"I shall fill her with horror of me, if I confess it. Look at me! look at me!" he said, lifting his ghastly hands in despair to his blue face.
I was determined not to give way—even to that.
"Be a man!" I said. "Own it boldly. What is she going to marry you for? For your face that she can never see? No! For your heart that is one with her own. Trust to her natural good sense—and, better than that, to the devoted love that you have inspired in her. She will see her stupid prejudice in its true light, when she feels it trying to part her from you."
"No! no! no! Remember her letter to her father. I shall lose her for ever, if I tell her now!"
I took his arm, and endeavored to lead him to Lucilla. She as already trying to escape from her father; she was already longing to hear the sound of Oscar's voice again.
He obstinately shrank back. I began to feel angry with him. In another moment, I should have said or done something that I might have repented of afterwards—if a new interruption had not happened before I could open my lips.
Another person appeared in the garden—the man-servant from Browndown; with a letter for his master in his hand.
"This has just come, sir," said the man, "by the afternoon post. It is marked 'Immediate.' I thought I had better bring it to you here."
Oscar took the letter, and looked at the address. "My brother's writing!" he exclaimed. "A letter from Nugent!"
He opened the letter—and burst out with a cry of joy which brought Lucilla instantly to his side.