surface it defied my
ingenuity even to guess. Perhaps I shall best describe the sort of vague
apprehension which he aroused in me--after what had passed between us at
the station--by saying that I would not for worlds have allowed him to go
to England by himself.

Left as I now was to my own resources, I occupied the first hours of the
journey, in considering what course it would be safest and best for us to
take, on reaching England.

I decided, in the first place, that we ought to go straight to Dimchurch.
If any tidings had been obtained of Lucilla, they would be sure to have
received them at the rectory. Our route, after reaching Paris, must be
therefore by way of Dieppe; thence across the Channel to Newhaven, near
Brighton--and so to Dimchurch.

In the second place--assuming it to be always possible that we might see
Lucilla at the rectory--the risk of abruptly presenting Oscar to her in
his own proper person might, for all I knew to the contrary, be a very
serious one. It would relieve us, as I thought, of a grave
responsibility, if we warned Grosse of our arrival, and so enabled him to
be present, if he thought it necessary, in the interests of Lucilla's
health. I put this view (as also my plan for returning by way of Dieppe)
to Oscar. He briefly consented to everything--he ungraciously left it all
to me.

Accordingly, on our arrival at Lyons, having some time for refreshment at
our disposal before we went on, I telegraphed to Mr. Finch at the
rectory, and to Grosse in London; informing them (as well as I could
calculate it) that, if we were lucky in catching trains and steamboats,
Oscar and I might be in Dimchurch in good time, on the next night--that
is to say, on the night of the eighteenth. In any case, they were to
expect us at the earliest possible moment.

These difficulties disposed of, and a little store of refreshment for the
night packed in my basket, we re-entered the train, for our long journey
to Paris.

Among the new passengers who joined us at Lyons was a gentleman whose
face was English, and whose dress was the dress of a clergyman. For the
first time in my life, I hailed the appearance of a priest with a feeling
of relief. The reason was this. From the moment when I had read Mrs.
Finch's letter until now, a horrid doubt, which a priest was just the man
to solve, had laid its leaden weight on my mind--and, I firmly believe,
on Oscar's mind as well. Had time enough passed, since Lucilla had