f parting.

After a short time, Maurice rose.

"I must give my father the last hour," he said, "and the boat is due at
six."

"But it does not ever leave before seven," Lucia answered, "and it is
still a quarter to five."

"I have to meet it when it comes in. Mr. Bellairs is coming home by it,
and I have various affairs to settle with him."

He looked at her as he said "Mr. Bellairs is coming," but there was no
tell-tale change in her face; she had for the moment utterly forgotten
Mr. Percy.

"If he had not been coming, you would have had to wait for him, I
suppose?" she asked. "I wish he would stay away."

"There are, unfortunately, such things as posts and telegraphs even
further west than Cacouna. I sent a telegram to meet him yesterday
morning."

"Ah, yes, I suppose where there's a will there's a way."

She spoke pettishly, and he only answered by coming across and holding
out his hand to say good-bye. She rose and put out both hers, intending
to say, as she often did when she had been cross, "Don't be angry,
Maurice, I did not mean it," but the words would not come. Her courage
suddenly gave way, and she cried with all her heart.

At that moment Maurice felt that she was really his; he longed
unspeakably to claim her once and for ever; but his old generous
self-repression was too strong for the temptation, and he shrunk from
taking advantage of her grief and her sisterly affection. But a brother
has some privileges, and those he had a right to. Her face was hidden,
but he bent down, and drawing away her hands for a moment, kissed her
with something more than a brother's warmth, pressed Mrs. Costello's
hand, and hurried away.

Lucia listened intently as the sound of his footsteps, and of the gate
as he passed through it, died away. Then she raised her head, and
pushing back her hair, came and sat down at her mother's feet, hiding
her flushed face and laughing a little half hysterical laugh.

But the laugh was a complete failure, and broke down into a sob, which
was followed by a great many others, enough to have satisfied Maurice
himself. At last she checked herself. "What a baby I am!" she said.

Mrs. Costello stroked back gently the soft black locks which were
falling loose over her lap.

"You are a child, Lucia. I have never been in any haste for you to be
otherwise."

"But I am not such a child, really, mamma. Sixteen and a half! I ought
to be very nearly a woman."

Mrs. Costello sighed.