ersonally setting myself right with Oscar, I had returned to the
rectory; and had there heard that Nugent had been to see me in my
absence, had waited a little while alone in the sitting-room, and had
gone away again. When I tell you that the letter which he was now showing
to Lucilla, was that same letter of Oscar's, which I had (as I believed)
destroyed, you will understand that I had thrown it into the fender
instead of into the fire; and that I failed to see it in the fender on my
return, simply because Nugent had seen it first, and had taken it away
with him. These particulars are described in greater detail in the
chapter to which I have referred; the letter itself being there inserted
at full length. However, I will save you the trouble of looking back--I
know how you hate trouble!--by transcribing literally what I find before
me in the Journal. The original letter is pasted on the page: I will copy
it from the page for the second time. Am I not good to you? What author
by profession would do as much for you as this? I am afraid I am praising
myself! Let Lucilla proceed.--P.]

I took the letter from him and read it. At my request, he has permitted
me to keep it. The letter is my justification for thinking of Madame
Pratolungo as I now think of her. I place it here, before I write another
line in my Journal.

"MADAME PRATOLUNGO,--You have distressed and pained me more than I can
say. There are faults, and serious ones, on my side, I know. I heartily
beg your pardon for anything that I may have said or done to offend you.
I cannot submit to your hard verdict on me. If you knew how I adore
Lucilla, you would make allowances for me--you would understand me better
than you do. I cannot get your last cruel words out of my ears. I cannot
meet you again without some explanation of them. You stabbed me to the
heart, when you said this evening that it would be a happier prospect for
Lucilla if she had been going to marry my brother instead of marrying me.
I hope you did not really mean that? Will you please write and tell me
whether you did or not?

"OSCAR."

My first proceeding, after reading those lines, was of course to put my
arm again in his, and to draw him as close to me as close could be. My
second proceeding followed in due time. I asked, naturally, for Madame
Pratolungo's answer to that most affectionate and most touching letter.

"I have no answer to show you," he said.

"You have lost it?" I asked.