“Poor Lucia!  What a sacrifice to friendship,” answered Maurice laughing.  “But to reward you, Blackwood arrived last night, and you will find the new chapter of your favourite story.”

Soon after ten o’clock Lucia put on her hat, and, strong in her good resolutions, went along the lane to Mr. Leigh’s.  She lifted the latch rather timidly, and peeped in.  From the tiny entrance she could see into the large square sitting-room, so tidy and so bare, from which the last trace of feminine occupation had passed away three years ago, when Alice Leigh, her old playfellow, died.  There, in his high-backed chair, sat the solitary old man, prematurely old, worn out by labour and sorrow before his time.  He turned his head at the sound of her entrance, and held out his hand, with a smile of welcome.

“My child, what a stranger you have grown!”

She came forward with a tender thrill of pity and affection.

“And you have been ill?” she said; “why did not you tell Maurice you wanted me?”

“Never mind, now.  There is your own chair; sit down and tell me all your news.”

She brought her chair to his side, and began to talk to him.  How many happy hours she had spent in this room!  Long ago, when she could first remember, when her mother and Mrs. Leigh had been dear friends; later, when there were yet others left of the ever-diminishing circle; later still, when Alice and Maurice were her daily companions; and even since, when she herself seemed to be, in the quiet household, the only representative of the daughters and sisters passed away.  She felt that she had been selfish lately, and began to reproach herself the more strongly as she saw how affectionately she was still welcomed.

She told all the little scraps of news she could think of; she arranged on the mantelpiece some flowers she had brought in; finally, she found the new Blackwood, and entertained both her old friend and herself so well with it that two hours passed almost unperceived.  Mr. Leigh’s old servant, coming in with his early dinner, interrupted them in the middle of an interesting article, and reminded her that it was high time to go home.

“I will come again to-morrow,” she said, as she put aside her book, and taking up her hat she hurried away.

As she walked up the lane, she could not help feeling a certain anxiety to know whether there had been any visitors at home during her absence.  Mr. Percy often came in the morning, and if he had been there—­

She ran up the verandah steps and into the parlour.  Mrs. Costello sat there alone, and two letters lay on the table.

“Here is a note for you,” she said, as Lucia came in.  “Mr. Percy brought it.”

“He has been here, then?” and she took up the note, not much caring to open it when she saw Bella’s writing.

“Yes.  He came very soon after you were gone.  He said he was coming to say good-bye, and Bella asked him to bring that.”