“And in the meantime what are you going to do?”

“At present you see how I shall be occupied.  When the trial is over, I hope to bring your father here and nurse him as long as he requires nursing.”

“And then?”

“Then we will be together somewhere; I do not yet know where.”

“And where am I to go in England?”

“My cousin will take care of you for me.  Remember, it is only for a little while.”

“Have you been plotting against me long, mother?”

“My child, I have been obliged to think of your future.”

“And you thought that I was a baby still—­only an encumbrance, to be sent away from you when you had other troubles to think of?”

“My best comforter, rather.”

“Well then, mother, I have my plan, which is better than yours, and more practicable, too.”

“Mine is perfectly practicable; I have thought well of it.”

“It is impracticable; because I am not going to England, or indeed to leave you at all.”

“But, Lucia, I have written to my cousin.”

“I am very sorry, mamma, but I cannot help it.  Indeed, I do not want to be disobedient, or to vex you, but you must see that if I did go it would only make us both wretched, and besides, it would not be right.”

Mrs. Costello sighed.

“How not right?”

“I think, mother, that when people know who we are—­I mean when my father comes here—­there will be a great deal of speculation and gossip about us all, and people will watch us very closely, and that it would be better if when you bring him home, everything should be as if he had never been away from us.  Do you know what I mean?”

“I suppose I do,” Mrs. Costello answered slowly.  “You mean that when we take him back, we should not seem to be ashamed of him?”

Lucia hid her face against her mother’s dress.

“Oh! mamma, is it wrong to talk so?  He is my father after all, and it seems so dreadful; but indeed I shall try to behave like a daughter to him.”

Yet even as she spoke, an irrepressible shudder crept over her with the sudden recollection of the only time she had seen the prodigal.

“My poor child!” and her mother’s arm was passed tenderly round her, “it is just that I wish to spare you.”

Lucia looked up steadily.

“But ought I to be spared, mother?  It seems to me that my duty is just as plain as yours.  Do not ask me to go away.”

“I am half distracted, darling, between trying to think for you and for him.  And perhaps all my thought for him may be useless.”

“At least, think only of him for the present.”

“If he should die before the trial?”

“If he could only be cleared!  Perhaps it would save him yet.”

“Yes.  It seems to be imprisonment which is killing him; but nothing less than a miracle could make any change now, and there are no miracles in our days.”