m a good judge
of horses, and know all about their complaints, so the sergeant-major
told me yesterday I shall get on very well in the Indies, if I keep a
sharp look-out.

'Dear mother, I shall see you again when I come back--I know I shall;
and we shall be happy together; for now I have nobody else to care
about upon the earth. I hope she will be happy, for she deserves all
this world can afford, and I have always found Mr Modbury a kind
master, so I am sure he will make her a kind husband. Dear mother,
there is Tom Larkin, who promised me, after I had listed, that he and
his sister Sarah would look in upon you sometimes, and help you. May
God bless you, my dear mother. My heart was well-nigh broken; but my
comrades have been very kind to me, and I want for nothing. Good-bye,
mother, and believe me your ever-affectionate son,

LUKE DAMEREL.

'P.S.--I do not know when we shall sail for the Indies; but in case,
please to direct to Private Damerel, --th Regiment, Light Dragoons,
Maidstone, or elsewhere; and the letter will be sure to come to hand.
Once more, God bless you, and may God bless _her_ too, dear mother.'

To describe Lucy's feelings while she read this simply-worded epistle
would be impossible. All the love and tenderness which she had felt
for Luke during the time she had known him, seemed to be concentrated
within her at that moment. At first she mourned the step he had taken
as hopeless and irreparable; but, casting her eyes upon the lace-work
she had the day before been doing, a sudden thought seized her. By
means of _that_, something might be eventually accomplished. With
these thoughts she quietly folded the letter, placed it on the table
beside the bed, and resumed the lace-work, scarcely speaking a word.

Mrs Damerel mistook this action for indifference, and in her sincere
desire for the girl's welfare, urged--not for the first time--plans
and sentiments which, though well meant, were utterly revolting to
Lucy. Luke had, she argued, no doubt behaved very ill, by rashly and
without explanation tearing himself not only from her, but from every
person to whom he was dear. On the other hand, Farmer Modbury's
advances were very flattering, and she could hardly blame a girl who
had been so cruelly treated, even by her own son, were she to accept
the good-fortune that lay before her.

Still Lucy went on practising her lace-work, her heart beating, and
her averted eyes swimming with tears. At length she