Mrs. Costello, on her part, had been entirely unable to keep Maurice out of her thoughts.  As Christian’s death, and all the agitation consequent upon it, settled back into the past, she had plenty of leisure and plenty of temptation to revert to her old hopes and schemes.  Half consciously she had allowed herself to build up a charming fabric of possibilities. Possibly Maurice might write and say, “It is Lucia I love, Lucia I want to marry.  It matters nothing to me what her father is or was.” (Quixotic and not-to-be-counted-upon piece of generosity!) Possibly she herself might then be justified in answering, “The accusation brought against her father has been proved false—­my child is stainless—­and you have proved your right to her;” and it was impossible, she believed, that Lucia, hearing all the truth, should not be touched as they would have her.

These imaginations, built upon such ardent and long-indulged wishes, acquired a considerable degree of strength during her visit to Mr. Strafford; and although a little surprised at not receiving, during her stay there, the usual weekly note from Maurice which she had calculated would cross her last important letter on the way, she came home eager to see Mr. Leigh, and to hear from him the last news from England.

But when she had paid her visit to her old neighbour, she came back puzzled, disappointed, and slightly indignant.  There was an air of constraint about Mr. Leigh, especially when he spoke of Maurice, which was so entirely new as to appear a great deal more significant than it really was; and this, added to the fact that two letters had been received, one written before, and the other after the arrival of hers, neither of which contained so much as a message for her or Lucia, suddenly suggested to Mrs. Costello that she was a very foolish woman who was still wasting her wishes and thoughts on plans, the time for which had gone by, instead of following steadily, and without hesitation, what her reason told her was the best and most sensible course.  She so far convinced herself that it was time to give up thinking of Lucia’s marriage to Maurice, as to be really in earnest both in completing her preparations for leaving Canada, and in rejoicing at the receipt of a letter from her cousin expressing his perfect approval of her decision to return to Europe.

This letter even Lucia could not help acknowledge to be thoroughly kind and kinsmanlike.  Mr. Wynter proposed to meet them at Havre, and, if possible, accompany them to Paris.

“If you are travelling alone,” he said, “I may be of service to you; and since you have decided on going to France, I should like to see you comfortably settled there.  By that means, too, we shall have plenty of time to talk over whatever arrangements you wish made with regard to your daughter.  However, I have great hopes that when you find yourself away from the places where you have suffered so much, and near your own people, you will grow quite strong again.”