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 anything 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 own
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 for ever. He has told us in the plainest
terms--when once the operation is performed, nothing must be said to
agitate or distress her, for months afterwards. 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 out angrily. "I
don't care how I stand in _your_ estimation. Lucilla loves me. Nugent
feels for me."

My vile temper instantly hit on the most merciless answer that I could
make to him in return.

"Ah, poor Lucilla!" I said. "What a much happier prospect hers might have
been! What a thousand pities it is that she is not going to marry your
brother, instead of marrying _you!_"

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 cooled. I tried to
keep it hot; I tried to remember that he had aspersed my nation in
calling me a "heartless Frenchwoman." No! it was not to be done. I