Lucia looked up.

"It may not be true," she answered, knowing that there was no need to
say what "it" was--the idea which had seized upon both their minds with
so deadly a grasp.

"It may not, God grant it! But we must know; and if it is, I ought to be
here."

"Mother, you cannot. It will kill you."

Mrs. Costello smiled, the wan smile of long-taxed patience.

"No," she said, "I think not. Life is hard for both of us, hardest
perhaps for you, darling, just now, but I have no thought that it is
over yet for either of us."

Lucia came and knelt down in her old place by her mother's side. It
always seemed as if thus close together, able to speak to each other as
much by caresses as by words, they were both stronger, and could look
more calmly at the calamities which threatened them with every evil
except that of separation.

"You will write to Mr. Strafford?" Lucia asked.

"Yes; but first we must know certainly."

"And how to do that?"