CHAPTER THE FORTY-NINTH
On the Way to the End. Third Stage
ON former occasions of doubt or difficulty, it had always been Oscar'shabit to follow the opinions of others. On this occasion he was the firstto speak, and to assert an opinion of his own.
"It seems needless to waste time in discussing our different views," hesaid. "There is only one thing to be done. I am the person principallyconcerned in this matter. Wait here, while I go to the house."
He spoke without any of his usual hesitation; he took up his hat withoutlooking either at Mr. Finch or at me. I felt more and more convinced thatthe influence which Nugent's vile breach of confidence had exerted overOscar's mind, was an influence which had made a dangerous man of him.Resolved to prevent him from leaving us, I insisted on his returning tohis chair, and hearing what I had to say. At the same moment, Mr. Finchrose, and placed himself between Oscar and the door. Seeing this, Ithought it might be wise if I kept my interference in reserve, andallowed the rector to speak first.
"Wait a moment, Oscar," said Mr. Finch, gravely. "You are forgetting Me."
Oscar waited doggedly, hat in hand.
Mr. Finch paused, evidently considering what words he should use beforehe spoke again. His respect for Oscar's pecuniary position was great; buthis respect for himself--especially at the present crisis--was, ifpossible, greater still. In deference to the first sentiment he was aspolite, and in deference to the second he was as positive, in phrasinghis remonstrance, as a man could be. "Permit me to remind you, dearOscar, that my claim to interfere, as Lucilla's father, is at least equalto yours," proceeded the rector. "In the hour of my daughter's need, itis my parental duty to be present. If you go to your cousin's house, myposition imperatively requires that I should go too." Oscar's receptionof this proposal confirmed the grave apprehensions with which he hadinspired me. He flatly refused 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 preserving hisconciliatory manner.
"I wish to see my brother in private," Oscar replied, with his eyes onthe ground.
Mr. Finch, still restraining himself, but still not moving from the door,looked at me. I hastened to interfere before there was any seriousdisagreement between them.
"I venture to think," I said, "that you are both wrong. Whether one ofyou goes, or both of you go, the result will be the same. The chances area 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 mustwithhold your names. If you give them, you warn Nugent of what iscoming--and he is not the man to let you into the house under thosecircumstances. If you take the other way, and keep your names concealed,you present yourselves as strangers. Is Nugent likely to be accessible tostrangers? Would Lucilla, in her present position, consent to receive twomen who are unknown to her? Take my word for it--you will not only gainnothing if you go to the house you will actually make it more difficultto communicate with Lucilla than it is already."
There was a moment's silence. Both the men felt that my objections werenot easy to answer. Once more, Oscar took the lead.
"Do you propose to go?" he asked.
"No," I answered. "I propose to send a letter to Lucilla. A letter willfind its way to her."
This again was unanswerable. Oscar inquired next what the purport of theletter was to be. I replied that I proposed to ask her to grant me aprivate interview--nothing more.
"Suppose Lucilla refuses?" said Mr. Finch.
"She will not refuse," I rejoined. "There was a little misunderstandingbetween us--I admit--at the time when I went abroad. I mean to referfrankly to that misunderstanding as my reason for writing. I shall putyour daughter on her honor to give me an opportunity of setting thingsright between us. If I summon Lucilla to do an act of justice, I believeshe will not refuse me."
(This, let me add in parenthesis, was the plan of action which I hadformed on the way to Sydenham. I had only waited to mention it, until Iheard 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 hispurpose of going alone to his cousin's house, the rector's face andmanner expressed, with the politest plainness, the intention of followinghim. Oscar was placed between a clergyman and a woman, both equallydetermined to have their own way. Under those circumstances, there was noalternative--unless he wished to produce 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 father and to you,or to make an appointment with her to see you both where she is nowliving," I replied.
Oscar--after another look at the immovable rector--rang the bell, andordered writing materials.
"One more question," he said. "Assuming that Lucilla receives you at thehouse, do you intend to see----?" He stopped; his eyes shrank frommeeting mine. "Do you intend to see anybody else?" he resumed: stillevading the plain utterance of his brother's name.
