During the first fortnight just mentioned, the London doctor came to seeOscar.
He left again, perfectly satisfied with the results of his treatment. Thedreadful epileptic malady would torture the patient and shock the friendsabout him no more: the marriage might safely be celebrated at the timeagreed on. Oscar was cured.
The doctor's visit--reviving our interest in observing the effect of themedicine--also revived the subject of Oscar's false position towardsLucilla. Nugent and I held a debate about it between ourselves. I openedthe interview by suggesting that we should unite our forces to persuadehis brother into taking the frank and manly course. Nugent neither saidYes nor No to that proposal at the outset. He, who made up his mind at amoment's notice about everything else, took time to decide on this oneoccasion.
"There is something that I want to know first," he said. "I want tounderstand this curious antipathy of Lucilla's which my brother regardswith 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 thechange in his complexion. But he failed entirely to meet my difficulty inunderstanding the case."
"What is your difficulty?"
"This. So far as I can see, she fails to discover intuitively thepresence of dark people in a room, or of dark colors in the ornaments ofa room. It is only when _she is told_ that such persons or such thingsare present that her prejudice declares itself. In what state of minddoes such a strange feeling as this take its rise? It seems impossiblethat she can have any conscious associations with colors, pleasant orpainful--if it is true that she was blind at a year old. How do youaccount for it? Can there be such a thing as a purely instinctiveantipathy; remaining passive until external influences rouse it; andresting on no sort of practical experience whatever?"
"I think there may be," I replied. "Why, when I was a child just able towalk, did I shrink away from the first dog I saw who barked at me? Icould not have known, at that age, either by experience or teaching, thata dog's bark is sometimes the prelude to a dog's bite. My terror, on thatoccasion, 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 painfulassociation with dark colors, on certain occasions. They sometimesproduce a disagreeable impression on her nerves, through her sense oftouch. She discovered, in that way, that I had a dark gown on, on the daywhen I first saw her."
"And yet, she touches my brother's face, and fails to discover anyalteration in it."
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 discovery," I said,"if she had touched him for the first time, since the discoloration ofhis face. But she examines him now with a settled impression in her mind,derived from previous experience of what she has felt in touching hisskin. Allow for the modifying influence of that impression on her senseof touch--and remember at the same time, that it is the color and not thetexture of the skin that is changed--and his escape from discoverybecomes, to my mind, intelligible."
He shook his head; he owned he could not dispute my view. But he was notcontent for all that.
"Have you made any inquiries," he asked, "about the period of her infancybefore she was blind? She may be still feeling, indirectly andunconsciously, the effect of some shock to her nervous system in the timewhen she could see."
"I have never thought of making inquiries."
"Is there anybody within our reach, who was familiarly associated withher in the first year of her life? It is hardly likely, I am afraid, atthis distance of time?"
"There is a person now in the house," I said. "Her old nurse is stillliving."
"Send for her directly."
Zillah appeared. After first explaining what he wanted with her, Nugentwent straight to the inquiry which he had in view.
"Was your young lady ever frightened when she was a baby by any darkperson, or any dark thing, suddenly appearing before her?"
"Never, sir! I took good care to let nothing come near her that couldfrighten 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 unusuallyanxious--turned to me with an air of relief.
"When you proposed to me to join you in forcing Oscar to speak out," hesaid, "I was not quite easy in my mind about the consequences. After whatI have just heard, my fear is removed."
"What fear?" I asked.
"The fear of Oscar's confession producing an estrangement between themwhich might delay the marriage. I am against all delays. I am especiallyanxious that Oscar's marriage should not be put off. When we began ourconversation, I own to you I was of Oscar's opinion that he would dowisely to let marriage make him sure of his position in her affections,before he risked the disclosure. Now--after what the nurse has told us--Isee no risk worth considering."
"In short," I said, "you agree with me?"
"I agree with you--though I _am_ the most opinionated man living. Thechances now seem to me to be all in Oscar's favor, Lucilla's antipathy isnot what I feared it was--an antipathy firmly rooted in a constitutionalmalady. It is nothing more serious," said Nugent, deciding the question,at once and for ever, with the air of a man profoundly versed inphysiology--"it is nothing more serious than a fanciful growth, a morbidaccident, of her blindness. She may live to get over it--she would, Ibelieve, certainly get over it, if she could see. In two words, afterwhat I have found out this morning, I say as you say--Oscar is making amountain out of a molehill. He ought to have put himself right withLucilla long since. I have unbounded influence over him. It shall backyour influence. Oscar shall make a clean breast of it, before the week isout."
