"When we meet again, I shall be prepared to defeat the conspiracy. Till that time comes--as you value your happiness and mine, don't let Madame Pratolungo suspect that you have discovered her. It is she, I firmly believe, who is to blame. I am going to my brother--as you will now understand--with an object far different to the object which I put forward as an excuse to your false friend. Fear no dispute between Nugent and me. I know him. I firmly believe I shall find that he has been tempted and misled. I answer--now that no evil influences are at work on him--for his acting like an honorable man, and deserving your pardon and mine. The excuse I have made to Madame Pratolungo will prevent her from interfering between us. That was my one object in making it.
"Keep me correctly informed of your movements and of hers. I enclose an address to which you can write, with the certainty that your letters will be forwarded.
"On my side, I promise to write constantly. Once more, don't trust a living creature about you with the secret which this letter reveals!
Expect me back at the earliest possible moment, to free you--with a husband's authority--from the woman who has so cruelly deceived us.--Yours with the truest affection, the fondest love, "OSCAR."
[Note.--It is quite needless for me to dwell here on the devilish cunning--I can use no other phrase--which inspired this abominable letter. Look back to the twenty-seventh and twenty-eighth chapters, and you will see how skillfully what I said in a moment of foolish irritation, and what Lucilla said when she too had lost her temper, is turned to account to poison her mind against me. We are made innocently to supply our enemy with the foundation on which he builds his plot. For the rest, the letter explains itself. Nugent still persists in personating his brother. He guesses easily at the excuse I should make to Lucilla for his absence; and he gets over the difficulty of appearing to have confided his errand to a woman whom he distrusts, by declaring that he felt it necessary to deceive me as to what the nature of that errand really was. As the Journal proceeds, you will see how dexterously he works the machinery which his letter has set in motion. All I need add here, in the way of explanation, is--that the delay in his arrival at Ramsgate of which Lucilla complains, was caused by nothing but his own hesitation. His sense of honor--as I knew, from discoveries made at a later time--was not entirely lost yet. The lower he sank, the harder his better nature struggled to raise him. Nothing, positively nothing, but his own remorse need have kept him at Paris (it is needless to say that he never stirred farther, and never discovered the place of his brother's retreat) after Lucilla had informed him by letter, that I had gone abroad, and that she was at Ramsgate with her aunt. I have done: let Lucilla go on again.--P.]
I have read Oscar's letter once more.
He is the soul of honor; he is incapable of deceiving me. I remember saying what he tells me I said, and thinking it too--for the moment only--when I was beside myself with rage. Still--may it not be possible that appearances have misled Oscar? Oh, Madame Pratolungo! I had such a high opinion of you, I loved you so dearly--can you have been unworthy of the admiration and affection that you once inspired in me?
I quite agree with Oscar that his brother is not to blame. It is sad and shocking that Mr. Nugent Dubourg should have allowed himself to fall in love with me. But I cannot help pitying him. Poor disfigured man, I hope he will get a good wife! How he must have suffered!
It is impossible to endure, any longer, my present state of suspense.
Oscar must, and shall, satisfy me about Madame Pratolungo--with his own lips. I shall write to him by this post, and insist on his coming to Ramsgate.
_August_ 29th.--I wrote to him yesterday, to the address in Paris. My letter will be delivered to-morrow. Where is he? when will he get it?
[Note.--That innocent letter did its fatal mischief. It ended the struggle against himself which had kept Nugent Dubourg in Paris. On the morning when he received it, he started for England. Here is the entry in Lucilla's journal.--P.]
_August_ 31st.--A telegram for me at breakfast-time. I am too happy to keep my hand steady--I am writing horribly. It doesn't matter: nothing matters but my telegram. (Oh, what a noble creature the man was who invented telegrams!) Oscar is on his way to Ramsgate!
