or wherefore; she only felt
that it would be good for her to be alone, and the need had been so
urgent that she forgot her father's usual good-night kiss and blessing.
Lugur did not call her, but he felt the omission keenly. It was the
first change; he knew that it prefigured many greater ones, and he was
for the hour stunned by the suddenness of the sorrow he had to face. But
Lugur had a stout heart, a heart made strong and sure by many sufferings
and by one love.

He sat motionless for an hour or more; his life was concentered in
thought, and thought does not always require physical movement. Indeed,
intense thought on any question is, as a rule, still and steady as a
rock. And Lugur was thinking of the one subject which was the prime
mover of his earthly life--thinking of his daughter and trying to
foresee the fate he had practically chosen for her, wondering if in
this matter he had been right or wrong. He had told himself that Lucy
must marry someone, and that Henry Hatton was the best of all her
suitors. Thirsk he hardly took into consideration; but there was young
Bradley and Squire Ashby and the Wesleyan minister, and his own
assistant in the school. He had seen that these men loved her, each in
his own way, but he liked none of them. Weighed in his balance, they
were all wanting.

Neither was Henry Hatton without fault; but the Hatton family was good
to its root, as far as he knew or could hear tell, and at least he had
been frankly honest both with his daughter and himself. He found
strength and comfort in this reflection, and finally through it reached
the higher attitude, which made him rise to his feet, clasp his hands,
and lift his face with whispered prayer to the Father and Lover of
souls. Leaving Lucy in His care, his heart was at rest, and he lay down
in peace and slept.

CHAPTER V

THE HEARTH FIRE

He who has drunk of Love's sharp strong wine,
Will drink thereof till death.
Love comes in silence and alone
To meet the elected One.

* * * * *

It was a chill, misty evening in the last days of September, and John
Hatton was sitting by the fire in the great central hall. He was
thinking of many things, but through all of them the idea of his brother
Harry swept like an obliterating cloud. He was amazed at the hot
impetuous love which had taken possession of the boy--for he still
thought of him as a boy--and wondering how best to direct and