As the boat went down the river Mr. Percy stood on deck, and watched anxiously for the Cottage, hoping to catch the flutter of a light dress, and to know that Lucia saw him go.  But all was still and seemingly deserted; not a sign of her presence was visible, though he strained his eyes to the last moment.  Yet she was watching also.  Wrapped in a dark cloak, she stood among the trees, where she knew the shadows would conceal her, and took that last look which she had not courage to forbid herself.  She put her arm round the slender trunk of an acacia tree, and, leaning forward, followed the receding boat, with a sickening eagerness, till it had completely disappeared; then her head sank for a moment against the tree, with one bitter yet suppressed cry.  Sorrow was so new to her yet.

Little had been said between the mother and daughter in this crisis of Lucia’s life.  Mrs. Costello watched her child’s pale and exhausted looks with painful solicitude, but she knew that words were useless.  There was, therefore, neither complaint nor condolence; they went on with their usual occupations, and spoke, though not much, of their usual subjects.  One thing, certainly, was different.  Mrs. Costello went, instead of Lucia, to pay the long daily visit to Mr. Leigh.  She said she wanted herself to have a consultation with him, about some small affairs in which she had been used to consult him, and Lucia was thankful to be spared, for one day, the danger of her old friend’s scrutiny.  But on the next day she went herself.  A note from Mr. Strafford had reached them, accounting for his delay, and saying that he would arrive that evening, the very evening of Mr. Percy’s departure, and she wished to go with her new self into more familiar company before facing one who, though so closely connected with the secret of her life, was almost a stranger to her.

She took with her a new book, and contrived as soon as possible to read instead of talking.  It required less effort, and while she read, her mind could go back to the thoughts which were still in the stir and commotion of their recent disturbance.  But all her efforts could not bring back to her face and voice the natural joyousness which had died out of them.  A stranger would have seen no signs of emotion or trouble in her look and manner, but this was the utmost she could accomplish.  To familiar, and above all, to loving eyes, the change was as evident as it was sorrowful; and Mr. Leigh speculated much on the subject.  Guessing more truly than perhaps others of her associates might do, he wrote to Maurice that night that he feared some heavy trouble either threatened, or had come upon Mrs. Costello and Lucia.  The same evening Mr. Strafford came to the Cottage.  It was a year since his last visit, and the events which had taken place in the meantime made him even more than usually welcome to Mrs. Costello.  He scarcely needed to be told that Lucia had now, at last, heard the story of her birth—­he read it in her face, and rejoiced that there was full confidence between mother and daughter.  As the three sat together round the fire—­for the evenings were already growing chilly, and the leaves in the garden began to fall—­they spoke together of the subject on which Mrs. Costello had been so anxiously waiting her friend’s counsel.