ipline than his.
Then, if ever she came to want love, to want happiness, it would be his
opportunity; at present, he could still wait.

This evening might well be one of enjoyment. It was the last that those
four were ever to spend together at the Cottage. Nearly a fortnight had
passed since Mr. Bellairs and his cousin had started for Sault Ste.
Marie, and they were expected back in a day or two. The preparations for
Bella's marriage were almost completed, and Lucia was looking forward
with a pleasant flutter of excitement to her own appearance as
bridesmaid. Mrs. Costello's letter to Mr. Strafford remained unanswered,
but from the circuitous route by which their communication now took
place that was not wonderful; rather, indeed, the fact of having heard
nothing from him seemed reassuring, and in the interval, no further
incident had occurred to disturb her tranquillity. Thus the hours that
Maurice and his father spent together at the Cottage were, to the whole
party, hours of a certain calm and peace, pleasant to recollect after
the calm had been broken.

The next day Lucia spent almost entirely at Mrs. Bellairs'. Bella drove
her home in the evening, and when she came in she found Maurice alone on
the verandah. It was quite dusk, very nearly dark--a soft, still, dewy
evening, and she could but just distinguish his figure as he moved, to
meet her.

"Is it you, Maurice?" she said. "Is mamma there?"

"Yes, and no," he answered; "Mrs. Costello is just gone in."

"How is Mr. Leigh? I have not seen him to-day."

"No; I have been at home most of the day."

"Is he worse then?" she said, alarmed.

"He is not quite so well, but nothing serious. Are you tired?"

"No, not at all. Something is the matter, Maurice. I can hear it in your
voice."

"Nothing is the matter, I assure you. Something unexpected has happened,
but only to my father and me, and I want to talk to you about it. That
is all."

"Something unexpected? What?"

"Come down to the river side; it is quiet there and cool."

They went down together; it was growing very dark, and the turf on the
bank was soft and uneven. Lucia put her hand through Maurice's arm with
her old childlike familiarity, and said,

"Why do you excite my curiosity if you don't mean to satisfy it, you
tiresome Maurice?"

"Are you in such a hurry to hear my news, then? I feel in no such haste
to tell it. Look, do you see those lights on the river?"

"Yes. How quickly they move!