that sight and sound, Lucy's face lightened. 'Ah! I know I
shall feel at home here. I hear the water's voice!'

But she had brought with her a heavy cold, kept in abeyance by a strong
will during the days of activity, and ready to have its way at once, when
she was beaten down by fatigue, fasting, and disappointment. She dressed
and came down, but could neither eat nor talk, and in her pride was glad
to attribute all to the cold, though protesting with over-eagerness that
such indisposition was rare with her.

She would not have suffered such nursing from Honor Charlecote as was
bestowed upon her. The last month had made tenderness valuable, and
without knowing all, kind Mrs. Prendergast could well believe that there
might be more than even was avowed to weigh down the young head, and
cause the fingers, when unobserved, to lock together in suppressed agony.

While Sarah only knew that her heroine-looking governess was laid up with
severe influenza, her mother more than guessed at the kind of battle
wrestled out in solitude, and was sure that more than brother, more than
friend, had left her to that lonely suffering, which was being for the
first time realized. But no confidence was given; when Lucilla spoke, it
was only of Owen, and Mrs. Prendergast returned kindness and forbearance.

It was soothing to be dreamily in that summer room, the friendly river
murmuring, the shadows of the trees lazily dancing on the wall, the
cathedral bells chiming, or an occasional deep note of the organ stealing
in through the open window. It suited well with the languor of sensation
that succeeded to so much vehemence and excitement. It was not thought,
it was not resignation, but a species of repose and calm, as if all
interest, all feeling, were over for her, and as if it mattered little
what might further befall her, as long as she could be quiet, and get
along from one day to another. If it had been repentance, a letter would
have been written very unlike the cold announcement of her situation, the
scanty notices of her brother, with which she wrung the heart that
yearned after her at Hiltonbury. But sorry she was, for one part at
least, of her conduct, and she believed herself reduced to that meek and
correct state that she had always declared should succeed her days of
gaiety, when, recovering from her indisposition, she came down subdued in
tone, and anxious to fulfil what she had undertaken.

'Ah! if Robert could see