and arranged that Tiny and her sister should really officiate on that
occasion to which everybody's thoughts were now beginning to be
directed.

Another week found the Costellos at Dighton. They meant to stay a
fortnight or three weeks, and then to return to town until the marriage;
but of this no one of their Norfolk friends would hear a word. Lady
Dighton, Maurice, and Mr. Leigh had made up their minds that Lucia
should not leave the county until she did so a bride; and they carried
their point. The wedding-day was fixed; and Lucia found herself left, at
last, almost without a voice in the decision of her own destiny.

And yet, these last weeks of her girlhood were almost too happy. She
went over several times with her mother and Lady Dighton to Hunsdon,
and grew familiar with her future home; she saw the charming rooms that
were being prepared for herself, and could sit down in the midst of all
this new wealth and luxury, and talk with Maurice about the old times
when they had no splendour, but little less happiness than now; and she
had delicious hours of castle-building, sometimes alone, sometimes with
her betrothed, which were pleasanter than any actual realization of
their dreams could be.

Of course, they had endless talks, in which they said the same things
over and over again, or said nothing at all; but they knew each other so
thoroughly now, and each was so completely acquainted with all the
other's past that there was truly nothing for them to tell or to hear,
except the one old story which is always new.

One day, however, Maurice came over to Dighton in a great hurry, with a
letter for Lucia to read. He took her out into the garden, and when they
were quite alone he took it out and showed it to her.

"What is it?" she said. "It looks like a French letter."

"It is French. Do you remember your friend, Father Paul?"

"Of course. Oh, Maurice! it cannot be about Bailey?"

"Indeed, it is. But don't look frightened. I wrote to Father Paul, and
this is his answer."

"What made you write?"

"Did not I say I would pension Bailey? _I_ don't forget my promises if
other people do."

"Surely, you were only joking?"

"Very far from it, I assure you. Your good friend undertook to manage
it, and he writes to me that my letter only arrived in time; that Bailey
was ill, and quite dependent on charity, and that he is willing to
administer the money I send in small doses suitable to the patient's
condition."