to the room, and to the bedside; looking, with
her newly awakened fears, at her mother's face, she saw plainly how worn
it was; it seemed, in truth, to have grown years older in the last few
weeks. A pang of remorse shot through her heart; she stooped and kissed
her with unusual tenderness, and then turned away to hide the tears
which self-reproach had brought to her eyes. Mrs. Costello caught her
hand, and smiling, asked what news Maurice had brought?

"None, mamma. He came to ask about you."

"But had he nothing to tell you about the Scotts?"

"I forgot to ask him, and I believe he forgot to tell me."

"You must have been very much interested to forget such an event as a
party the moment it was over."

"We were only talking about you. Maurice says you have been looking
ill."

"Maurice is a foolish boy. I have been a little worried, but that is
all."

Lucia gathered all her courage. "But, dear mother, why do you always
give me that answer? Why not tell me what it is that troubles you?"

Mrs. Costello shrank back. "Not yet, darling. I am a coward, and should
have to tell you a long story. Wait awhile."

"And while I wait, you suffer alone."

"I should not suffer less, my child, if you knew all. For your own sake
I have not yet shared my troubles, such as they are, with you; for your
own sake I see that I must soon do so. Leave me at present to decide, if
I can, what is best for us both."

Lucia was silent. She saw that even this short conversation had
disturbed, instead of comforting her mother; she dared not therefore say
more, and could only busy herself in arranging everything with
affectionate care for her comfort during the night.

Next morning when Maurice came, he was surprised to find Mrs. Costello
up, and looking as usual. Lucia's uneasiness had almost melted away in
the daylight; she was more gentle and attentive than usual to her
mother, but had persuaded herself that with her care, and, above all,
with her sympathy, when the promised "long story" should be told, all
would come right. She had still, however, enough need of sympathy to
make her manner to Maurice such as he liked best. He went away a second
time very happy, thinking, "She is but a child. If that fellow were but
gone she would soon forget him, and be herself again."

But, alas! "that fellow" showed no intention of going. He came to the
Cottage an hour or two later, not however alone, but with Mrs. Bellairs
and Bella. The former c