Of the effect which the first reading of this letter produced on me, Ishall say nothing. Even at this distance of time, I shrink from revivingthe 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 theearliest train the next morning, and finding my way to Oscar by means ofhis bankers. Secondly, on preventing the villain who had accepted thesacrifice of his brother's happiness from entering the rectory in myabsence.
The one comfort I had, that night, was in feeling that, on these twopoints, my mind was made up. There was a stimulant in my sense of my ownresolution which strengthened me to make my excuses to Lucilla, withoutbetraying the grief that tortured me when I found myself in her presenceagain. Before I went to my bed, I had left her quiet and happy; I hadarranged with Herr Grosse that he was still to keep his excitable patientsecluded from visitors all through the next day; and I had secured as anally to help me in preventing Nugent from entering the house, no less aperson than Reverend Finch himself. I saw him in his study overnight, andtold him all that had happened; keeping one circumstance onlyconcealed--namely, Oscar's insane determination to share his fortune withhis infamous brother. I purposely led the rector to suppose that Oscarhad left Lucilla free to receive the addresses of a man who haddissipated his fortune to the last farthing. Mr. Finch's harangue whenthis prospect was brought within his range of contemplation, wassomething to be remembered, but not (on this occasion) to be reported--inmercy 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; havingcompletely failed to achieve the purpose which taken me to themetropolis.
Oscar had appeared at the bank as soon as the doors were opened in themorning; had drawn out some hundreds of pounds in circular notes; hadtold the bankers that they should be furnished with an address at whichthey could write to him, in due course of time; and had departed for theContinent, without leaving a trace behind him.
I spent the day in making what arrangements I could for discovering himby the usual methods of inquiry pursued in such cases; and took thereturn train to the country, with my mind alternating between despairwhen I thought of Lucilla, and anger when I thought of the twin-brothers.In the first bitterness of my disappointment, I was quite as indignantwith Oscar as with Nugent. With all my heart I cursed the day which hadbrought the one and the other to Dimchurch.
As we lengthened our distance from London, flying smoothly the tranquilwoods and fields, my mind, with time to help it, began to recover itsbalance. Little by little, the unexpected revelation of firmness anddecision in Oscar's conduct--heartily as I still deplored and blamed thatconduct--began to have a new effect on my mind. I now looked back inamazement and self-reproach, at my own superficial estimate of thecharacters of the twin-brothers.
Thinking it over uninterruptedly, with no one in the carriage but myself,I arrived at a conclusion which strongly influenced my conduct in guidingLucilla through the troubles and perils that were still to come.
Our physical constitutions have, as I take it, more to do with theactions which determine other people's opinions of us (as well as withthe course of our own lives) than we generally suppose. A man withdelicately-strung nerves says and does things which often lead us tothink more meanly of him than he deserves. It is his great misfortuneconstantly to present himself at his worst. On the other hand, a manprovided with nerves vigorously constituted, is provided also with aconstitutional health and hardihood which express themselves brightly inhis manners, and which lead to a mistaken impression that his nature iswhat it appears to be on the surface. Having good health, he has goodspirits. Having good spirits, he wins as an agreeable companion on thepersons with whom he comes in contact--although he may be hiding all thewhile, under an outer covering which is physically wholesome, an innernature which is morally diseased. In the last of these typical men, I sawreflected--Nugent. In the first--Oscar. All that was feeblest and poorestin Oscar's nature had shown itself on the surface in past times, to theconcealment of its stronger and its nobler side. There had been somethinghidden in this supersensitive man, who had shrunk under all the smalltrials of his life in our village, which had proved firm enough, when thegreatness of the need called on it, to sustain the terrible disaster thathad fallen on him. The nearer I got to the end of my journey, the morecertain I felt that I was only now learning (bitterly as he haddisappointed me) to estimate Oscar's character at its true value.Inspired by this conviction, I began already to face our hopelessprospects boldly. As long as I had life and strength to help her, Idetermined that Lucilla should _not_ lose the man, whose best qualities Ihad failed to discover until he had made up his mind to turn his back onher for ever.
