It was 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--information 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 Ramsgate."
I crumpled the letter up in my hand. Nugent had justified my worst
anticipations of what he would do in my absence. What did the true Mr.
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 committed to Miss
Batchford's care must have been shown to Lucilla by this time; must have
exposed Nugent's abominable 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 began to drift into,
what you call, Twaddle. She had just discovered (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 Poste-Restante, at the suggestion (not of Mr. Finch--there I was
wrong)--at the suggestion of Zillah, who had relatives in foreign parts,
and had tried Poste-Restante 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 became 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
Oscar 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 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 perfect 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 fit lasted, I don't know. I only remember that I was
disturbed by a knock at my door.