be made the rule of conduct. But for years she had hoped that Lucia's
affection for Maurice would grow, unchecked and untroubled, till it
attained that perfection which she thought the beau ideal of married
love; and even now, she held tenaciously to such fragments of her old
hope as still remained. This morning, after a night of the most painful
anxiety and foreboding, her mind naturally caught at the idea that _all_
could not go wrong with her; that she must have exaggerated the change
in Lucia, and that, at least, some of the trouble she had anticipated
for her child was a mere chimera.

She came out to them, therefore, pale and weary from her vigil, but
cheerful and composed.

"How is your father, Maurice?" she asked; "can you stay with us to
breakfast?"

"Thank you, no; my father is so much alone. He seemed better last night.
Your visit did him good."

"I am glad of that. Lucia will go over to-day and stay with him for a
while."

"Will she? He says she never comes to see him now."

"Indeed, I will," said Lucia, with a little remorse in her tone. "I will
go and read the newspaper straight through to him, from one end to the
other."

"Poor Lucia! What a sacrifice to friendship," answered Maurice laughing.
"But to reward you, Blackwood arrived last night, and you will find the