t him. He put his hand lightly on her shoulder, as he asked
his question.

"She is better, very much better," she answered. "But I was frightened
at first."

"Do you think it is only a passing affair? Are you afraid to be alone
to-night?"

"Not at all. Oh! Maurice, why do you ask such a question? She was quite
well this morning."

"She has not looked well for some time. But I did not mean to alarm you,
only to remind you that if you should want anything, I am always close
at hand."

He had alarmed her a little for the moment. She thought, "I have been
occupied with myself, and she has been ill perhaps for days past."
Maurice felt her tremble, and blamed himself for speaking. At that
instant they seemed to have returned to their old life. The very
attitude in which they stood, in which they had been used to have their
most confidential chats, had lately been disused; and to resume it, and
with it the old position of adviser and consoler, was compensation for
much that he had suffered. He felt that Lucia was looking anxiously up
at him--that she had for the moment quite forgotten all except her
mother and himself.

"The weather has been so hot," he said, searching for something to hide
his thoughts, "it is not wonderful for any one to be weakened by it. No
doubt, that was the reason of Mrs. Costello's illness." Lucia
remembered the letter and was silent. Then she said, "Have you really
thought her looking ill lately?"

"'Ill' is perhaps too strong a word. Besides, she has always said she
was well."

"Yes. But I know she has been"--in trouble, she was going to say, but
stopped--"suffering."

"Perhaps you may be able to nurse her a little now, since she will be
obliged to own herself an invalid."

"I shall try. Will you come in for a moment, in the morning?"

"Yes. Good night now. Do not be too anxious."

He went out, glad at heart because of those few words of hers, which
showed how naturally she still depended on him, when help of any kind
was needed.

Mrs. Costello had lain, during his visit, listening to the faint sound
of their voices, which just reached her through the half-open door of
her room.

She turned her head restlessly as she listened. "If it could have been,"
she thought, "he would have been the same to her through all--but the
other, how could I tell him even? Truly, I believe he would forgive
crime, more readily than misery like mine. And I _must_ tell her."

Lucia came back softly in