ies were fixed in the few seconds while she stood
with one foot forward, spinning her black hat by the elastic band!

'Too late, Mr. Prendergast; I cannot go,' she said, as she saw him
waiting for her at the door. 'Don't be angry with me, and don't let the
womankind prejudice you against poor Edna. You forgive me! It is really
too late.'

'Forgive _you_?' smiled Mr. Prendergast, pressing her caressing hand in
his great, lank grasp; 'what for?'

'Oh, because it is too late; and I can't help it. But don't be hard with
her. Good-bye.'

Too late! Why did Lucilla repeat those words so often? Was it a relief
to that irreflective nature to believe the die irrevocably cast, and the
responsibility of decision over? Or why did she ask forgiveness of the
only one whom she was not offending, but because there was a sense of
need of pardon where she would not stoop to ask it.

Miss Charlecote and the Fulmorts, Rashe and Cilly, were to be transported
to London by the same train, leaving Owen behind to help Charles
Charteris entertain some guests still remaining, Honora promising him to
wait in town until Lucilla should absolutely have started for Ireland,
when she would supply him with the means of pursuit.

Lucilla's delay and change of mind made the final departure so late that
it was needful to drive excessively fast, and the train was barely caught
in time. The party were obliged to separate, and Robert took Phoebe into
a different carriage from that where the other three found places.

In the ten minutes' transit by railway, Lucy, always softened by parting,
was like another being towards Honor, and talked eagerly of 'coming home'
for Christmas, sent messages to Hiltonbury friends, and did everything
short of retractation to efface the painful impression she had left.

'Sweetest Honey!' she whispered, as they moved on after the tickets had
been taken, thrusting her pretty head over into Honor's place. 'Nobody's
looking, give me a kiss, and say you don't bear malice, though your
kitten has been in a scratching humour.'

'Malice! no indeed!' said Honor, fondly; 'but, oh! remember, dear child,
that frolics may be at too dear a price.'

She longed to say more, but the final stop was made, and their roads
diverged. Honor thought that Lucy looked white and trembling, with an
uneasy eye, as though she would have given much to have been going home
with her.

Nor was the consoling fancy unfounded. Lucilla's nerves