for the best. Neither Percy nor Maurice, it was
evident, would ever be Lucia's husband. Nothing could be more
satisfactory, therefore, than that she should have become indifferent
to the one, and have only a sisterly affection for the other. And yet,
with unconscious perversity, she was not satisfied. She allowed to
herself that Maurice's conduct had been reasonable enough. He had
accepted the common belief that Christian was the murderer of Dr.
Morton; and the conclusion which naturally followed, that Christian's
daughter, beautiful and good though she might be, was not a fit mistress
for Hunsdon; to have done otherwise, would have been Quixotic. Yet in
her heart she was bitterly disappointed. If he had but loved Lucia well
enough to dare to take her with all her inherited shame, how richly he
would have been rewarded when the cloud cleared away! Where would he
find another like her? And now, since Maurice could change, who might
ever be trusted?

No doubt these meditations were romantic. If Mrs. Costello had been the
mother of half-a-dozen children--a woman living in the midst of a busy,
lively household, where motherly cares and castle-buildings had to be
shared among three or four daughters--she would not have had time to
occupy herself so intensely with the affairs of any one. As it was,
however, this one girl was her life of life; she threw into her
interests the hopes of youth and the experience of middle age. As Lucia
grew up, she had watched with anxiety, with hope, and with fear, for the
coming of that inevitable time when, either for good or evil, she must
love. It had been her fancy that, if Lucia loved Maurice, all would be
well; if she loved any other, all would be ill. But time had passed on,
and brought change; not one thing had happened according to her
anticipations. And she tried to believe that she was glad that it was
so, while a shadow of dissatisfaction lay at the bottom of her heart.

When Mr. Wynter left Paris, he did so with the comfortable conviction
that his cousins were happily settled; and with the persuasion that, as
they both appeared to have a fair share of common sense, they would soon
forget their past troubles, and be just like other people.

"I don't like Mary's state of health at present," he said to his wife;
"and, if I am not mistaken, she thinks even worse of it than I do; but
still, rest of mind and body may do a great deal; and now she is really
a widow, and quite safe from