble; 
 now and then I heard her sigh heavily. That was all. It 
 was only when I had ended it was only after a long interval, 
 during which Oscar and I watched her in speechless anxiety 
 that she slowly lifted her head and broke the silence. 
 
 "Thank God," we heard her say to herself, fervently 
 " thank God, I am blind !" 
 
 Those were her last words. They filled me with horror. 
 I cried out to her to recall them. 
 
 She quietly laid her head back on Oscar's breast. 
 
 "Why should I recall them?" she asked. "Do you think 
 I wish to see him disfigured as he is now? No! I 'wish to 
 see him and I do see him! as my fancy drew his picture 
 in the first days of our love. My blindness is my blessing. 
 It has given me back my old delightful sensation when I 
 touch him; it keeps my own beloved image of him the one 
 image I care for unchanged and unchangeable. You trill 
 persist in thinking that my happiness depends on my sight. 
 I look back with horror at what I suffered when I had my
 
 446 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 sight my one effort is to forget that miserable time. Oh, 
 how little you know of me ! Oh, what a loss it would be to 
 me if I saw him as you see him ! Try to, understand me, and 
 you won't talk of my affliction you will talk of my gain." 
 
 " Your gain !" I repeated. " What have you gained ?" 
 
 " Happiness," she answered. " My life lives in my love. 
 And my love lives in my blindness." 
 
 There was the story of her whole existence told in two 
 words ! 
 
 If you had seen her radiant face as she raised it again in 
 the excitement of speaking if you had remembered (as I re- 
 membered) what her surgeon had said of the penalty which 
 she must inevitably pay for the recovery of her sight how 
 would you have answered her ? It is barely possible, perhaps, 
 that you might have done what I did. That is to say, you 
 might have modestly admitted that she knew what the con- 
 ditions of her happiness were better than you and you 
 might not have answered her at all ! 
 
 I left Oscar and Lucilla to talk together, and took a turn in 
 the room, considering with myself what we were to do next. 
 
 It was not easy to say. The barren information which I had 
 received from my darling was all the information that I pos- 
 sessed. Nugent had unflinchingly carried his cruel decep- 
 tion to its end. He had falsely given notice of his marriage 
 at the church in his brother's name, and he was now in Lon- 
 don falsely obtaining his Marriage License in his brother's 
 name also. So much I knew of his proceedings, and no more. 
 
 While I was still pondering Lucilla cut the Gordian knot. 
 
 " Why are we stopping here ?" she asked. " Let us go 
 and never return to this hateful place again !" 
 
 As she rose to her feet we were startled by a soft knock 
 at the door. 
 
 I answered the knock. The woman who had brought Lu- 
 cilla to the hotel appeared once more. She seemed to be 
 afraid to venture far from the door. Standing just inside the 
 room, she looked nervously at Lucilla, and said, "Can I speak 
 to you, miss ?" 
 
 " You can say any thing you like before this lady and gen- 
 tleman," Lucilla answered. " What is it ?" 
 
 " I'm afraid we have been followed, miss."
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 447 
 
 " Followed ! By whom ?" 
 
 " By the lady's-maid. I saw her, a little while since, look- 
 ing up at the hotel, and then she went back in a hurry on the 
 way to the house and that's riot the worst of it, miss." 
 
 " What else has happened ?" 
 
 "We have made a mistake about the railway," said the 
 woman. " There's a train from London that we didn't notice 
 ia the time-table. They tell me down stairs it came in more 
 than a quarter of an hour ago. Please to come back, miss, 
 or I fear we shall be found out." 
 
 " You can go back at once, Jane," said Lucilla. 
 
 " By myself?" 
 
 t; Yes. Thank you for bringing me here here I remain." 
 
 She liad barely taken her seat again between Oscar and me 
 before the door was softly opened from the outside. A long, 
 thin, nervous hand stole in through the opening, took the serv- 
 ant by the arm, and drew her out into the passage. In her 
 place, a man entered the room with his hat on. The man 
 was Nugent Dubourg. 
 
 He stopped where the servant had stopped. He looked at 
 Lucilla ; he looked at his brother ; he looked at me. 
 
