But when the afternoon began to be almost over, and there had been no other interruptions to their quiet, Lucia found the interest of yesterday worn out, and felt a vague want of something beyond her mother’s or Mr. Leigh’s companionship.  Mr. Percy’s usual visit had not been paid, and she could not help wondering whether he stayed away because he was offended with her last night; whether he would come yet, whether he had heard what Mrs. Bellairs had said, or what she answered; and while she wondered, her attention grew so engrossed that she did not hear when her mother spoke to her, until the words had been twice repeated.

Mrs. Costello, at last, touched her arm.

“Are you asleep, Lucia?” she said.  “I have spoken to you two or three times already.”

“Have you, mamma?  I am very sorry.  I believe I was half asleep.”

“You should have a walk.  You have not been further than Mr. Leigh’s all day.”

“I do not wish to go.  I am quite content here, and I will not go to sleep again.  Tell me what you were going to say?”

“Something of so little consequence that I have forgotten it.  But do go, like a good child, and have a little walk.  You must go to-morrow to see Mrs. Bellairs, but to-day I dare say she is glad to be quiet.”

Lucia went reluctantly, put on her hat, and started.  She was so accustomed to walking alone that she never thought of objecting on that score, and turned, without deliberation, along the road that led to Cacouna.  It was a very quiet country road, running along the course of the river; sometimes quite close to the bank, sometimes, as at the Cottage, leaving room for a house and garden.  The bank itself was high and generally precipitous, but in some places it sloped more gradually and was covered with soft turf.  On the opposite, or American side, the land was lower, and a little of town which lay almost opposite to Cacouna was girdled in on all sides by pine-woods, the tops of which showed like a black fringe against the brilliant light and colour of the sunset sky.  This contrast of brightness and darkness in the distance, was heightened by the fainter, but still vivid gleam of the water, as the river, stretching away in an unbroken sheet more than half a mile in width, caught and reflected the changing colours of the clouds.  This view, which she had seen daily ever since she could remember, seemed always to possess a new charm for Lucia; whatever might be her humour, it was certain to subside into the same calm and almost reverent attention while she watched the scene reach its most perfect splendour, and then fade softly and gradually into night.