"Yes. And my father consents."

"But not yet?"

"At once. To sail from New York on Saturday."

"It is Wednesday now."

"I start to-morrow night."

"When will you come back?"

"When, indeed? Lucia, do not you see that this is a heavy price to pay?"

"Ah! don't go. This grandfather has been cruel all these years; let him
wait now. Beside, what will Mr. Leigh do without you?"

"He insists upon my going. He believes it would have been my mother's
wish, and therefore he will rather stay here alone than refuse."

"Then you _must_ go. But could not you persuade him to come and stay
with us? Mamma would like it, I know."

"Impossible, dear child. Who knows how long I may be away, or what
changes may take place before I come back."

"Well, we shall see him every day, in any case. But what shall I do
without you? and mamma?"

"You remind me of the last thing I have to say. It seems to me, I cannot
tell you why, as if this change in my own life was to be followed by
other changes. I think Mrs. Costello has something of the same feeling,
and I want to say this to you, that if you should find it true, you may
remember in any disturbance of this quiet life of yours that I had some
vague anticipation of it, and not hesitate to let me be any help, any
use, to you that I can be. Do you understand? I shall be away, but I
shall not be changed in anything. You told me the other day I always
came to your help in your dilemmas. I want you to think of me always
so. Can you manage to keep such, a living recollection of the absent?"

Lucia's tears were falling fast by this time in the darkness, yet she
thought there was something cold and restrained in Maurice's words and
tone, and she could not guess how much the restraint cost him.

"As if I should forget you!" she said rather resentfully. "I could just
as soon forget my brother, if I had one."

The word did not suit Maurice. He sighed, with a kind of impatience.

"Shall we go in?" he said.

They turned towards the house, but when they reached it, instead of
following Lucia in, he said "Good-night."

She turned in surprise.

"But you are coming in?"

"Not to-night; my father will be waiting for me."

"Let me call mamma, then."

"I have said good-night to her. You will not forget? I do not mean
forget me, but, forget that wherever I am, or wherever you are, you have
the right to ask anything of me that a friend can do for you."

"But we shall see you to-morrow?"