My imagination now set to work at drawing pictures--startling pictures of Oscar as a changed being, as a Medusa's head too terrible to be contemplated by mortal eyes.

Where would he meet us?
At the entrance to the village?
No.

At the rectory gate?
No.
In the quieter part of the garden which was at the back of the house?
Yes! There he stood waiting for us--alone! Lucilla flew into his arms with a cry of delight.

I stood behind and looked at them.
Ah, how vividly I remember--at the moment when she embraced him--the first shock of seeing the two faces together! The drug had done its work.
I saw her fair cheek laid innocently against the livid blackish blue of _his_ discolored skin.

Heavens, how cruelly that first embrace marked the contrast between what he had been when I left him, and what he had changed to when I saw him now! His eyes turned from her face to mine, in silent appeal to me while he held her in his arms.