and dull, as she will be, if she thinks there is anything amiss, everyone will credit her with being in love with him." "And if that were true, it is his fault!" "Never mind, Lettice. It shall not be said! He shall not have the satisfaction of knowing it. Let me manage the business. She is going away to-morrow. It will be easy to hide everything from the gossips here. She must not hear this till to-morrow. She is a tender, delicate little thing; she would not be able to go through with it." "Go through with what? Not be told what?" said Lucy, appearing suddenly. "Are you two talking about me?" Mr. and Mrs. Mostyn both looked disconcerted, especially the gentleman, who the moment before was going to manage everything. "You had better tell me if it is anything bad. I am not so weak as you think; and besides, I shall only make myself unhappy by imagining something a thousand times worse than it really is.” Perhaps Lucy is right," said Mr. Mostyn. "Tell her, Lettice, -kindly and carefully though," he whispered, and went away. 66 Lettice was much too excited to study style or expression. "It is this," she cried, "Robert Merivale, whom we all liked so much, is a mean, half-hearted fortune-hunter! He wants his uncle's money, and dares not so much as call his soul his own lest the cross old man should say it is not!" "I do not know what you mean, Lettice," gasped poor Lucy, who had no clue to her sister's change of tone. "Read this letter-there-it has just come." She gave Lucy the letter, and watched her face, poor child, as she read it. "There ! " said Mrs. Mostyn, "now you see what he is; I wish we had time to talk, and were going to be alone, but there is no time to lose. The only thing to do is to show that you are perfectly indifferent to anything he chooses to say or do; in fact, do not care a pin for him." "But, Lettice," said Lucy, faintly, "if I am not quite indifferent? I do feel this, I cannot help it. You see he has been doing everything he could to make me believe he liked me all this time." "I know, dear; he is a sneak, and I hate him! Of course, he has tried to make you like him; but do not let him or anyone else think you do. You must look your best to-night, and dance your best as well." "You are sure I must come down? Sure I must pretend all this?" "Quite sure! certain! You must obey me. I am your elder sister, and I know best." "Very well, Lettice-I'll do what you say-but tell me why I must ?" "Because of the people who are coming. Some of them may know about it already-all will do so soon-and they will notice how you look, and make their remarks." Lucy winced visibly; it was very painful to her to be discussed in this way. 66 And I shall be more respected, shall I," she said, with a strong touch of scorn in her voice, "if I can bear cruel treatment like this, and appear as if it did not affect me?" "It hurts a girl dreadfully to be supposed to have had a disappointment. No one must be able to see any difference in you. I only wish there was none. I wish you could make up your mind not to feel it." "You want me to be as bad as he is-I should not be very nice if I did not feel it." “I suppose, dear, it is impossible for you not to feel something; only whatever you do promise me to come down to-night as usual, and show nothing. It is of the highest consequence." "I promise," said Lucy. Slowly she made her way back to her own room, where her pretty dress was lying, and on her way she encountered everywhere signs of preparation for the ball-the ball at which she was to have been so happy. Lucy went through the ordeal bravely. She looked very well, a trifle pale and haughty perhaps, and there was much difference of opinion about her next day, for some of her partners said she had hardly a word to say for herself, while others declared she was full of conversation and spirit ; but no one divined that she was bearing the first shock of the cruellest blow which had been dealt her during the course of her life. Her sister Lettice "could not make her out at all. Lucy was so odd. She openly said she was wretchedly unhappy, but she would permit no expression of sympathy, and listen to no conversation on the subject." "I can't speak of it," she said, when Mrs. Mostyn came to her room after the ball, and so she said next morning when the same lady went to help her to pack. At three o'clock Lucy was to return to London, and alone, for one of Lettice's children was ill. "And you really persist in leaving us?” she said. "Stay a little longer, Lucy, you will be far happier here with me." Lucy shook her head. "And I am sure it is not a good thing for you to go to a wedding; it will only make you fret about this odious affair." "No it won't-one thing will not hurt me more than another. I don't want Katie Williams to stay unmarried because I do." "You will not stay unmarried-you are quite sure to marry." "I hate Robert Merivale!" cried Lettice; "I hate and despise him -I always shall-a miserable, contemptible "Oh please, Lettice, don't-you do give me such pain." "It is my belief you love him still!" "Of course I do," said Lucy, simply; "one can't give up a thing like that in a moment." "You love him still! Then, Lucy, if ever-I don't think it at all likely but if ever, at any future time, he were to ask you to marry him-you would say yes." "I say yes!" cried Lucy, "after that letter! Is it possible you can think so? No, I give him up quietly, but I give him up for ever." "And yet you say you are miserable ? " "Yes, I am miserable-I shall not say much about it though." "Well, I hope it won't last long." "I was very fond of him," replied Lucy; "I have been terribly deceived; I shall get used to it some day, no doubt." She spoke very bitterly, but her eyes were full of tears. Lettice was going to speak, but her sister said, "Let us name him no more." The time for departure came-away drove Lucy and her boxes. "Of course we have half an hour to spare," said Mrs. Mostyn. "That is Philip's idea of punctuality." "Ten minutes, ma'am," said the station master, in answer to her inquiry. "That's a blessing," said