"I intend to see nobody but Lucilla," I answered. "It is no business ofmine to interfere between you and your brother." (Heaven forgive me forspeaking in that way to him, while I had the firm resolution to interferebetween 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 stipulation?" addedthe rector. "In my parental capacity--"
I recognized his parental capacity, before he could say any more. "Youshall both see the reply," I said--and sat down to my letter; writingmerely what I had told them I should write: "Dear Lucilla, I have justreturned from the Continent. For the sake of justice, and for the sake ofold times, let me see you immediately--without mentioning our appointmentto anybody. I pledge myself to satisfy you, in five minutes, that I havenever been unworthy of your affection and your confidence. The bearerwaits for your reply."
I handed those lines to the two gentlemen to read. Mr. Finch made noremark--he was palpably dissatisfied at the secondary position which heoccupied. Oscar said, "I see no objection to the letter. I will donothing until I have read the answer." With those words, he dictated tome his cousin's address. I gave the letter myself to one of the servantsat 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 anhour passed before his return. You will form some idea of the terribleoppression of suspense that now laid its slowly-torturing weight on allthree of us, when I tell you that not one word was spoken in the roomfrom the time when the servant went out, to the time when the servantcame in again.
When the man returned he had a letter in his hand!
My fingers shook so that I could hardly open it. Before I had read aword, the sight of the writing struck a sudden chill through me. The bodyof the note was written by the hand of a stranger! And the signature atthe end was traced in the large straggling childish characters which Iremembered so well, when Lucilla had written her first letter to Oscar inthe days when she was blind!
The note was expressed in these strange words:--"I cannot receive youhere; but I can, and will, come to you at your hotel if you will wait forme. I am not able to appoint a time. I can only promise to watch for myfirst opportunity, and to take advantage of it instantly--for your sakeand for mine."
But one interpretation could be placed on such language as this. Lucillawas not a free agent. Both Oscar and the rector were now obliged toacknowledge that my view of t
he case had been the correct one. If it wasimpossible for me to be received into the house, how doubly impossiblewould it be for the men to gain admission! Oscar, after reading the note,withdrew to the further end of the room; keeping his thoughts to himself.Mr. Finch decided on stepping out of his secondary position by forthwithtaking a course of his own.
"Am I to infer," he began, "that it is really useless for me to attemptto 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 cominghere."
"In my parental capacity," continued Mr. Finch, "it is impossible for meto remain passive. As a brother-clergyman, I have, I conceive, a claim onthe rector of the parish. It is quite likely that notice may have beenalready given of this fraudulent marriage. In that case, it is not onlymy duty to myself and my child--it is my duty to the Church, to conferwith my reverend colleague. I go to confer with him." He strutted to thedoor, and added, "If Lucilla arrives in my absence, I invest you with myauthority, Madame Pratolungo, to detain her until my return." With thatparting charge to me, he walked out.
I looked at Oscar. He came slowly towards me from the other end of theroom.
"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 answered me, thathe was going--now he had got rid of Mr. Finch--straight to his cousin'shouse.
"You forget," I said, "that Lucilla may come here while you are out. Yourpresence in the room, or in the room next to this, may be of the greatestimportance, when I tell her what your brother has done. Suppose sherefuses to believe me? What am I to do if I have not got you to appealto? In your own interests, as well as in Lucilla's, I request you toremain here with me till she comes."
Putting it on that ground only, I waited to see what he would do. After acertain hesitation, he answered with a sullen assumption of indifference,"Just as you please!"--and walked away again towards the other end of theroom. As he turned his back on me, I heard him say to himself, "It's onlywaiting 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." Forthe moment, I said no more to him. The tone in which he had repliedwarned me that it would be useless.
After an interval--how long an interval I cannot well say--I heard thesound 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 ofthe room, and (for the moment at least) to keep out of sight. Then Ianswered the knock, and said as steadily as I could, "Come in."
