ulsion from the house. Tom also was ill,
absolutely ill in bed, with a doctor to see him,--and all from love,
declaring that he would throw himself over the ship's side and drown
himself while there was yet a chance left to him for Ayala. And in
the midst of this Lady Tringle herself was by no means exempt from
the paternal wrath. She was told that she must have known what was
going on between her daughter and that idiot Captain,--that she
encouraged the Trafficks to remain,--that she coddled up her son
till he was sick from sheer lackadaisical idleness. The only one
in the house who seemed to be exempt from the wrath of Sir Thomas
was Lucy,--and therefore it was upon Lucy's head that fell the
concentrated energy of Aunt Emmeline's revenge. When Captain Batsby
was spoken of with contumely in the light of a husband,--this being
always done by Sir Thomas,--Lady Tringle would make her rejoinder to
this, when Sir Thomas had turned his back, by saying that a captain
in Her Majesty's army, with good blood in his veins and a competent
fortune, was at any rate better than a poor artist, who had, so to
say, no blood, and was unable to earn his bread; and when Tom was
ridiculed for his love for Ayala she would go on to explain,--always
after Sir Thomas's back had been turned,--that poor Tom had been
encouraged by his father, whereas Lucy had taken upon herself to
engage herself in opposition to her pastors and masters. And then
came the climax. It was all very well to say that Augusta was
intruding,--but there were people who intruded much worse than
Augusta, without half so much right. When this was said the poor
sore-hearted woman felt her own cruelty, and endeavoured to withdraw
the harsh words; but the wound had been given, and the venom rankled
so bitterly that Lucy could no longer bear her existence among the
Tringles. "I ought not to remain after that," she wrote to her lover.
"Though I went into the poor-house I ought not to remain."

"I wrote to Mr. Hamel," she said to her aunt, "and told him that as
you did not like my being here I had better,--better go away."

"But where are you to go? And I didn't say that I didn't like you
being here. You oughtn't to take me up in that way."

"I do feel that I am in the way, aunt, and I think that I had better
go."

"But where are you to go? I declare that everybody says everything to
break my heart. Of course you are to remain here till he has got a
house to keep you in." But