It is impossible for me to enter into details in
the space of a letter; I reserve all particulars until we meet again, and
until I can produce, what you have a right to ask for--proof that I am
speaking the truth.
"In the meanwhile, I beg you to look back into your own thoughts, to
recall your own words, on the day when Madame Pratolungo offended you in
the rectory garden. On that occasion, the truth escaped the Frenchwoman's
lips--and she knew it!
"Do you remember what you said, after she had followed you to Browndown?
I mean, after she had declared that you would have fallen in love with my
brother if you had met him first--and after Nugent (at her instigation no
doubt) had taken advantage of your blindness to make you believe that you
were speaking to _me._ When you were smarting under the insult, and when
you had found out the trick, what did you say?
"You said these--or nearly these--words:
" 'She hated you from the first, Oscar--she took up with your brother
directly he came here. Don't marry me at Dimchurch! Find out some place
that they don't know of! They are both in a conspiracy together against
you and against me. Take care of them! take care of them!'
"Lucilla! I echo your own words to you. I return the warning--the
prophetic warning--which you unconsciously gave me in that past time. I
am afraid my unhappy brother loves you--and I know for certain that
Madame Pratolungo feels the interest in _him_ which she has never felt in
_me.
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