e it was not desirable to attract attention. Besides, Mrs.
Costello felt that an even flow of occupation was the best thing for
Lucia, whom she watched, with the keenest and tenderest solicitude,
passing through the shadow of that darkness which she herself knew so
well. Doctor Morton brought his wife home most opportunely for her
wishes. A variety of such small dissipations as Cacouna could produce,
naturally celebrated the event; and Lucia as principal bridesmaid at the
wedding could not, if she would, have shut herself out from them. She
had, indeed, dreaded the first meeting with Bella, but it passed off
without embarrassment. To all appearance Mrs. Morton had lost either the
sharpness of observation or the readiness of tongue that had formerly
belonged to her, for the change which Lucia felt in herself was allowed
to remain unremarked.

Mrs. Bellairs had long ago got over her displeasure with Lucia. She had
watched her narrowly at the time of Percy's leaving, and became
satisfied that there was some trouble of a sterner kind than regret for
him now weighing heavily upon her heart.

Although Mrs. Bellairs told her sister of the intended journey of Mrs.
Costello and Lucia, the preparations for that journey were being made
with as little stir as possible, and except herself, her husband, and
Mr. Leigh, few persons dreamed of such an improbable event. Bella even
received a hint to speak of it to no one but her husband, for Mrs.
Costello was anxious to avoid gossip, and had taken much thought how to
attain the _juste milieu_ between secrecy and publicity. In the meantime
there was much to be done in prospect of a long, an indefinitely long,
absence, and the needful exertion both of mind and body was good for
Lucia. Under no circumstances, perhaps, could she have sat quietly down
to bewail her misfortunes, or have allowed herself to sink under them,
but, as it was, there was no temptation to indolent indulgence of any
kind. Bitter hours came still--came especially with the silence and
darkness of night, when her thoughts would go back to the sweet days of
the past summer and linger over them, till some word, or look, or
trifling incident coming to her memory more distinctly, would bring with
it the sudden recollection of the barren, dreary present,--of the
irreparable loss.

In all her thoughts of Percy there was comfort. He had loved her
honestly and sincerely, and if his nature was really lower than her own,
she was