l rose to go, he said,
"Madam, I thank you for all you have told me. Your secret is safe with
me; but I beg your permission to share the rest of your intelligence
with one of my brothers--the only survivor except myself of that
mission. If you will permit me, I shall visit you again--I should like
much to make friends with mademoiselle, your daughter. She recalls to
me strongly the features of my once greatly loved pupil."

With this little speech he departed, and left Mrs. Costello to wonder
over this last page in her husband's history. Only a year ago how little
would she have believed it possible that a man respectable, nay,
venerable, as this old priest, would have thought kindly of Lucia for
her father's sake!

After a little while she got up and went to look for her daughter. She
found her sitting at a window, looking forlornly out at the lights and
movements in the place, and not very ready to meet the lamplight when
she came back into the sitting-room. Still, however, she heard nothing
of the letter, nor even when she bade her mother good night and lingered
a little at the very last, hoping for one word, even though it might be
a reproach, to tell her that it was from Maurice.

She had to go to her room disconsolate. She heard Mrs. Costello go to
hers, and close the door.

'Now,' she thought, 'it will be opened. It cannot be from _him_, or
mamma could not have waited so long. But I don't know; she has such
self-command! I used to fancy I could be patient at great need--and I am
not one bit.'

However, as waiting and listening for every sound brought her no nearer
to the obtaining of her wishes, she undressed and lay down, and began to
try to imagine what the letter could be. Gradually, from thinking, she
fell into dreaming, and dropped into a doze.

But before she was sound asleep, the door opened, and Mrs. Costello
shading her candle with her hand, came into the room. Lucia had been so
excited that the smallest movement was sufficient to awake her. She
started up and said, "What is it mamma?" in a frightened voice.

"It is late," Mrs. Costello said. "Quite time you were asleep, but I am
glad you are not. Lie down. I shall sit here for a few minutes and tell
you what I want to say."

Lucia obeyed. She saw that her mother had a paper in her hand--no doubt
the letter. Now she should hear.

"I had a letter to-night," her mother went on. "I dare say you wondered
I did not open it at once. The truth was, I