e there, it would be another hindrance.
"And, oh! I must see him again," she said, "and find out whether we are
not to be brother and sister any more."

She said "brother and sister" still, as she had done long ago; but she
knew very well in her heart now, that _that_ had never been the
relationship Maurice desired. And so she tore her note into little bits,
and remained helpless, but rebelling against her helplessness. In this
humour she went to her mother's room.

Mrs. Costello was not yet up. Lucia knelt down by the bedside, and laid
Mr. Leigh's letter beside her.

"Mamma, I am very sorry," she said; "I think Mr. Leigh must have been
very unhappy before he would write to you so."

"I agree with you. He is not a man to take fright without cause,
either."

"Why do you say, 'to take fright?'"

"Why do I say so? Are you such a child still, that you cannot understand
a man like Maurice, always so tender towards women--Quixotically so,
indeed--making himself believe that he is doing quite right in marrying
a poor girl in Miss Landor's position, when, in fact, he is doing a
great wrong? It is a double wrong to her and to himself; and one for
which he would be certain to suffer, whether she did or not. And, Lucia
I must say it, whatever evil may come of it, now or in the future, is
our fault."

"Oh, mamma! mamma, don't say 'our'--say 'your'--if it is mine--for
certainly it is not yours."

"I will say your fault, then; I believe you feel it so."

"But, mamma, really and truly, is it anybody's fault? Don't people often
love those who can't care for them in return?"

"Really and truly, quite honestly and frankly, Lucia, was that the case
with you?"

Lucia's eyes fell. She could not say yes.

"I will tell you," Mrs. Costello went on, "what I believe to be the
truth, and you can set me right if I am wrong. You knew that Maurice had
always been fond of you--devoted to you, in a way that had come by use
to seem natural; and it had never entered your mind to think either how
much of your regard he deserved, or how much he really had. I will not
say anything about Percy; but I do believe," and she spoke very
deliberately, laying her hand on Lucia's, "that since Maurice went away,
you have been finding out that you had made a mistake, and that your
heart had not been wrong nearly so much as your imagination."

Lucia was still silent. If she had spoken at all, it must have been to
confess that her mother was right, and