pleasantness of
sitting there undisturbed and hearing the voices of her mother and
Maurice gradually subsiding into a drowsy hum. The next thing she knew
Maurice was saying softly, "She is asleep. Don't wake her, Mrs.
Costello. Good-night." And she woke just in time to catch the last
glimpse of his figure as he went out.

The next day's consultation with Bella about dresses was only the first
of many, in which the arrangements for the wedding were completely
settled. Lucia and Magdalen Scott were to be bridesmaids; Harry Scott
and Maurice, groomsmen; and the ceremony was to take place in the house,
according to a whim of the bride, who did not choose to exhibit her own
and her friends' pretty dresses in the church--"a great ugly barn."

Lucia had also a daily visit to Mr. Leigh to occupy her. He was
recovering from his slight attack of illness, and enjoyed her lively
talk and affectionate care. One day he even let her persuade him to
walk, with her assistance, as far as the Cottage; and when she had
established him in the most comfortable chair beside her mother, he was
so content with the change that Maurice, coming home from Cacouna, was
met by the unheard-of announcement, "Mr. Leigh is out."

He followed the truant, and found him in no hurry to return. The two
elder people, indeed, both enjoyed this visit, which seemed to carry
them back to a time brighter than the present. They talked of trifles,
but of trifles which were in a kind of harmony with the happier days of
both. Lucia, sitting at the door, where she could see the sunny
landscape and the river, listened idly to their talk, but mixed it with
her own girlish fancies; while near to her Maurice sat down, glad of the
homelike rest of the moment, glad of the friendly look of welcome with
which she met him; knowing distinctly that if at that moment he had
asked her for anything more than friendship, she would have been shocked
and distressed, but willing to enjoy to the utmost all the happiness
her present and grateful regard could give him. Not that he was content;
an unspeakable longing to get rid of all this veil of reserve, to make
her understand what she was so blind to, to carry her off from all the
frivolities which came between them, and make her love him as he thought
she might love, lay deep down in his heart and swelled up, at times
almost uncontrollably. But she never guessed it, and never should,
unless, perhaps, time should bring her a harder disc