We shook hands on that bargain. As I looked at him--bright and dashingand resolute; Oscar, as I had always wished Oscar to be--I own to myshame I privately regretted that we had not met Nugent in the twilight,on that evening of ours which had opened to Lucilla the gates of a newlife.
Having said to each other all that we had to say--our two lovers beingaway together at the time, for a walk on the hills--we separated, as Ithen supposed, for the rest of the day. Nugent went to the inn, to lookat a stable which he proposed converting into a studio: no room atBrowndown being half large enough, for the first prodigious picture withwhich the "Grand Consoler" in Art proposed to astonish the world. As forme, having nothing particular to do, I went out to see if I could meetOscar and Lucilla on their return from their walk.
Failing to find them, I strolled back by way of Browndown. Nugent wassitting alone on the low wall in front of the house, smoking a cigar. Herose and came to meet me, with his finger placed mysteriously on hislips.
"You mustn't come in," he said; "you mustn't speak loud enough to beheard." He pointed round the corner of the house to the little room atthe side, already familiar to you in these pages. "Oscar and Lucilla areshut up together there. And Oscar is making his confession to her at thismoment!"
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.--WhileI was looking at the stable (it isn't half big enough for a studio forMe!), Oscar's servant brought me a little pencil note, entreating me, inOscar's name, to go to him directly at Browndown. I found him waiting outhere, 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 Oscarbrought her back to Browndown to rest. Well! I inquired what was thematter. The answer informed me that the secret of Oscar's complexion hadfo
rced 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 Lucillafound the little imp howling outside the house. They asked what was thematter. The imp told them that the servant at Browndown had beaten him.Lucilla was indignant. She insisted on having the thing inquired into.Oscar left her in the drawing-room (unluckily, as it turned out, withoutshutting the door); called the man up into the passage, and asked what hemeant by ill-using the boy. The man answered, 'I boxed his ears, sir, asan example to the rest of them.' 'What did he do?' 'Rapped at the door,sir, with a stick (he is not the first who has done it when you are out);and asked if Blue Face was at home.' 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 toowell what had happened on the former occasion, in the garden. I saw tooplainly that Lucilla must have connected the two occurrences in her mind,and must have had her ready suspicion roused to serious action, as thenecessary result.
"I understand," I said. "Of course, she insisted on an explanation. Ofcourse, Oscar compromised himself by a clumsy excuse, and wanted you tohelp him. What did you do?"
"What I told you I should do this morning. He had counted confidently onmy taking his side--it was pitiable to see him, poor fellow! Still, forhis own sake, I refused to yield. I left him the choice of giving her thetrue explanation himself, or of leaving me to do it. There wasn't amoment to lose; she was in no humour to be trifled with, I can tell you!Oscar behaved very well about it--he always behaves well when I drive himinto a corner! In one word, he was man enough to feel that he was theright person to make a clean breast of it--not I. I gave the poor old boya 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_ doneit! Here he comes!"
Oscar ran out, bareheaded, from the house. There were signs ofdisturbance in him, as he approached us, which warned me that somethinghad 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 hisbrother's shoulder, without answering one word.
I put a question to him on my side.
"Did Lucilla refuse to listen to you?" I asked.
"No."
"Has she said anything or done anything----?"
He lifted his head from his brother's shoulder, and stopped me before Icould finish the sentence.
"You need feel no anxiety about Lucilla. Lucilla's curiosity issatisfied."
Nugent and I gazed at one another, in complete bewilderment. Lucilla hadheard it all; Lucilla's curiosity was satisfied. He had that incrediblyhappy result to communicate to us--and he announced it with a look ofhumiliation, in a tone of despair! Nugent's patience gave way.
"Let us have an end of this mystification," he said, putting Oscar backfrom him, sharply, at arm's length. "I want a plain answer to a plainquestion. She knows that the boy knocked at the door, and asked if BlueFace was at home. Does she know what the boy's impudence meant? Yes? orNo?"
"Yes."
"Does she know that it is you who are Blue Face?"
"No."
"No!!! Who else does she think it is?"
As he asked the question, Lucilla appeared at the door of the house. Shemoved 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."