s," said Lucy, resolved that she would not tell
him of her immediate abode. This was, at any rate, a certain address
from where he might commence further inquiries, should he wish to
make inquiry; and as such he accepted it. "I think I had better go
now," said Lucy, trembling at the apparent impropriety of her present
conversation.

He knew that it was intended that he should leave her, and he went.
"I hope I have not offended you in coming so far."

"Oh, no." Then again she gave him her hand, and again there was the
same look as he took his leave.

When she got home, which was before the dusk, having resolved that
she must, at any rate, tell her aunt that she had met a friend, she
found that her uncle had returned from his office. This was a most
unusual occurrence. Her uncle, she knew, left Somerset House exactly
at half-past four, and always took an hour and a quarter for his
walk. She had never seen him in Kingsbury Crescent till a quarter
before six. "I have got letters from Rome," he said, in a solemn
voice.

"From Ayala?"

"One from Ayala, for you. It is here. And I have had one from my
sister, also; and one, in the course of the day, from your uncle
in Lombard Street. You had better read them!" There was something
terribly tragic in Uncle Dosett's voice as he spoke.

And so must the reader read the letters; but they must be delayed for
a few chapters.

CHAPTER V.

AT GLENBOGIE.

We must go back to Ayala's life during the autumn and winter. She was
rapidly whirled away to Glenbogie amidst the affectionate welcomings
of her aunt and cousins. All manner of good things were done for her,
as to presents and comforts. Young as she was, she had money given to
her, which was not without attraction; and though she was, of course,
in the depth of her mourning, she was made to understand that even
mourning might be made becoming if no expense were spared. No expense
among the Tringles ever was spared, and at first Ayala liked the
bounty of profusion. But before the end of the first fortnight there
grew upon her a feeling that even bank notes become tawdry if you are
taught to use them as curl-papers. It may be said that nothing in the
world is charming unless it be achieved at some trouble. If it rained
"'64 Leoville,"--which I regard as the most divine of nectars,--I
feel sure that I should never raise it to my lips. Ayala did not
argue the matter out in her mind, but in very early days she began to