When I reached the rectory, I was informed that Mr. Finch wished to speakto me. My anxiety about Lucilla made me unwilling to submit to any delayin seeing her. I sent a message, informing the rector that I would bewith 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 greetingswere over.
"It has been a delightful day," she answered joyously. "Grosse took meout for a walk, before he went back to London. Can you guess where ourwalk led us?"
A chilly sense of misgiving seized me. I drew back from her. I looked ather lovely face without the slightest admiration of it--worse still, withdownright distrust of it.
"Where did you go?" I asked.
"To Browndown, of course!"
An exclamation escaped me--("Infamous Grosse!" spit out between my teethin my own language). I could _not_ help it. I should have died if I hadrepressed it--I was in such a rage.
Lucilla laughed. "There! there! It was my fault; I insisted on speakingto Oscar. As soon as I had my own way, I behaved perfectly. I never askedto 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 father--waswith us, all the time. It has done me so much good. Don't be sulky aboutit, you darling Pratolungo! My 'surgeon optic' sanctions my imprudence. Iwon't ask you to go with me to Browndown to-morrow; Oscar is coming toreturn my visit."
Those last words decided me. I had had a weary time of it since themorning; but (for me) the day was not at an end yet. I said to myself, "Iwill have it out with Mr. Nugent Dubourg, before I go to my bedto-night!"
"Can you spare me for a little while?" I asked. "I must go to the otherside 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, before hercuriosity could madden me (in the state I was in at that moment) withmore 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 inthe humour I was in at that moment. To the reverend gentleman'samazement, 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 importanceto begin with. Do you thoroughly understand that I am, in no sense of theword, to blame--?"
"Thoroughly," I interposed. "Of course, they would not have gone toBrowndown, if you had consented to let Nugent Dubourg into the house."
"Stop!" said Mr. Finch, elevating his right hand. "My good creature, youare in a state of hysterical precipitation. I will be heard! I did morethan refuse my consent. When the man Grosse--I insist on your composingyourself--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 oflanguage--don't be alarmed! I said, 'Sir! As pastor and parent, My Footis down'----"
"I understand, Mr. Finch. Whatever you said to Herr Grosse was quiteuseless; he entirely ignored your personal point of view."
"Madame Pratolungo----!"
/> "He found Lucilla dangerously agitated by her separation from Oscar: heasserted, what he calls, his professional freedom of action."
"Madame Pratolungo----!"
"You persisted in closing your doors to Nugent Dubourg. _He_ persisted,on his side--and took Lucilla to Browndown."
Mr. Finch got on his feet, and asserted himself at the full pitch of histremendous voice.
"Silence!" he shouted, with a smack of his open hand on the table at hisside.
I didn't care. _I_ shouted. _I_ came down, with a smack of my hand, onthe opposite side of the table.
"One question, sir, before I leave you," I said. "Since your daughterwent to Browndown, you have had many hours at your disposal. Have youseen Mr. Nugent Dubourg?"
The Pope of Dimchurch suddenly collapsed, in full fulmination of hisdomestic 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 towards NugentDubourg is very remarkable, Madame Pratolungo. In my parental character,I should like to wring his neck. In my clerical character, I feel itincumbent on me to pause--and write to him. You feel the responsibility?You understand the distinction?"
I understood that he was afraid. Answering him by an inclination of thehead (I hate a coward!) I walked silently to the door.
Mr. Finch returned my bow with a look of helpless perplexity. "Are yougoing 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 frequentoccasion to mention in the stronger passages of his sermons, Mr. Finch'sface could hardly have shown more astonishment and alarm than itexhibited when I replied to him in those terms. He lifted his persuasiveright hand; he opened his eloquent lips. Before the coming overflow oflanguage could reach me, I was out of the room, on my way to Browndown.
Poor Miss Finch Page 53
