A Canadian Heroine, Volume 1 | Page 4

hear good of yourself."
"I am glad you think so. Lucia is to be with Mrs. Bellairs to-morrow?"
"Yes. She says at present that she will not, but we shall see."
"I left early, and met Mrs. Bellairs and Miss Latour on the way. They
told me they had been here."
Maurice leaned against a pillar of the verandah and was silent, his eyes
turned to the door through which Lucia had vanished.
The new guest was much too intimate for Mrs. Costello to dream of
"making conversation." She sat quite still looking out.
By this time sunset had entirely faded from the sky, and a few stars
were beginning to twinkle faintly; but the rising moon, herself invisible,
threw a lovely silver brightness over the river and made a flitting sail
glimmer out snowy white as it went silently with a zigzag course up the
stream. Between the river and the cottage every object began to be
visible with that cold distinctness of outline which belongs to clear
moonlight,--every rail of the garden fence, every plant that grew
beyond the shadow of the building. A tall acacia-tree which stood on
one side waved its graceful leaves in the faint breeze, and caught the
light on its long clusters of creamy blossom.
Everything was so peaceful that there seemed, even to herself, a strange
discord between the scene within and the heavy pain that sunk deep
into her heart this evening--a trembling sense of dread--a passionate yet
impotent desire to escape. She pressed her hand upon her heart. The
motion roused her from her reverie which indeed had lasted but a
minute--one of those long minutes when we in one glance seem to
retrace years of the past, and to make a fruitless effort to pierce the veil
of the future. She rose, and, bidding her companion "Come in," stepped
into the little parlour.

A shaded lamp had been brought in and placed on the table, but the
flame was turned down so as to throw only a glimmering light just
around it. Mrs. Costello turned it up brightly, and opening the door of
the adjoining room, called Lucia, who came, slow and reluctant, at the
summons. Maurice pushed forward a little chintz-covered chair into its
accustomed place by the table, and looked at the wilful girl as much as
to say, "Be reasonable and make friends," but she did not choose to see.
"I can't sit indoors," she said, "it is too hot;" so she went and sat down
on the doorstep.
Maurice gave a little impatient sigh, and dropped into a chair which
stood opposite to Mrs. Costello, but turned so that without positively
looking round, he could see the soft flow of Lucia's muslin dress, and
the outline of her head and shoulders.
He had brought, as usual, various odds and ends of news, scraps of
European politics or gossip, and morsels of home intelligence, such as
women who do not read newspapers like to be told by those who do,
and he began to talk about them, but with no interest in what he said;
completely preoccupied with that obstinate figure in the doorway.
By-and-by, however, the figure changed its position; the head was
gradually turned more towards the speakers, and Maurice's as gradually
was averted until the two attitudes were completely reversed; he and
Mrs. Costello appeared to be engrossed in the subject of a conversation
which had now grown animated, while Lucia, from her retreat, stole
more and more frequent glances at the visitor. At length she rose softly,
and stealing, with the shy step of a child who knows it has been
naughty, to her own chair, she slipped into it. A half smile came to
Maurice's lips, but he knew his old playfellow's moods too well to take
the least notice of her movement, and even when she asked him a
question, he simply answered it, and did not even look at her in doing
so.
An hour passed. Lucia had entirely recovered from her little fit of
sulkiness, and, to the great content of Maurice, was, if possible, even
more sweet and winning than usual; but nothing had been said of the
next day's plans. When the young man rose to leave, however, Lucia

followed him out to the verandah to look at the moonlight.
"We shall have a fine day to-morrow" he said.
"Oh, Maurice," she answered, quickly, as if she had been waiting for
the opportunity of speaking, "I am sure mamma does not want me to go,
and I would so much rather stay at home. Will you go and tell Mrs.
Bellairs in the morning for me?"
"Impossible! Why Lucia, this is a mere fancy of yours."
"Indeed it is not. I am quite in earnest."
"But, my dear