any case, I shall miss you daily."

They had reached the Cottage, and Lucia came out to meet them.

"How slowly you came!" she cried. "I thought you never meant to arrive.
Mamma, you look dreadfully tired. What have you been doing to her,
Maurice?"

She was talking fast, to keep, if possible, their attention from
herself; for, to confess the truth, she had been indulging in a little
cry all alone, and did not care that her red eyelids should betray her;
but she might have spared the trouble. No word or look of hers was
likely to pass unnoticed in that last precious few minutes, though they
all sat down together, and tried to talk of indifferent matters as if
there had been the least possibility, just then, of any other thought
than that of 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