"Was your young lady ever frightened when she was a baby by any dark person, or any dark thing, suddenly appearing before her?"
"Never, sir! I took good care to let nothing come near her that could frighten her—so long, poor little thing, as she could see."
"Are you quite sure you can depend on your memory?"
"Quite sure, sir—when it's a long time ago."
Zillah was dismissed. Nugent—thus far, unusually grave, and unusually anxious—turned to me with an air of relief.
"When you proposed to me to join you in forcing Oscar to speak out," he said, "I was not quite easy in my mind about the consequences. After what I have just heard, my fear is removed."
"What fear?" I asked.
"The fear of Oscar's confession producing an estrangement between them which might delay the marriage. I am against all delays. I am especially anxious that Oscar's marriage should not be put off. When we began our conversation, I own to you I was of Oscar's opinion that he would do wisely to let marriage make him sure of his position in her affections, before he risked the disclosure. Now—after what the nurse has told us—I see no risk worth considering."
"In short," I said, "you agree with me?"
"I agree with you—though I am the most opinionated man living. The chances now seem to me to be all in Oscar's favor, Lucilla's antipathy is not what I feared it was—an antipathy firmly rooted in a constitutional malady. It is nothing more serious," said Nugent, deciding the question, at once and for ever, with the air of a man profoundly versed in physiology—"it is nothing more serious than a fanciful growth, a morbid accident, of her blindness. She may live to get over it—she would, I believe, certainly get over it, if she could see. In two words, after what I have found out this morning, I say as you say—Oscar is making a mountain out of a molehill. He ought to have put himself right with Lucilla long since. I have unbounded influence over him. It shall back your influence. Oscar shall make a clean breast of it, before the week is out."