Then in the quiet twilight arose the question, “Where are we to go when we reach England?”

“Where?” Maurice said, “why, to Hunsdon, of course.  My father will be so pleased—­and Louisa will come rushing over in ecstasies the moment she hears.”

“That might be all very well,” Mrs. Costello said, “if we were only coming to England as visitors, but since we are not, I shall wish to find a place were we can settle as quickly as possible.  I should certainly like it to be within reach of Hunsdon, if we can manage it.”

“Come to Hunsdon first, at any rate, and look out.”

“I think not, Maurice.  We might stay in London for a week or two.”

“Well, if you prefer it.  But, at all events, I know perfectly well that one week of London will be as much as either of you can bear.  When you have had that, I shall try again to persuade you.”

While they talked, Lucia sat looking out.  For the last time she saw the Place grow dusky, and then flame out with gas—­for the last time she watched the lighting of the beacon, and wondered how far on their way they would be able to see it still.

Eight o’clock struck; then a quarter past, and it was time to go.

The boat lay in the dock.  On board, a faint light gleamed out from the cabin-door, but everything on shore was dark.  Passengers were arriving each moment, and their luggage stood piled up ready to be embarked.  Sailors were talking or shouting to each other in English and French; the cargo of fruit and vegetables was still being stowed away, and people were running against other people in the darkness, and trying vainly to discover their own trunks on the deck, or their own berths in the cabin.  Into the midst of all this confusion Maurice brought his charges; but as he had been on board in the afternoon, he knew where to take them, and they found their own quarters without difficulty.  While he saw to their packages, they made their arrangements for the night.

“I shall lie down at once,” Mrs. Costello said.  “It is not uncomfortable here, and I think it is always best.”

“But it is so early, and on deck the air is so pleasant.  Should you mind my leaving you for a little while?”

“Not at all.  There is no reason why you should stay down here if you dislike it.  Maurice will take care of you.”

But Lucia had no intention of waiting for Maurice.  She saw her mother comfortably settled, and then stole up alone to the deck.  The boat had not yet started; it seemed to lie in the very shadow of the quaint old town, and Lucia could trace the outline of the buildings against the starry sky.

She felt a little soft sensation of regret at saying good-bye to this last corner of France.  ‘And yet,’ she thought, ’I have been very unhappy here.  I wonder if England will be happier?’

She stood leaning against the bulwarks, looking now at the town, now at the dark glimmer of the water below, and, to tell the truth, beginning to wonder where Maurice was.  While she wondered, he came up to her and spoke.