A woman unknown to me entered, dressed like a respectable servant. Shecame in leading Lucilla by the hand. My first look at my darling told methe horrible truth. As I had seen her in the corridor at the rectory onthe first day we met, so I now saw her once more. Again, the sightlesseyes turned on me, insensibly reflecting the light that fell on them.Blind! Oh, God, after a few brief weeks of sight, blind again!
In that miserable discovery, I forgot everything else. I flew to her, andcaught her in my arms. I cast one look at her pale, wasted face--andburst out crying on her bosom.
She held my head gently with one hand, and waited with the patience of anangel until that first outbreak of my grief had exhausted itself. "Don'tcry about my blindness," said the soft, sweet voice that I knew so well."The days when 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 awhisper. "It's a relief, it's a consolation, to tell _you._ I am frettingabout my marriage."
Those words roused me. I lifted my head, and kissed her. "I have comeback to comfort you," I said: "and I have behaved like a fool."
She smiled faintly. "How like you," she exclaimed, "to say that!" Shetapped my cheek with her fingers in the old familiar way. The repetitionof that little trifling action almost broke my heart. I nearly chokedmyself in forcing back the stupid cowardly useless tears that tried toburst from me again. "Come!" she said. "No more crying! Let us sit downand talk as if we were at Dimchurch."
I took her to the sofa: we sat side by side. She put her arm round mywaist, and laid her head on my shoulder. Again the faint smile flickeredlike a dying light on her lovely face; wan and wasted, yet stillbeautiful--still the Virgin's face in Raphael's picture. "We are astrange pair," she said, with a momentary flash of her old irresistiblehumour. "You are my bitterest enemy, and you burst out crying over me themoment we meet. I have been shockingly treated by you--and I have got myarm round your waist and my head on your shoulder, and I wouldn't let goof you for the world!" Her face saddened again; her voice suddenlyaltered its tone. "Tell me," she went on, "how is it that appearanceswere so terribly against you? Oscar satisfied me, at Ramsgate, that Iought to give you up, that I ought never to see you again. I took hisview--there is no denying it, my dear--I agreed with him in detestingyou, for a little while. But, when the blindness came back, I could keepit up no longer. Little by little, as the light died out, my heart_would_ turn to you again. When I heard your letter read, when I knewthat you were near me--it was just like the old times; I was mad to seeyou. And here I am--satisfied, before you explain it to me, that you havebeen the victim of some terrible mistake."
I tried, in grateful acknowledgment of those generous words, to enter onmy justification there and then. It was impossible. I could think ofnothing, I could speak of nothing, but the dreadful discovery of herblindness.
"Give me a few minutes," I said, "and you shall hear it all. I can't talkof myself, yet--I can only talk of you. Oh, Lucilla, why did you keepaway 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 oculist--astranger. He said, what Mr. Sebright said: he doubted if there was everany chance for me: he thought the operation ought never to have beenperformed."
"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 desire that I keptaway from Grosse."
Hearing this, I penetrated for myself the motive which had actuatedNugent--as I afterwards found it indicated in the Journal. If he had letLucilla go to Grosse, our good German might have noticed that herposition was preying on her mind, and might have seen his reasons forexposing the deception that Nugent was practicing on her. For the rest, Istill persisted in entreating Lucilla to go back with me to our oldfriend.
"Remember our conversation on this very subject," she rejoined, shakingher head decisively. "I mean at the time when the operation was going tobe performed. I told you I was used to being blind. I said I only wantedto recover my sight, to see Oscar. And when I did see him--what happened?The disappointment was so dreadful, I wished myself blind again. Don'tstart! don't cry out as if you were shocked! I mean what I say. Youpeople who can see, attach such an absurd importance to your eyes! Don'tyou recollect my saying that, when we last talked about it?"
I recollected perfectly. She had said those words. She had declared thatshe had never honestly envied any of us the use of our eyes. She had evenreviled our eyes; comparing them contemptuously with _her_ touch;deriding them as deceivers who were constantly leading us wrong. Iacknowledged all this--without being in the least reconciled to thecatastrophe that had happened. If she would only have listened to me, Ishould still have gone on obstinately pleading with her. But she flatlyrefused to listen. "We have very little time to spare," she said. "Let ustalk of something more interesting before I am obliged to leave you."
