“You have heard, then, at last?”

“At last.  This morning a letter came.  It is a pitiful one to read.  My grandfather is, as you may suppose, a very old man; he is ill and alone, and begins to repent, I think, of his harshness to my mother.”

“But why is he alone?  You said he had a son.”

“Yes, but he is dead.  He died six months ago, and left but one child, a daughter, who is married and has no children.”

“No children? and your grandfather is very rich?”

“I believe so.”

“But you are his heir, then?  Is that it?”

“He says so, or rather, he says my mother’s eldest son is his heir.  He knows nothing of me individually.”

“And you are the only one left?  Ah, Maurice, if Alice even had been alive!”

Maurice sighed.

“If poor Herbert had been alive, how gladly I would have left the heirship to him!”

“But why?  I think that is foolish.  It is a good thing to be rich.  It will be a good thing for you, because you are good.”

Maurice laughed.

“Your flattery, Lucia, will not reconcile me to my fate.  You have not yet heard all.”

“What else?  Is Mr. Leigh pleased?”

“Not more than I am.  My grandfather wants to see his heir.”

“Do you mean that he wants you to go to England?”

“Yes.  And my father consents.”

“But not yet?”

“At once.  To sail from New York on Saturday.”

“It is Wednesday now.”

“I start to-morrow night.”

“When will you come back?”

“When, indeed?  Lucia, do not you see that this is a heavy price to pay?”

“Ah! don’t go.  This grandfather has been cruel all these years; let him wait now.  Beside, what will Mr. Leigh do without you?”

“He insists upon my going.  He believes it would have been my mother’s wish, and therefore he will rather stay here alone than refuse.”

“Then you must go.  But could not you persuade him to come and stay with us?  Mamma would like it, I know.”

“Impossible, dear child.  Who knows how long I may be away, or what changes may take place before I come back.”

“Well, we shall see him every day, in any case.  But what shall I do without you? and mamma?”

“You remind me of the last thing I have to say.  It seems to me, I cannot tell you why, as if this change in my own life was to be followed by other changes.  I think Mrs. Costello has something of the same feeling, and I want to say this to you, that if you should find it true, you may remember in any disturbance of this quiet life of yours that I had some vague anticipation of it, and not hesitate to let me be any help, any use, to you that I can be.  Do you understand?  I shall be away, but I shall not be changed in anything.  You told me the other day I always came to your help in your dilemmas.  I want you to think of me always so.  Can you manage to keep such, a living recollection of the absent?”