_," and this time she did not mean
Maurice, "was the first person who ever put any other ideas into my
head. And I have lost them both." But already the true love had so far
gained its rights, that it was Maurice, far more than Percy, of whose
loss she thought. Once that night, when she had sat quite without moving
for a long time, and when her meditations had grown more and more
dreary, she suddenly raised her hand, and her ring flashed out in the
gloom. By some instinct she put it to her lips; it seemed to her a
symbol of regard and protecting care, which comforted her strangely.

When the night was past, and Claudine came early in the morning to take
Lucia's place, Mrs. Costello still slept; and the poor child, quite worn
out--pale and shivering in the cold dawn--was glad to creep away to
bed, and to her heavy but troubled slumber.

All that day the house was kept silent and shut up. Mrs. Costello had
been much tried, the doctor thought, and needed a complete calm in which
to recover herself. With her old habit of self-command she understood
this, and remained still, almost without speaking, till some degree of
strength should return. Lucia tended her with the most anxious care, and
kept her troubled thoughts wholly to herself.

About two o'clock Lady Dighton came. Hearing that Mrs. Costello was ill,
she begged to see Lucia, who came to her, looking weary and worn, but
longing to hear of Maurice.

It seemed, however, as if she were not to be gratified. Lady Dighton was
full of concern and kind offers of assistance, but she said nothing of
her cousin until just as she went away. Then she did say, "You know that
Maurice left us yesterday evening? I miss him dreadfully; but I dare say
he thinks much more of whether other people miss him."

She went, and they were alone again. So alone, as they had never been
while Maurice was in Paris, when he might come in at any moment and
bring a cheerful breath from the outer world into their narrow and
feminine life,--as he would never come again! 'Oh,' Lucia thought, 'why
could not he be our friend always--just our own Maurice as he used to
be--and not have these miserable fancies? We might have been so happy!'

Towards night Mrs. Costello had greatly revived. She was able to sit up
a little, and to talk much as usual. She did not allude at all to her
last conversation with her daughter, and Lucia herself dared not renew
so exciting a subject. But all anger seemed to have ent