“But she could never do anything else but love you,” he interrupted quickly, speaking for himself as well as Lucy, his voice vibrating under his emotions.  It was all he could do to keep his hands from her own; her sending for him alone restrained him.

“I know that, but it is not in the old way.  It used to be ‘Sister, darling, don’t tire yourself,’ or ‘Sister, dear, let me go upstairs for you,’ or ’Cuddle close here, and let us talk it all out together.’  There is no more of that.  She goes her own way, and when I chide her laughs and leaves me alone until I make some new advance.  Help me, please, and with all the wisdom you can give me; I have no one else in whom I can trust, no one who is big enough to know what should be done.  I might have talked to Mr. Dellenbaugh about it, but he is away.”

“No; talk it all out to me,” he said simply.  “I so want to help you”—­his whole heart was going out to her in her distress.

“I know you feel sorry for me.”  She withdrew her hand gently so as not to hurt him; she too did not want to be misunderstood—­having sent for him.  “I know how sincere your friendship is for me, but put all that aside.  Don’t let your sympathy for me cloud your judgment.  What shall I do with Lucy?  Answer me as if you were her father and mine,” and she looked straight into his eyes.

The doctor tightened the muscles of his throat, closed his teeth, and summoned all his resolution.  If he could only tell her what was in his heart how much easier it would all be!  For some moments he sat perfectly still, then he answered slowly—­as her man of business would have done: 

“I should let her go.”

“Why do you say so?”

“Because she will find out in that way sooner than in any other how to appreciate you and her home.  Living in two rooms and studying music will not suit Lucy.  When the novelty wears off she will long for her home, and when she comes back it will be with a better appreciation of its comforts.  Let her go, and make her going as happy as you can.”

And so Jane gave her consent—­it is doubtful whether Lucy would have waited for it once her mind was made up—­and in a week she was off, Doctor John taking her himself as far as the Junction, and seeing her safe on the road to Trenton.  Martha was evidently delighted at the change, for the old nurse’s face was wreathed in smiles that last morning as they all stood out by the gate while Billy Tatham loaded Lucy’s trunks and boxes.  Only once did a frown cross her face, and that was when Lucy leaned over and whispering something in Bart’s ear, slipped a small scrap of paper between his fingers.  Bart crunched it tight and slid his hand carelessly into his pocket, but the gesture did not deceive the nurse:  it haunted her for days thereafter.