 Not a word fell from him. There he stood, fronting the 
 friend whom he had calumniated, and the brother whom he 
 had betrayed. There he stood with his eyes fixed on Lu- 
 cilla, sitting between us knowing that it was all over; know- 
 ing that the woman for whom he had degraded himself was 
 a woman parted from him forever. There he stood, in the 
 hell of his own making, and devoured his torture in silence. 
 
 On his brother's appearance, Oscar had risen, and had put 
 his arm round Lucilla. He now advanced a step toward Nu- 
 gent, still holding to him his betrothed wife. 
 
 I followed him, eagerly watching his face. There was no 
 fear in me now of what he might do. Lucilla's blessed influ- 
 ence had found, and cast out, the lurking demon that had 
 been hidden in him. With a mind attentive but not alarm- 
 ed, I waited to see how he would meet the emergency that 
 confronted him. 
 
 " Nugent !" he said very quietly. 
 
 Nugent's head drooped he made no answer. 
 
 Lucilla, hearing Oscar pronounce the name, instantly un- 
 derstood what had happened. She shuddered with horror.
 
 448 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 Oscar gently placed her in my arms, and advanced again 
 alone toward his brother. His face expressed the struggle 
 in him of some subtly mingling influences of love and anguish, 
 of sorrow and shame. He recalled to me in the strangest 
 manner my past experience of him when he had first trusted 
 me with the story of the Trial, and when lie had told me 
 that Nugent was the good angel of his life. 
 
 He went up to the place at which his brother was stand- 
 ing. In the simple, boyish way so familiar to me in the by- 
 gone time, he laid his hand on his brother's arm. 
 
 " Nugent !" he said. " Are you the same dear, good brother 
 who saved me from dying on the scaffold, and who cheered 
 my hard life afterward ? Are you the same bright, clever, 
 noble fellow that I was always so fond of and so proud of?" 
 
 He paused, and removed his brother's hat. With careful, 
 caressing hand, he parted his brother's ruffled hair over his 
 forehead. Nugent's head sank lower. His face was distort- 
 ed, his hands were clinched, in the dumb agony of remem- 
 brance which that tender voice and that kind hand had set 
 loose in him. Oscar gave him time to recover himself: Os- 
 car spoke next to me. 
 
 "You know Nugent ?" he said. " You remember, when we 
 first met, my telling you that Nugent was an angel ? You 
 saw for yourself, when he came to Dimchurch, how kindly he 
 helped me ; how faithfully he kept my secrets; what a true 
 friend he was? Look at him and you will feel, as I do, 
 that we have misunderstood and misinterpreted him in some 
 monstrous way." He turned again to Nugent. " I daren't 
 tell you," he went on, " what I have heard about you, and 
 what I have believed about you, and what vile unbrothcrly 
 thoughts I have had of being revenged on you. Thank God, 
 they are gone ! My dear fellow, I look back at them now 
 I see you as I might look back at a horrible dream. How 
 can I see you, Nugent, and believe that you have been false 
 to me? You, a villain who has tried to rob poor Me of the 
 only woman in the world who cares for me ! You, so hand- 
 some and so popular, who may marry any woman you like ! 
 It can't be. You have drifted innocently into some false po- 
 sition without knowing it. Defend yourself! No. Let we 
 defend you. You sha'n't humble yourself to any body. Tell 
 me how you have really acted toward Lucilla and toward
 
 POOR MISS FINCIL 449 
 
 me, and leave it to your brother to set you right with every 
 body. Come, Nugent ! lift up your head and tell me what 
 1 shall say." 
 
 Nugent lifted his head, and looked at Oscar. 
 
 Ghastly as his face was, I saw something in his eyes, when 
 he first fixed them on his brother, which again reminded me 
 of past days the days when he had joined us at Dimchurch, 
 and when he used to talk of "poor Oscar" in the tender, light- 
 hearted way that first won me. I thought once more of the 
 memorable night interview between us at Browndown, when 
 Oscar had left England. Again I called to mind the signs 
 which had told of the nobler nature of the man pleading with 
 him. Aijain I remembered the remorse which had moved him 
 
 o 
 
 to tears the effort he had made in my presence to atone for 
 past misdoing, and to struggle for the last time against the 
 guilty passion that possessed him. Was the nature which 
 could feel that remorse utterly depraved ? Was the man who 
 had made that effort the last of the many that had gone 
 before it irredeemably bad? "Wait!" I whispered to Lu- 
 cilla, trembling and weeping in my arms. " He will deserve 
 our sympathy ; he will win our pardon and our pity yet !" 
 
