Lucy met him at the gate.  She was dressed as if for walking.  Her face betrayed the disturbance in her soul, and Chester’s heart went out in pity for her.

“Yes,” she said simply, “I was going out to find you, I heard Uncle Gilbert send you away.  Shall we walk in the park?”

“Yes; I am glad you came out.  Is your father worse this morning?”

“I don’t think he is worse.  He is simply in the stage of his attacks when he can’t talk.  I’m sure he’ll be all right in a day or two; but Uncle Gilbert don’t understand.”

“And you, Lucy—­you must not worry.”

“How can I help it?  Something is the matter with you.  Why do you act so strangely?”

They found the bench on which they were wont to rest, and seated themselves.

Chester could not deny that he had changed; yet how could he tell her the truth?  She must know it, the sooner the better.  It might be many days before her father could tell her, even if he were inclined to do so.  The situation was unbearable.  She must know, and he must tell her.

“Lucy,” he said after a little struggle with his throat, “I have something to tell you,—­something strange.  Oh, no, nothing evil or bad, or anything like that.”

He took her hands which were trembling.

“You must promise me that you will take this news quietly.”

“Just as quietly as I can, Chester.”

“Well, you know how excitement affects your heart, so I shall not tell you if you will not try to be calm.”

“And now, of course, I can be indifferent, can I, even if you should say no more?  Oh, Chester, what is it?  The suspense is a thousand times harder than the truth.  What have you got to tell me?  What passed between you and papa last evening?  Is it—­have you ceased to love me?”

“No, no, Lucy, not that.  I love you as much as ever, more than ever for something has been added to my first love—­that of a love for a sister.”

“Yes, Chester I know.  When I was baptized—­”

“No; you don’t know.  I don’t mean that.”

“What do you mean?”

Oh, it was so hard to go on.  One truth must lead to another.  If he told her he was her brother in the flesh as well as in the spirit, she would want to know how, why; and the explanation would involve her father.  He had not thought of that quite so plainly.  But he could not now stop.  He must go on.  He felt about for a way by which to approach the revelation gradually.

“You have never had a brother, have you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Would you like to have one?”

“I’ve always wanted a brother.”

“How would I do for one?”

She looked at him curiously, then the sober face relaxed and she smiled.

“Oh, you’d make a fine one.”

“You wouldn’t object.”

“I should think not.”

“But, now, what would you think if I was your real brother, if my name was Chester Strong?”