Camilla's little gilt-edged missives. Lucina was somewhat
pale, and her face had been furtively watchful and listening. When
Jerome opened the door, her look changed to one of relief, which had
yet a certain terror and confusion in it. She rose at once, bowed
gracefully, until the hem of her muslin skirt swept the floor, and
bade Jerome good-evening. As for Jerome, he stood still, looking at
her.

"Why, J'rome, don't you see who 'tis?" cried his mother, in her
sharp, excited voice, yet with an encouraging smile--the smile of a
mother who would put a child upon its best behavior for the sake of
her own pride.

Jerome murmured, "Good-evening." He made a desperate grasp at his
self-possession, but scarcely succeeded.

Lucina pulled a little fleecy white wrap over her head, and
immediately took leave. Jerome stood aside to let her pass. Elmira
followed her to the outer door, and his mother called him in a sharp
whisper, "J'rome, come here."

When he had reached his mother's side she pinched his arm hard. "Go
home with her," she whispered.

Jerome stared at her.

"Do ye hear what I say? Go home with her."

"I can't," he almost groaned then.

"Can't? Ain't you ashamed of yourself? What ails ye? Lettin' of a
lady like her go home all alone this dark night."

Elmira ran back into the parlor. "Oh, Jerome, you ought to go with
her, you ought to!" she cried, softly. "It's real dark. She felt it,
I know. She looked real sober. Run after her, quick, Jerome."

"When she came to invite you to a party, too!" said Mrs. Edwards, but
Jerome did not hear that, he was out of the house and hurrying up the
road after Lucina.

She had not gone far. Jerome did not know what to say when he
overtook her, so he said nothing--he merely walked along by her side.
A great anger at himself, that he had almost let this tender and
beautiful creature go out alone in the night and the dark, was over
him, but he knew not what to say for excuse.

He wondered, pitifully, if she were so indignant that she did not
like him to walk home with her now. But in a moment Lucina spoke, and
her voice, though a little tremulous, was full of the utmost
sweetness of kindness.

"I fear you are too tired to walk home with me," she said, "and I am
not afraid to go by myself."

"No, it is too dark for you to go alone; I am not tired," replied
Jerome, quickly, and almost roughly, to hide the tumult of his heart.

But Lucina did not understand that. "I am