 "Come !" Oscar repeated. " Tell me what I shall say." 
 
 Nugent drew from his pocket a sheet of paper with writ- 
 ing on it. 
 
 "Say," he answered, " that I gave notice of your marriage at 
 the church here and that I went to London and got you this." 
 
 He handed the sheet of paper to his brother. It was the 
 Marriage License, taken out in his brother's name. 
 
 " Be happy, Oscar," he added. " You deserve it." 
 
 He threw one arm in his old, easy, protecting way round 
 his brother. His hand, as he did this, touched the breast 
 pocket of Oscar's coat. Before it was possible to stop him, 
 his dexterous fingers had opened the pocket, and had taken 
 from it a little toy pistol, with a chased silver handle of Os- 
 car's own workmanship. 
 
 " Was this for me ?" he asked, with a faint smile. " My 
 poor boy ! you could never have done it, could you ?" He 
 kissed Oscar's dark cheek, and put the pistol into his own 
 pocket. " The handle is your own work," he said. " I shall 
 take it as your present to me. Return to Browndown v. l.on 
 you are married. I am going to travel again. You shall
 
 450 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 hear from me before I leave England. God bless you, Oscar. 
 Good-by." 
 
 He put his brother back from him with a firm and gentle 
 hand. I attempted to advance with Lucilla, and speak to 
 him. Something in his face looking at me out of his mourn- 
 ful eyes, calm, stem, and superhuman, like a look of doom 
 warned me back from him, and filled me with the foreboding 
 that I should see him no more. He walked to the door, and 
 opened it turned and, fixing his farewell look on Lucilla, 
 saluted us silently with a bend of his head. The door closed on 
 him softly. In a few minutes only from the time when he had 
 entered the room he had left us again and left us forever. 
 
 We looked at each other we could not speak. The void 
 that he had left behind him was dreary and dreadful. I was 
 the first who moved. In silence I led Lucilla back to our seat 
 on the sofa, and beckoned to Oscar to go to her in my place. 
 
 This done, I left them and went out to meet Lucilla's fa- 
 ther on his return to the hotel. I wished to prevent him 
 from disturbing them. After what had happened, it was 
 good for them to be alone. 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 MADAME PKATOLUNGO'S LAST WOKDS. 
 
 TWELVE years have passed since the events happened 
 which it has been the business of these pages to relate. I am 
 at my desk, looking idly at all the leaves of writing which 
 my pen has filled, and asking myself if there is 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 to each other at Sydenham they were married 
 at the church in that place. It was a dull wedding. No- 
 body was in spirits but Mr. Finch. We parted in London. 
 The bride and bridegroom returned to Browndown. The 
 rector remained in town for a day or two visiting some 
 friends. I went back to my father, to accompany him, as I 
 had promised, on his journey from Marseilles to Paris. 
 
 As well as I remember, I remained a fortnight abroad. In 
 the course of that time I received kind letters from Brown-
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 451 
 
 down. One of them announced that Oscar had heard from 
 his brother. 
 
 Nugent's letter was not a long one. It was dated at Liv- 
 erpool, and it announced his embarkation for America in two 
 hours' time. He had heard of a new expedition to the arctic 
 regions then fitting out in the United States with the ob- 
 ject of discovering the open polar sea supposed to be situated 
 between Spitzbergen and Nova Zembla. It had instantly 
 struck him that this expedition offered an entirely new field 
 of study to a landscape painter in search of the sublimest 
 aspects of Nature. He had decided on volunteering to join 
 the arctic explorers, and he had already raised the necessary 
 money for his outfit by the sale of the only valuables he pos- 
 sessed his jewelry and his books. If he wanted more, he 
 engaged to apply to Oscar. In any case, he promised to write 
 again before the expedition sailed. And so, for the present 
 only, he would bid his brother and sister affectionately fare- 
 well. When I afterward looked at the letter myself, I found 
 nothing in it which referred in the slightest degree to the 
 past, or which hinted at the state of the writer's own health 
 and spirits. 
 
 I returned to our remote Southdown village, and occupied 
 the room which Lucilla had herself prepared for me at Brown- 
 down. 
 
