arted at the rectory gate.

Browndown was now empty. In the absence of both the brothers, what was I
to say to Lucilla when the false Oscar failed to pay her his promised
visit that day?

In what a labyrinth of lies had the first fatal suppression of the truth
involved us all! One deception after another had been forced on us; one
disaster after another had followed retributively as the result--and, now
that I was left to deal single-handed with the hard necessities of our
position, no choice seemed left to me but to go on deceiving Lucilla
still! I was weary of it and ashamed of it. At breakfast-time, I evaded
all further discussion of the subject, after I had first ascertained that
Lucilla did not expect her visitor before the afternoon. For some time
after breakfast, I kept her at the piano. When she wearied of music, and
began to talk of Oscar once more, I put on my hat, and set forth on a
domestic errand (of the kind usually entrusted to Zillah), solely for the
purpose of keeping out of the way, and putting off to the last moment the
hateful necessity of telling more lies. The weather stood my friend. It
threatened to rain; and Lucilla, on that account, refrained from
proposing to accompany me.

My errand took me to a farm-house on the road which led to Brighton.
After settling my business, I prolonged my walk, though the rain was
already beginning to fall. I had nothing on me that would spoil; and, in
my present frame of mind, a wet gown was a preferable alternative to
returning to the rectory.

After I had walked about a mile further on, the solitude of the road was
enlivened by the appearance of an open carriage approaching me from the
direction of Brighton. The hood was up to protect the person inside from
the rain. The person looked out as I passed, and stopped the carriage in
a voice which I instantly recognized as the voice of Grosse. Our gallant
oculist insisted (in the state of the weather) on my instantly taking
shelter by his side and returning with him to the house.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," I said. "I thought you had arranged not
to see Lucilla again till the end of the week."

Grosse's eyes glared at me through his spectacles with a dignity and
gravity worthy of Mr. Finch himself.

"Shall I tell you something?" he said. "You see sitting at your side a
lost surgeon-optic. I shall die soon. Put on my tombs, if you please, The
malady which killed this German mans was--Lofely Feench. When