prospect would have been a much happier one, if you had been engaged to
marry my brother instead of me. She is asked in writing, civilly and
kindly asked, to explain what she means by those abominable words? She
has had time to reflect since she spoke them; and what does she do? Does
she answer me? No! She contemptuously tosses my letter into the
fire-place. Add to these plain facts what you yourself have observed.
Nugent has all her admiration; Nugent is her favorite: from the first,
she has always disliked and wronged _me._ Add to this, again, that Nugent
(as I know for certain) privately confessed to her that he was himself in
love with you. Look at all these circumstances--and what plain conclusion
follows? I ask you once more--Is Madame Pratolungo a slandered woman? or
am I right in warning you (as you once warned me) to beware of her?"

What could I do but own that he was right? It was due to him, and due to
me, to close my heart to her, from that moment. Oscar sat down by me, and
took my hand.

"After my experience of her in the past," he went on softly, "can you
wonder that I dread what she may do in the future? Has no such thing ever
happened as the parting of true lovers by treachery which has secretly
undermined their confidence in each other. Is Madame Pratolungo not
clever enough and unscrupulous enough to undermine _our_ confidence, and
to turn against us, to the wickedest purpose, the influence which she
already possesses at the rectory? How do we know that she is not in
communication with Nugent at this moment?"

I stopped him there--I could not endure it. "You have seen your brother,"
I said. "You have told me that you and he understand each other. What
have you to dread after that?"

"I have to dread Madame Pratolungo's influence, and my brother's
infatuation for you," he answered. "The promises which he has honestly
made to me, are promises which I cannot depend on when my back is turned,
and when Madame Pratolungo may be with him in my absence. Something under
the surface is going on already! I don't like that mysterious letter,
which is only to be shown to you on certain conditions. I don't like your
father's silence. He has had time to answer your letter. Has he done it?
He has had time to answer my postscript. Has he done it?"

Those were awkward questions. He had certainly left both our letters
unanswered--thus far. Still, the next post might bring his reply. I
persisted in taking this view;