 I found the married pair as tranquil and as happy in their 
 union as a man and woman could be. The absent Nugent 
 dwelt a little sadly in their minds at times, I suspect, as well 
 as in mine. It was perhaps on this account that Lucilla ap- 
 peared to me to be quieter than she used to be in her maiden 
 days. However, my presence did something toward restor- 
 ing her to her old spirits, and Grosse's speedy arrival exert- 
 ed its enlivening influence in support of mine. 
 
 As soon as the gout would let him get on his feet he pre- 
 sented himself with his instruments at Browndown, eager for 
 another experiment on Luuilla's eyes. " If my operations 
 had failed," he said, " I should not have plagued you no more. 
 But my operations has not failed: it is you who have failed 
 to take care of your nice new eyes when I gave them to you." 
 In those terms he endeavored to persuade her to let him at- 
 tempt another operation. She steadily refused to submit to 
 it, and the discussion that followed roused her famously.
 
 452 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 More than once afterward Grosse tried to make her change 
 her mind. He tried in vain. The disputes between the two 
 made the house ring again. Lucilla found all her old gayety 
 in refuting the grotesque arguments and persuasions of our 
 worthy German. To me when I once or twice attempted 
 to shake her resolution she replied in another way, merely 
 repeating the words she had said to me at Sydenham, " My 
 life lives in my love. And my love lives in my blindness." 
 It is only right to add that Mr. Sebright, and another com- 
 petent authority, consulted with him, declared unhesitating- 
 ly that she was right. Under any circumstances, Mr. Se- 
 bright was of opinion that the success of Grosse's operation 
 could never have been more than temporary. His colleague, 
 after examining Lucilla's eyes at a later period, entirely 
 agreed with him. Which was in the right these two or 
 
 o o 
 
 Grosse who can say ? As blind Lucilla, you first knew her. 
 As blind Lucilla, you see the last of her now. If you feel in- 
 clined to regret this, remember that the one thing essential 
 was the thing she possessed. Her life was a happy one. 
 Bear this in mind and don't forget that your conditions of 
 happiness need not necessarily be her conditions also. 
 
 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 line in it touched us deeply. " Who 
 knows whether Lshall ever see England again? If a boy is 
 born to you, Oscar, call him by my name for my sake." 
 
 Inclosed in this letter was a private communication from 
 Nugent addressed to me. It was the confession to which I 
 have alluded in my notes attached to Lucilla's Journal. 
 These words only were added at the end : " You now know 
 every thing. Forgive me if you can. I have not escaped 
 without suffering: remember that." After making use of 
 the narrative, as you already know, I have burned it all, ex- 
 cept those last lines. 
 
 At distant intervals we heard twice of the exploring-ship 
 from whaling-vessels. Then there was a long, dreary inter- 
 val without news of any sort. Then a dreadful report that 
 the expedition was lost. Then the confirmation of the report 
 a lapse of a whole year, and no tidings of the missing men. 
 
 They were well provided with supplies of all kinds, and 
 there was a general hope that they might be holding out.
 
 POOR MISS FINCH. 453 
 
 A new expedition was sent and sent vainly in search of 
 them overland. Rewards were offered to. whaling-vessels to 
 find them, and were never earned. We wore mourning for 
 Nugent; we were a melancholy house-hold. Two more years 
 passed before the fate of the lost expedition was discovered. 
 A ship in the whale trade, driven i>ut 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 the story: 
 
 "The wreck was drifting along a channel of open water 
 when we first saw it. Before long it was brought up by an 
 iceberg. I got into my boat with some of my sailors, and we 
 rowed to the vessel. 
 
 "Not a man was to be seen on the deck, which was cov- 
 ered with snow. We hailed, and got no reply. I looked in 
 through one of the circular glazed port-holes astern, and saw 
 dimly the figure of a man seated at a table. I knocked on 
 the thick glass, but he never moved. We got on deck, and 
 opened the cabin hatchway, and went below. The man I had 
 seen was before us, at the end of the cabin. I led the way, 
 and spoke to him. He made no answer. 1 looked closer, 
 and touched one of his hands which lay on the table. 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 went out yesterday. The captain tried to light it 
 again, and has failed. The surgeon and two seamen died of 
 cold this morning. The rest of us miijt soon follow. If we are 
 ever discovered, I beg the person who finds me to send this 
 
 "There the hand that held the pen had dropped into the 
 writer's lap. The left hand still lay on the table. Between 
 the frozen fingers we found a long lock of a woman's hair 
 tied at each end with a blue ribbon. The open 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 Nugent Dubourg. I publish the name in my report, in 
 case it may meet the eyes of his friends. 
 
