er to start
for Mrs. Scott's, he rose to go.

"Come into the garden for a minute," he said. "It is growing cool now,
and the air from the river is so pleasant."

She obeyed, and they wandered down the garden together. But the minute
lengthened to twenty before they came back, and parted at the wicket.
Lucia went slowly up the steps, disinclined to go in out of the
sunshine, which suited her mood. Mrs. Costello had left her chair and
her work on the verandah and gone indoors. Lucia picked up a fallen
knitting-needle, and carried it into the parlour; but as she passed the
doorway she saw her mother sitting in her own low chair, her head fallen
forward, and her whole attitude strange and unnatural.

Lucia uttered a cry of terror; she sprang to Mrs. Costello's side, and
tried to raise her, but the inanimate figure slipped from her arms. She
called Margery, and together they lifted her mother and laid her on her
bed. The first inexpressible fear soon passed away--it was but a deep
fainting fit, which began to yield to their remedies. As soon as this
became evident, Lucia had time to wonder what could have caused so
sudden an illness. She remembered having seen a letter lying on the
table beside her mother, and the moment she could safely leave the
bedside she went in search of it. It was only an empty envelope, but as
she moved away her dress rustled against a paper on the floor, which she
picked up and found to be the letter itself. Without any other thought
than that her mother must have received a shock which this might
explain, she opened the half-folded sheet and hastily read the contents.
They were short, and in a hand she knew well--that of a clergyman who
was an old and trusted friend of Mrs. Costello. This was his letter:--

"My dear friend,

"I was just about writing to say that I would obey your summons, and
steal two or three days next week from my work to visit you, when a
piece of information reached me, which has caused me, for your sake, to
defer my journey. Perhaps you can guess what it is. You have too often
expressed your fears of C.'s return to be surprised at their fulfilment,
but I grieve to have to add to your anxieties at this moment by telling
you that he is really in this neighbourhood. I have not seen him, but
one of my people, Mary Wanita, who remembers you affectionately, brought
me the news. You may depend upon my guarding, with the utmost care, my
knowledge of your retreat; but I thought