lady was
ready to 'hact very feeling, and very 'andsome.' Probably desirous to
avoid further reference to his unwelcome son and heir, Owen had betaken
himself to the solace of his pipe, and was pacing the garden with steps
now sauntering with depression, now impetuous with impatience, always
moving too much like a caged wild beast to invite approach. She was
disconsolately watching him from the window, when Mr. Fulmort was
admitted. A year ago, what would he not have given for that unfeigned,
simple welcome, as she looked up with eyes full of tears, saying, 'Oh,
Robert, it is so grievous to see him!'

'Very sad,' was the mournful answer.

'You may be able to help him. He asks for you, but turns from me.'

'He has been obliged to rely on me, since we came to town,' said Robert.

'You must have been very kind!' she warmly exclaimed.

But he drew back from the effusion, saying, 'I did no more than was
absolutely necessary. He does not lay himself open to true comfort.'

'Death never seemed half so miserable before!' cried Lucilla. 'Yet this
poor thing had little to live for! Was it all poor Honor's tender
softening that took off the edge to our imaginations?'

'It is not always so mournful!' shortly said Robert.

'No; even the mother bears it better, and not for want of heart.'

'She _is_ a Christian,' said Robert.

'Poor Owen! It makes me remorseful. I wonder if I made too light of the
line he took; yet what difference could I have made? Sisters go for so
little; and as to influence, Honor overdid it.' Then, as he made no
reply, 'Tell me, do you think my acquiescence did harm?'

'I cannot say. Your conscience must decide. It is not a case for me. I
must go to him.'

It was deep mortification. Used to have the least hint of dawning
seriousness thankfully cherished and fostered, it was a rude shock, when
most in need of _epanchement du coeur_ after her dreary day, to be thrown
back on that incomprehensible process of self-examination; and by Robert,
too!

She absolutely did not feel as if she were the same Lucilla. It was the
sensation of doubt on her personal identity awakened in the good woman of
the ballad when her little dog began to bark and wail at her.

She strove to enliven the dinner by talking of Hiltonbury, and of
Juliana's marriage, thus awakening Owen into life and talkativeness so
much in his light ordinary humour, as to startle them both. Lucilla
would have encouraged it as p