"Obliged to leave me?" I repeated. "Are you not
your own mistress?"
Her face clouded over; her manner became embarrassed.
"I cannot honestly tell you that I am a prisoner," she answered. "I canonly say I am watched. When Oscar is away from me, Oscar's cousin--a sly,suspicious, false woman--always contrives to put herself in his place. Iheard her say to her husband that she believed I should break my marriageengagement unless I was closely looked after. I don't know what I shoulddo, but for one of the servants in the house, who is an excellentcreature--who sympathizes with me, and helps me." She stopped, and liftedher head inquiringly. "Where _is_ the servant?" she asked.
I had forgotten the woman who had brought her into the room. She musthave delicately left us together after leading Lucilla in. When I lookedup, she was not to be seen.
"The servant is no doubt waiting down-stairs," I said. "Go on."
"But for that good creature," Lucilla resumed, "I should never have gothere. 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 wasin our favor--we had only the cousin to keep an eye on us. Oscar was notin the house."
She suddenly checked herself at the last word. A slight sound at thelower end of the room, which had passed unnoticed by me, had caught herdelicate ear, "What is that noise?" she asked. "Anybody in the room withus?"
I looked up once more. While she was talking of the false Oscar, the trueOscar 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 agesture not to betray his presence. He had evidently heard what we hadbeen saying to each other, before I detected him--for he touched hiseyes, and lifted his hands pityingly in allusion to Lucilla's blindness.Whatever his mood might be, that melancholy discovery must surely haveaffected him--Lucilla's influence over him now, _could_ only be aninfluence for good. I signed to him to remain--and told Lucilla thatthere was nothing to be alarmed about. She went on.
"Oscar left us for London early this morning," she said. "Can you guesswhat he has gone for? He has gone to get the Marriage License--he hasgiven notice of the marriage at the church. My last hope is in you. Inspite of everything that I can say to him, he has fixed the day for thetwenty-first--in two days more! I have done all I could to put it off; Ihave insisted on every possible delay. Oh, if you knew----!" Her risingagitation stifled her utterance at the moment. "I mustn't waste theprecious minutes; I must get back before Oscar returns," she went on,rallying again. "Oh, my old friend, you are never at a loss; you alwaysknow what to do! Find me some way of putting off my marriage. Suggestsomething which will take them by surprise, and force them to give metime!"
I looked towards the lower end of the room. Listening in breathlessinterest, Oscar had noiselessly advanced half-way towards us. At a signfrom 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 somedreadful change has come over me. While I had my sight, I could partlyaccount 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 beenall my life--still the same horrible insensibility possesses me. I haveso little feeling for him, that I sometimes find it hard to persuademyself that he really _is_ Oscar. You know how I used to adore him. Youknow how enchanted I should once have been to marry him. Think of what Imust suffer, feeling towards 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 sawthe tears rising in his eyes; I saw love and pity taking the place ofhatred and revenge. The Oscar of my old recollections was standing beforeme once more!
"I don't want to go away," Lucilla went on; "I don't want to leave him.All I ask for, is a little more time. Time _must_ help me to get backagain 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 beengrowing in me for years? I won't believe it! I can find my way about thehouse; I can tell things by my touch; I can do all that I did in myblindness, 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 metime!"
At the last word, she started to her feet in sudden alarm. "There is someone 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--theone faint sobbing breath which had escaped him had caught my ear as wellas Lucilla's. I took his hand in one of my hands; and I took Lucilla'shand in the other. For good or for evil, the result rested with God'smercy. 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 bloodleft her cheeks. Her blind eyes dilated fearfully. She stood petrified.Then, with a long low cry--a cry of breathless rapture--she flung herarms passionately round his neck. The life flowed back into her face; herlovely smile just trembled on her parted lips; her breath came faint andquick and fluttering. In soft tones of ecstasy, with her lips on hischeek, she murmured the delicious words:
"Oh, Oscar! I know you once more!"