hey never get right again? I used
to think I should like to be a Sister of Mercy--and now that is all that
is left for me, I do not feel any inclination for it. I don't think I
have a vocation even for that."

And at this point she fell into a lower depth of melancholy--one of
those sad moods which, at eighteen, have even a kind of charm in their
exaggeration.

CHAPTER XX.

A day or two later there came, forwarded from Paris, an English letter
for Mrs. Costello. It arrived in the evening, at a time when they had no
expectation of receiving anything, and Madame Everaert brought it up,
and delivered it into Mrs. Costello's own hand, so that Lucia was not
near enough to see from whom it came. The general appearance of the
letter made her think it was English, and she knew that Mr. Wynter had
their present address and would not write to Paris. So she felt a
half-joyful, half-frightened suspicion that it must be from Maurice, and
her idea was confirmed by her mother's proceedings. For Mrs. Costello
having looked at the address, put the letter quietly in her pocket, and
went on talking about Father Paul, from whom they were expecting a
visit.

Lucia could hardly restrain herself. It was clear that Mrs. Costello did
not mean to open the letter before her, or to tell her whence it came;
but her anxiety to know was only increased by this certainty. She had
almost made up her mind to ask plainly whether it was from Maurice, when
the door opened and the old priest came in.

He was a fine-looking, white-haired man of more than seventy, to whom
the long black robe seemed exactly the most suitable dress possible, and
he had a good manner too, which was neither that of a mere priest, nor
of a mere gentleman, but belonged to both. The first few minutes of talk
made Mrs. Costello sure that she did not repent having invited his
acquaintance; a fact which had been in some little doubt before.

She had said to him, "Madame Everaert told me you knew Canada, and, as
we are Canadians, I could not resist the wish to see one who might still
feel an interest in our country," and this turned the conversation
immediately to what she desired to hear.

He answered her with a smile, "Probably my knowledge of Canada is very
different from yours; mine is almost entirely confined to the wilder
and less settled parts--to the Indian lands, in fact."

"In Upper Canada?"

"Yes. And then it is many years since I returned."

"I have lived