ouna, or the
story of Christian had been told; now, she wanted the last and strongest
of all old habits to be again practicable, and to see her old companion
again at hand. She remained, however, totally unsuspicious of all that
had passed between her mother and Maurice. She even fancied, sometimes,
that Mrs. Costello did Maurice the injustice of believing him changed by
the change of his circumstances, and that her affection for him had in
consequence cooled.

"Of course," she said to herself, "if he were here now, and with us as
he used to be, we should always have the feeling that by-and-by, when
the truth comes to be known, or when we go away, we should have to part
with him. But, still, it would be nice to have him. And I do not believe
that, _at present_, he is changed towards us. Mr. Leigh thinks he wants
to come back to Canada."

So she meditated more and more on the subject, because it was free from
all agitating remembrances, and because Mrs. Costello was silent
regarding it; and if poor Maurice, chafing with impatience and anxiety
while he watched his helpless half-unconscious grandfather, could have
had a peep into her mind, he would have consoled himself by seeing that
little as she thought of the _kind_ of affection he wanted from her, she
was giving him a more and more liberal measure of such as she had.

A little while ago the same glimpse which would have consoled Maurice
might have comforted Mrs. Costello; but since she had begun to regard
Lucia as separated from him by duty and necessity, she rejoiced to think
that he had never held any other place in her child's heart than that to
which an old playfellow, teacher, and companion would under any
circumstances have a right. Her own altered conviction as to Christian's
guilt did not affect her feelings in this respect, for she knew that it
was too utterly illogical to have any weight with others; and
anticipating that even Maurice would be unable, were he told the whole
story, to share in it, she felt that as regarded him, guilt or unproved
innocence would be precisely the same thing; and that, however his
generosity might conceal the fact, Lucia would always remain in his
belief the daughter of a murderer. To suffer her child to marry him
under these circumstances was not to be thought of, even if Lucia
herself would consent; so, in spite of the half-frantic letters which
Maurice found time to despatch by every mail, and in which he used over
and ove