Tom have been
exposed under the light of those steady eyes. "Is it true that you have
made her unhappy?" she said, as if she had the power of death in her
hands.

"No!" he said, with a sudden outburst of feeling. "No! there are things
in my life that I would not have raked up; but since I have known her,
nothing; there is no offence to her in any record of my life----"

Bice looked at him still unfaltering. "You forget us--the Contessa and
me. You brought us, though she did not know. We are not like her, but
you brought us to her house. Nevertheless," said the young judge
gravely, "that might be unthoughtful, but not a wrong to her. Is it
perhaps a mistake?"

"A mistake or a slander, or--some evil tongue," he cried.

Bice rose up from the chair which had been her bench of justice, and
walked to the door with a stately step, befitting her office, full of
thought. Then she paused again for a moment and looked back and waved
her hand. "I think it is a pity," she said with great gravity. She
recognised the visionary fitness as he had done. They would have suited
each other, when it was thus suggested to them, for father and
daughter; and that it was not so, by some spite of fate, was a pity. She
found Lucy dressed and refreshed sitting by the bed of the child, who
had already begun to smile faintly. "Milady," said Bice, "will you go
downstairs? There is a long time that you have not spoken to Sir Tom. Is
he afraid of your fever? No more than me! But his heart is breaking for
you. Go to him, Milady, and I will stay with the boy."

It was not for some time that Lucy could be persuaded to go. He
had--others. What was she to him but a portion of his life? and the
child was all of hers: a small portion of his life only a few years,
while the others had a far older and stronger claim. There was no anger
in her mind, all hushed in the exhaustion of great suffering past, but a
great reluctance to enter upon the question once more. Lucy wished only
to be left in quiet. She went slowly, reluctantly, downstairs. Unhappy?
No. He had not made her unhappy. Nothing could make her unhappy now that
her child was saved. It seemed to Lucy that it was she who had been ill
and was getting better, and she longed to be left alone. Sir Tom was
standing against the window with his head upon his hand. He did not hear
her light step till she was close to him. Then he turned round, but not
with the eagerness for her which Bice had represented. H