to-morrow," said Miss
Wodehouse, weeping too, as was natural, "and he thinks--he thinks--oh,
my darling! and so do I--that it will be too much for you. When I was
young it never was the custom; and oh, Lucy, remember that ladies are
not to be expected to have such command over their feelings," said poor
Miss Wodehouse, dropping on her knees by Lucy's chair. Mr Wentworth
stood looking on in a kind of despair. He had nothing to say, and no
right to say anything; even his presence was a kind of intrusion. But to
be referred to thus as an authority against Lucy's wishes, vexed him in
the most unreasonable way.

"Mr Wentworth does not know me," said Lucy, under her breath, wiping
away her tears with a trembling, indignant hand. "If we had had a
brother, it might have been different; but there must be somebody there
that loves him," said the poor girl, with a sob, getting up hastily from
her chair. She could not bear to stay any longer in the room, which she
had entered with a vague sense of possible consolation. As for the
Curate, he made haste to open the door for her, feeling the restraint of
his position almost intolerable. "_I_ shall be there," he said, stopping
at the door to look into the fair, pallid face which Lucy would scarcely
raise to listen. "Could you not trust _me_?" It looked like giving him a
pledge of something sacred and precious to put her hand into his, which
was held out for it so eagerly. But Lucy could not resist the softening
of nature; and not even Miss Wodehouse, looking anxiously after them,
heard what further words they were that Mr Wentworth said in her ear. "I
am for your service, however and wherever you want me," said the Curate,
with a young man's absolutism. Heaven knows he had enough to do with his
own troubles; but he remembered no obstacle which could prevent him from
dedicating all his time and life to her as he spoke. When Lucy reached
her own room, she threw herself upon the sofa, and wept like a woman
inconsolable; but it was somehow because this consolation, subtle and
secret, had stolen into her heart that her tears flowed so freely. And
Mr Wentworth returned to her sister relieved, he could not have told
why. At all events, come what might, the two had drawn together again in
their mutual need.

"Oh, Mr Wentworth, how can I cross her?" said Miss Wodehouse, wringing
her hands. "If we had a brother--did you hear what she said? Here is
his letter, and I hope you will tell me candidl