hat do you mean to do?"

"I mean either to bring her back with me here to her father and to you,
or to make an appointment with her to see you both where she is now
living," I replied.

Oscar--after another look at the immovable rector--rang the bell, and
ordered writing materials.

"One more question," he said. "Assuming that Lucilla receives you at the
house, do you intend to see----?" He stopped; his eyes shrank from
meeting mine. "Do you intend to see anybody else?" he resumed: still
evading the plain utterance of his brother's name.

"I intend to see nobody but Lucilla," I answered. "It is no business of
mine to interfere between you and your brother." (Heaven forgive me for
speaking in that way to him, while I had the firm resolution to interfere
between them in my mind all the time!)

"Write your letter," he said, "on condition that I see the reply."

"It is needless, I presume, for me to make the same stipulation?" added
the rector. "In my parental capacity--"

I recognized his parental capacity, before he could say any more. "You
shall both see the reply," I said--and sat down to my letter; writing
merely what I had told them I should write: "Dear Lucilla, I have just
returned from the Continent. For the sake of justice, and for the sake of
old times, let me see you immediately--without mentioning our appointment
to anybody. I pledge myself to satisfy you, in five minutes, that I have
never been unworthy of your affection and your confidence. The bearer
waits for your reply."

I handed those lines to the two gentlemen to read. Mr. Finch made no
remark--he was palpably dissatisfied at the secondary position which he
occupied. Oscar said, "I see no objection to the letter. I will do
nothing until I have read the answer." With those words, he dictated to
me his cousin's address. I gave the letter myself to one of the servants
at the hotel.

"Is it far from here?" I asked.

"Barely ten minutes' walk, ma'am."

"You understand that you are to wait for an answer?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He went out. As well as I can remember, an interval of at least half an
hour passed before his return. You will form some idea of the terrible
oppression of suspense that now laid its slowly-torturing weight on all
three of us, when I tell you that not one word was spoken in the room
from the time when the servant went out, to the time when the servant
came in again.

When the man returned he had a letter in his hand!

My