elf the result of that friendship, and
had determined to bear her punishment with courage. But now--

She sate so for about an hour, and would fain have so sat out the
day. But as this could not be, she got up, and having washed her face
and eyes returned to Mrs. Crawley's room. There she found Mr. Crawley
also, to her great joy, for she knew that while he was there no
questions would be asked of her. He was always very gentle to her,
treating her with an old-fashioned, polished respect--except when
compelled on that one occasion by his sense of duty to accuse her of
mendacity respecting the purveying of victuals--, but he had never
become absolutely familiar with her as his wife had done; and it
was well for her now that he had not done so, for she could not
have talked about Lady Lufton. In the evening, when the three were
present, she did manage to say that she expected Mrs. Robarts would
come over on the following day. "We shall part with you, Miss
Robarts, with the deepest regret," said Mr. Crawley; "but we would
not on any account keep you longer. Mrs. Crawley can do without you
now. What she would have done, had you not come to us, I am at a loss
to think."

"I did not say that I should go," said Lucy.

"But you will," said Mrs. Crawley. "Yes, dear, you will. I know that
it is proper now that you should return. Nay, but we will not have
you any longer. And the poor dear children, too,--they may return.
How am I to thank Mrs. Robarts for what she has done for us?" It was
settled that if Mrs. Robarts came on the following day Lucy should go
back with her; and then, during the long watches of the night--for on
this last night Lucy would not leave the bedside of her new friend
till long after the dawn had broken, she did tell Mrs. Crawley what
was to be her destiny in life. To herself there seemed nothing
strange in her new position; but to Mrs. Crawley it was wonderful
that she--she, poor as she was--should have an embryo peeress at her
bedside, handing her her cup to drink, and smoothing her pillow that
she might be at rest. It was strange, and she could hardly maintain
her accustomed familiarity. Lucy felt this at the moment.

"It must make no difference, you know," said she, eagerly; "none
at all, between you and me. Promise me that it shall make no
difference." The promise was, of course, exacted; but it was not
possible that such a promise should be kept. Very early on the
following morning--so early that