Mrs. Mostyn. "Now, Lucy, if a lot of odious Lichfield people come on the platform, mind you laugh and talk to me. You behaved splendidly last night; carry it through to the end. You were brave! I did so admire you, and wish he could have been there to see you." "Hush," said Lucy, earnestly. "By the bye," continued Mrs. Mostyn, "what about that odd old gentleman of yours? He will be in the train, perhaps. I hope he will. He would amuse you." "Poor man," said Lucy, sympathetically. "Talking about being unhappy," Mrs. Mostyn exclaimed, "now, I do consider he has had a bad life of it. Losing the girl he was engaged to in that way-and she so young!" "I begin to think his life a very happy one," said Lucy, bitterly. "He has been able to love her and believe in her for fifty years." "There is the chemist's wife! Put on a smile, Lucy; be quick." "Oh dear, Lettice, you worry me ! Why should I smile because a chemist's wife is there ?" "People of that kind gossip far more than we do, and know far more about us than we imagine. Stop, here is the train. Give a look, as it passes, for your old gentleman-but I suppose he would be at the window." No one was looking out. The train was not crowded, and as it passed, Lucy ascertained that her fellow-traveller of three months before was not there now. She had no time to be disappointed; her sister hurried her into an empty carriage, gave five shillings to the guard to keep it so, and was just going away when she suddenly remembered something, and ran back to the window by which Lucy was sitting. "Lucy! Lucy!" cried she, "I all but forgot to give you this letter. It came last night, and must have been mislaid in the scrimmage. It is from Aunt Esther. What a thick one it is! but there is no time now for me to hear anything she says. Kiss the blessed old lady for me. Good-bye!" and hardly had she said the words when the train started. Poor Aunt Esther's letter dropped from Lucy's impassive hand. She was going to be so wise and so sensible, and to do her best to root out Robert Merivale from her heart when once she was back in London; but for this one day, when once more going over the very ground which she had traversed exactly three months before, when she believed herself the happiest girl in the world, she must think a little-and in a few minutes more, too, she would pass Sir Richard Merivale's house. She knew that Robert Merivale was not there, and yet could not dismiss the idea that somewhere in garden or meadow she might catch one last glimpse of him. She passed Foxtown. Its smooth, squared stones shone grey in the autumn sunshine, gay flower-beds spotted the closely-shaven green lawn, orderly shrubs ranged themselves protectingly around, and by whizzed the iron engine which was bearing her along the straight lines of its road, while lines as hard, and forces as strong, parted her from him she loved. He was unworthy of her love! She interrupted herself by this thought; but still he had been so charming and lovable for three months that it was difficult to believe that the note written in a few minutes was the thing by which his character was to be judged, rather than his behaviour during all that time. "This is folly," cried poor Lucy. "I must not allow myself much time for thinking if this is what it comes to. When I go home I shall set to work hard. I will study and improve myself in the mornings, and in the afternoons I will try to be of some use to my fellow-creatures. Oh! I shall soon get this nonsense out of my head!" And then she had "a cry," and then she opened Aunt Esther's letter. CHAPTER III. AUNT ESTHER'S letter was, after all, only an envelope in her handwriting enclosing a letter from some one else, with a few words from herself scribbled on its cover. "I won't write to you now, dear Lucy, as you are coming home so soon, and I have nothing to say to you but that I love you. I forward this letter at once, as it is marked 'Immediate !' What an important little person you are to receive letters marked in this way! I have been puzzling myself all the morning to know from whom it can be." Lucy puzzled herself too, and that for some time, without remembering that her doubts could be set at rest by opening it. It was too business-like in its appearance to be very attractive. When she did open it, it changed the aspect of her whole life henceforth and for ever. Of the various ways in which it affected Lucy's future, perhaps that in which the reader is likely to be most interested is how it bore on her relations with the man who was costing her so much suffering, and that is best told by a letter of Mrs. Mostyn's, dated September 24th, in answer to his, received on September 14th : "Dear Sir, I duly received your letter, and as duly showed it to my sister, on the evening of the ball at which we had hoped to see you. It would be foolish and unworthy if I were to say that your profession of affection for my sister took me by surprise. I had seen for some time that you were very fond of her. I had no means of estimating the extent of your affection, for I did not then know the importance you attached to taking a high position in the county. I then thought it was quite possible that your idea of happiness might limit itself to winning the girl you loved (if she were to be won) and living with her on an income which I always understood to be sufficient for ordinary requirements. You, however, have informed me of the extent of your feeling for her, of your wishes for the future, and fear of offending your uncle, Sir Richard. My sister quite sees and understands your position, and readily acquiesces in your wish to meet her no more. She, and I more strongly still on her part, beg you to hold to this, as any renewal of acquaintance would be painful to her after you have so clearly stated your feelings. "You will doubtless be glad to know that this decision of yours in no way affects my sister's happiness; and you will also, I dare say, be pleased to hear of a great piece of good fortune which has befallen her. You, who so keenly appreciate this world's wealth, |