instant they seemed to have returned to their old life. The very
attitude in which they stood, in which they had been used to have their
most confidential chats, had lately been disused; and to resume it, and
with it the old position of adviser and consoler, was compensation for
much that he had suffered. He felt that Lucia was looking anxiously up
at him--that she had for the moment quite forgotten all except her
mother and himself.

"The weather has been so hot," he said, searching for something to hide
his thoughts, "it is not wonderful for any one to be weakened by it. No
doubt, that was the reason of Mrs. Costello's illness." Lucia
remembered the letter and was silent. Then she said, "Have you really
thought her looking ill lately?"

"'Ill' is perhaps too strong a word. Besides, she has always said she
was well."

"Yes. But I know she has been"--in trouble, she was going to say, but
stopped--"suffering."

"Perhaps you may be able to nurse her a little now, since she will be
obliged to own herself an invalid."

"I shall try. Will you come in for a moment, in the morning?"

"Yes. Good night now. Do not be too anxious."

He went out, glad at heart because of those few words of hers, which
showed how naturally she still depended on him, when help of any kind
was needed.