his prey. "You have been here
a long time," he said, "without our having had the pleasure of seeing
you."

"Yes, my lord," said Lucy. Lords had not been frequent among her
acquaintance hitherto.

"I tell Mrs. Robarts that she has been confining you illegally, and
that we shall release you by force or stratagem."

"I--I--I have had a great sorrow lately."

"Yes, Miss Robarts; I know you have; and I am only joking, you know.
But I do hope that now you will be able to come amongst us. My mother
is so anxious that you should do so."

"I am sure she is very kind, and you also--my lord."

"I never knew my own father," said Lord Lufton, speaking gravely.
"But I can well understand what a loss you have had." And then, after
pausing a moment, he continued, "I remember Dr. Robarts well."

"Do you, indeed?" said Lucy, turning sharply towards him, and
speaking now with some animation in her voice. Nobody had yet spoken
to her about her father since she had been at Framley. It had been as
though the subject were a forbidden one. And how frequently is this
the case! When those we love are dead, our friends dread to mention
them, though to us who are bereaved no subject would be so pleasant
as their names. But we rarely understand how to treat our own sorrow
or those of others.

There was once a people in some land--and they may be still there
for what I know--who thought it sacrilegious to stay the course of a
raging fire. If a house were being burned, burn it must, even though
there were facilities for saving it. For who would dare to interfere
with the course of the god? Our idea of sorrow is much the same. We
think it wicked, or at any rate heartless, to put it out. If a man's
wife be dead, he should go about lugubrious, with long face, for at
least two years, or perhaps with full length for eighteen months,
decreasing gradually during the other six. If he be a man who can
quench his sorrow--put out his fire as it were--in less time than
that, let him at any rate not show his power!

"Yes: I remember him," continued Lord Lufton. "He came twice to
Framley while I was a boy, consulting with my mother about Mark and
myself,--whether the Eton floggings were not more efficacious than
those at Harrow. He was very kind to me, foreboding all manner of
good things on my behalf."

"He was very kind to every one," said Lucy.

"I should think he would have been--a kind, good, genial man--just
the man to be adored by his own fa