He turned his face away from me, and said no more until we arrived at the station. There, he drew me aside for a moment out of hearing of the strangers about us.
"Why should I take you away from your father?" he asked abruptly. "I am behaving very selfishly—and I only see it now."
"Make your mind easy," I said. "If I had not met you to-day, I should have gone to England to-morrow for Lucilla's sake."
"But now you have met me," he persisted, "why shouldn't I spare you the journey? I could write and tell you every thing—without putting you to this fatigue and expense."
"If you say a word more," I answered, "I shall think you have some reason of your own for wishing to go to England by yourself."
He cast one quick suspicious look at me—and led the way back to the booking-office without uttering another word. I was not at all satisfied with him. I thought his conduct very strange.
In silence we took our tickets; in silence, we got into the railway-carriage. I attempted to say something encouraging, when we started. "Don't notice me," was all he replied. "You will be doing me a kindness, if you will let me bear it by myself." In my former experience of him, he had talked his way out of all his other troubles—he had clamorously demanded the expression of my sympathy with him. In this greatest trouble, he was like another being; I hardly knew him again! Were the hidden reserves in his nature (stirred up by another serious call on them) showing themselves once more on the surface as they had shown themselves already, on the fatal first day when Lucilla tried her sight? In that way I accounted for the mere superficial change in him, at the time. What was actually going on below the 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.