d so well. She had been able to
deaden her passionate regret only by keeping her mind steadfastly
averted from all thoughts of it, and now she must actually go there. The
old wounds would be opened. But it was impossible to refuse, and she set
about making the necessary arrangements. The rector, who had been given
the living by Fred Allerton, was an old friend, and Lucy knew that she
could trust in his affection. She wrote and told him that her father was
dying and had set his heart on seeing once more his old home. She asked
him to find rooms in one of the cottages. She did not mind how small nor
how humble they were. The rector answered by telegram. He begged Lucy to
bring her father to stay with him. She would be more comfortable than in
lodgings, and, since he was a bachelor, there was plenty of room in the
large rectory. Lucy, immensely touched by his kindness, gratefully
accepted the invitation.

Next day they took the short journey across the Solent.

The rector had been a don, and Fred Allerton had offered him the living
in accordance with the family tradition that required a man of
attainments to live in the neighbouring rectory. He had been there now
for many years, a spare, grey-haired, gentle creature, who lived the
life of a recluse in that distant village, doing his duty exactly, but
given over for the most part to his beloved books. He seldom went away.
The monotony of his daily round was broken only by the occasional
receipt of a parcel of musty volumes, which he had ordered to be bought
for him at some sale. He was a man of varied learning, full of remote
information, eccentric from his solitariness, but with a great sweetness
of nature. His life was simple, and his wants were few.

In this house, in rooms lined from floor to ceiling with old books, Lucy
and her father took up their abode. It seemed that Fred Allerton had
been kept up only by the desire to get back to his native place, for he
had no sooner arrived than he grew much worse. Lucy was busily occupied
with nursing him and could give no time to the regrets which she had
imagined would assail her. She spent long hours in her father's room;
and while he dozed, half-comatose, the kindly parson sat by the window
and read to her in a low voice from queer, forgotten works.

One day Allerton appeared to be far better. For a week he had wandered
much in his mind, and more than once Lucy had suspected that the end was
near; but now he was singularl