 " Examination of the rest of the vessel, and comparison of 
 dates with the date of the log-book, showed that the officers 
 and crew had been dead for more than two years. The posi- 
 tions in which we found the frozen men, and the names where
 
 454 POOR MISS FINCH. 
 
 it was possible to discover them, are here set forth as fol- 
 lows" . . . 
 
 That " lock of a woman's hair" is now in Lucilla's posses- 
 sion. It will be buried with her, at her own request, when 
 she dies. Ah, poor Nugent! Are we not all sinners? Re- 
 member the best of him, and forget the worst, as we do. 
 
 I still linger over my writing reluctant to leave it, if the 
 truth must be told. But what more is there to say? I hear 
 Oscar hammering away at his chasing, and whistling blithe- 
 ly over his work. In another room Lucilla is teaching the 
 piano to her little girl. On my table is a letter from Mrs. 
 Finch, dated from one of our distant colonies over which 
 Mr. Finch (who has risen gloriously in the world) presides 
 pastorally as bishop. He harangues the "natives" to his 
 heart's content: and the wonderi'ul natives like it. "Jicks" 
 is in her element among the aboriginal members of her fa- 
 
 o o 
 
 ther's congregation : there are fears that the wandering Arab 
 of the Finch family will end in marrying " a chief." Mrs. 
 Finch I don't expect you to believe this is anticipating 
 another confinement. 
 
 Lucilla's eldest boy called Nugent has just come in, 
 and stands by my desk. He lifts his bright blue eyes up to 
 mine ; his round, rosy face expresses strong disapproval of 
 what I am doing. "Aunty," he says, "you have written 
 enough. Come and play." 
 
 The boy is right. I must put away my manuscript and 
 leave you. My excellent spirits are a little dashed at part- 
 ing. I wonder whether you are sorry too? I shall never 
 know ! Well, I have many blessings to comfort me on clos- 
 ing my relations with you. I have kind souls who love me; 
 and observe this ! I stand on my political principles ns 
 firmly as ever. The world is getting converted to my way 
 of thinking: the Pratolungo programme, my friends, is com- 
 ing to the front with giant steps. Long live the Republic ! 
 Farewell. 
 
 THE END,
 
 VALUABLE AND INTERESTING WORKS 
 
 FOR 
 
 PUBLIC AND P1UVATE LIBRARIES 
 
 PUBLISHED BY IIARPEH & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. 
 
 tw~ Far a full List of Hooks suitab'efor Libraries published by HAKPKR & BBOTW 
 BUS. nee UABPKB'B CATAI.OOUK. which may be had gratwbnmly on ap/>lira 
 tion to the puolishery personally, or by letter enclosing Ten Cent* in j/oHtagf 
 stamps. 
 
 tiF~ The above works are for <i/e b;i ull booksellers, or will be sent by HABTKK & 
 I Sue >TH F us to any addresx, )>otaije prepaid {.except school atut col/eye text- 
 books indicated by an asterisk (*), to the Hat price of whii-h 10 p-r cent 
 should be added/or postage], on receipt of price. 
 
 BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON, Including Boswell's Journal of a 
 Tour to the Hebrides, and Johnson's Diary of u Journey into North 
 Wales. Edited by GEORGK BIKKBECK HILL, D.C.L., Pembroke 
 College, Oxford. 6 vols., Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $10 00. 
 
 THE JOURNAL OF SIR WALTER SCOTT, 1825-1832. From the 
 Original Manuscript at Abbotsford. With Two Portraits and En- 
 graved Title-pages. 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt 
 Tops, $7 50; Half Calf, $12 00. Also a l^ojwlar Edition in one 
 volume, Crown 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 
 
 STUDIES IN CHAUCER: His Life and Writings. By THOMAS R. 
 LOUNSBUKY, Professor of English in the Sheffield Scientific School 
 of Yale University. With a Portrait of Chaucer. 3 vols., 8vo, Cloth, 
 Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $9 00. (In a Box.) 
 
