they awed her strangely. Could they be true? Who then could be trusted?
for according to her mother's story, Lord Lastingham had not merely
deceived his wife, he had deceived himself also, with this counterfeit
love. She fell into a reverie, which lasted till the noise of cups and
saucers, as Margery brought in tea, put it to flight.




CHAPTER IV.


Two or three weeks passed. The inhabitants of Cacouna had grown
accustomed to the sight of Mr. Percy's tall figure, as he lounged from
his cousin's house to his office, or rode and drove with Mrs. Bellairs.
From different causes, the project of spending the day at the farm, as
well as some other schemes of amusement, had been deferred, and, with
one or two exceptions, all was going on as usual. The most notable of
these exceptions was in the life at the cottage, formerly so calm, so
regular, so smooth in its current. Now a change had crept over both
mother and daughter, and the very atmosphere of the house seemed to have
changed with them.

In Lucia, even a casual visitor would have remarked the difference. Her
beauty seemed suddenly to have burst from bud into blossom; her
childishness of manner had almost left her; her voice, especially in
singing, had grown more full and musical.

In Mrs. Costello, the change was the reverse of all this. Mrs. Bellairs
and Maurice Leigh, the two people, who, except her daughter, loved her