"Happiness," she answered. "My life lives in my love. And my love lives in my blindness."
There was the story of her whole existence—told in two words!
If you had seen her radiant face as she raised it again in the excitement of speaking; if you had remembered (as I remembered) what her surgeon had said of the penalty which she must inevitably pay for the recovery of her sight—how would you have answered her? It is barely possible, perhaps, that you might have done what I did. That is to say: You might have modestly admitted that she knew what the conditions of her happiness were better than you—and you might not have answered her at all!
I left them to talk together, and took a turn in the room, considering with myself what we were to do next.
It was not easy to say. The barren information which I had received from my darling was all the information that I possessed. Nugent had unflinchingly carried his cruel deception to its end. He had falsely given notice of his marriage at the church, in his brother's name; and he was now in London, falsely obtaining his Marriage License, in his brother's name also. So much I knew of his proceedings—and no more.
While I was still pondering, Lucilla cut the Gordian knot.
"Why are we stopping here?" she asked. "Let us go—and never return to this hateful place again!"
As she rose to her feet, we were startled by a soft knock at the door.
I answered the knock. The woman who had brought Lucilla to the hotel appeared once more. She seemed to be afraid to venture far from the door. Standing just inside the room, she looked nervously at Lucilla, and said, "Can I speak to you, Miss?"
"You can say anything you like, before this lady and gentleman," Lucilla answered. "What is it?"