 INDIKA. The Country and the People of India and Ceylon. By 
 JOHN F. HURST, D.D., LL.D. With 6 Maps and 250 Illustrations. 
 8vo, Cloth, $3 75; Half Morocco, $5 75. 
 
 MOTLEY'S LETTERS. The Correspondence of John Lothrop Mot- 
 lev, D.C.L. Edited bv GKORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. With Portrait. 
 2 vols., 8vo, Cloth, $7 00 ; Sheep, $8 00; Half Calf, $11 50. 
 
 MACAULAY'S ENGLAND. The History of England from the Ac- 
 cession of James II. By THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 5 vols., 
 in a Bo::, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt 
 Tops, $10 00; Sheep, $12 50; Half Calf, $21 25. Also 5 Yols., 
 12mo, Cloth, $2 50; Sheep, $3 75. 
 
 MACAULAY'S MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. The Miscellaneous 
 Works of Lord Macaulay. 5 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with 
 Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $10 00; Sheep, $1? 50, 
 Half Calf, $21 25.
 
 2 Valuable and Interesting Works. 
 
 HUME'S ENGLAND. History of England, from the Invasion of 
 Julius Caesar to the Abdication of James II. , 1688. By DAVID 
 HUME. 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut 
 Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, $25 5<X 
 Also 6 vols., in a Box, 12mo, Cloth, $3 00; Sheep, $4 50. 
 
 THE WORKS OF OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Edited by PBTKE 
 CUNNINGHAM, F.S,A. 4 vols., 8vo, Cloth, Paper Labels, Uncut 
 Edges and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, $10 00; Half Calf, $17 00. 
 
 THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. A History. By JOHN 
 LOTHROP MOTLBY, LL.D., D.C.L. With a Portrait of William of 
 Orange. 3 vols., in a Box. 8vo, Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut 
 Edges and Gilt Tops, $G 00; Sheep, $7 50; Half Calf, $12 75. 
 
 HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS : From the Death 
 of William the Silent to the Twelve Years' Truce 1548-1609. With 
 a full View of the English-Dutch Struggle against Spain, and of the 
 Origin and Destruction of the Spanish Armada. By JOHN LOTHROP 
 MOTLEY, LL.D., D.C.L. Portraits. 4 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, 
 with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $8 00; Sheep, 
 $10 00; Half Calf, $17 00. 
 
 THE LIFE AND DEATH OF JOHN OF BARNEVELD, Advo- 
 cate of Holland. With a View of the Primary Causes and Move- 
 ments of the "Thirty Years' War." By JOHN LOTHUOP MOTLEV, 
 LL.D., D.C.L. Illustrated. 2 vols., in a Box, 8vo, Cloth, witb 
 Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $4 00; Sheep, $5 00; 
 Half Calf, $8 50. 
 
 GIBBON'S ROME. The History of the Decline and Fall of the Ro- 
 man Empire. By EDWARD GIBBON. With Notes by Dean MIL- 
 MAN, M. GUIZOT, and Dr. WILLIAM SMITH. 6 vols., in a Box, 8vo, 
 Cloth, with Paper Labels, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, $12 00; 
 Sheep, $15 00; Half Calf, $25 50. Also 6 vols., in a Box, 12mo. 
 Cloth, $3 00 ; Sheep, $4 50. 
 
 A. DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Pronounc- 
 ing, Etymological, and Explanatory: embracing Scientific and other 
 Terms, Numerous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old 
 English Words. By the Rev. JAMES STORMOKTII. The Pronuncia- 
 tion Revised by the Rev. P. H. PIIELP, M.A. Imperial 8vo, Cloth, 
 $5 00; Half Roan, $6 50; Full Sheep, $6 50. 
 
 THARAOHS, FELLAHS, AND EXPLORERS. By AMELIA B. 
 EDWARDS. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and 
 Gilt Top, $4 00. 
 
 RECOLLECTIONS OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN and His Adminis- 
 tration. By Lucius E. CHITTENDEN, his Register of the Treasury. 
 With Portrait. Svo, Cloth, Uncut Edges and Gilt Top, $2 50; Half 
 Calf, $4 75.
 
 University o ao 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY 
 
 ^ 
 from which it was borro