istinguishing the noise
with the accurate sense of hearing which is always attached to
sickness; "and it is not the noise of the pony-carriage."

"It is a regular carriage," said Lucy, speaking from the window, "and
stopping here. It is somebody from Framley Court, for I know the
servant." As she spoke a blush came to her forehead. Might it not be
Lord Lufton, she thought to herself--forgetting, at the moment, that
Lord Lufton did not go about the country in a close chariot with a
fat footman. Intimate as she had become with Mrs. Crawley she had
said nothing to her new friend on the subject of her love affair. The
carriage stopped, and down came the footman, but nobody spoke to him
from the inside.

"He has probably brought something from Framley," said Lucy, having
cream and such-like matters in her mind; for cream and such-like
matters had come from Framley Court more than once during her sojourn
there. "And the carriage, probably, happened to be coming this way."
But the mystery soon elucidated itself partially, or, perhaps, became
more mysterious in another way. The red-armed little girl who had
been taken away by her frightened mother in the first burst of the
fever had now returned to her place, and at the present moment
entered the room, with awe-struck face, declaring that Miss Robarts
was to go at once to the big lady in the carriage.

"I suppose it's Lady Lufton," said Mrs. Crawley. Lucy's heart was so
absolutely in her mouth that any kind of speech was at the moment
impossible to her. Why should Lady Lufton have come thither to
Hogglestock, and why should she want to see her, Lucy Robarts, in the
carriage? Had not everything between them been settled? And yet--!
Lucy, in the moment for thought that was allowed to her, could not
determine what might be the probable upshot of such an interview. Her
chief feeling was a desire to postpone it for the present instant.
But the red-armed little girl would not allow that.

"You are to come at once," said she.

And then Lucy, without having spoken a word, got up and left the
room. She walked downstairs, along the little passage, and out
through the small garden, with firm steps, but hardly knowing whither
she went or why. Her presence of mind and self-possession had all
deserted her. She knew that she was unable to speak as she should do;
she felt that she would have to regret her present behaviour, but yet
she could not help herself. Why should Lady Lufton have