"I cannot honestly tell you that I am a prisoner," she answered. "I can only say I am watched. When Oscar is away from me, Oscar's cousin--a sly, suspicious, false woman--always contrives to put herself in his place. I heard her say to her husband that she believed I should break my marriage engagement unless I was closely looked after. I don't know what I should do, but for one of the servants in the house, who is an excellent creature--who sympathizes with me, and helps me." She stopped, and lifted her head inquiringly. "Where _is_ the servant?" she asked.
I had forgotten the woman who had brought her into the room. She must have delicately left us together after leading Lucilla in. When I looked up, she was not to be seen.
"The servant is no doubt waiting down-stairs," I said. "Go on."
"But for that good creature," Lucilla resumed, "I should never have got here. She brought me your letter, and read it to me, and wrote my reply.
I arranged with her to slip out at the first opportunity. One chance was in our favor--we had only the cousin to keep an eye on us. Oscar was not in the house."
She suddenly checked herself at the last word. A slight sound at the lower end of the room, which had passed unnoticed by me, had caught her delicate ear, "What is that noise?" she asked. "Anybody in the room with us?"
I looked up once more. While she was talking of the false Oscar, the true Oscar was standing listening to her, at the other end of the room.
When he discovered that I was looking at him, he entreated me by a gesture not to betray his presence. He had evidently heard what we had been saying to each other, before I detected him--for he touched his eyes, and lifted his hands pityingly in allusion to Lucilla's blindness.
Whatever his mood might be, that melancholy discovery must surely have affected him--Lucilla's influence over him now, _could_ only be an influence for good. I signed to him to remain--and told Lucilla that there was nothing to be alarmed about. She went on.