he stopped a moment there to think of her, and that she was certainly a prize in the lottery of life, so beautiful, gracious, and devoted to him as she was; but he had not the smallest uncertainty about Mrs. Costello’s consent, so never glanced towards any possible missing of the prize.  That was all very well, very well, at present, though undeniably it would have been better if Lucia could have had Lady Adeliza’s advantages.  Ah! that was the next step.  There was Lady Adeliza to be got rid of—­if she did not herself, take the initiative—­and that was not a pleasant affair.  He had only been extremely attentive to her, that was the utmost anybody could say; but then there was his father—­the two fathers, indeed, for he had good reason to believe that the Earl had not urged him to pay his suit to the lady without pretty good cause for counting on the approval of her family.  It was a dreadful bore; and then there could be no doubt that by displeasing at a blow his own father and Lady Adeliza’s, he was forfeiting his best if not his only chance of success in life.  Altogether, the more he looked at the prospect the gloomier it grew, and at last he got up impatiently and put an end to his cogitations.

“I shall have to turn backwoodsman at once,” he said to himself, “or miner, like those fellows we saw at the Sault.”

In spite of his confidence in himself and in Lucia, it was not without a little tremor that Mr. Percy walked up to the Cottage next morning.  He began to feel that there really might be some difficulty in persuading a mother to give up her only child to the care of a man who was not only poor, but likely to remain so, who could not even give her the hope of independence such as might fall to the lot of the backwoodsman or miner.  But he kept up his courage as well as he could, and was very little disturbed out of his usual manner when he followed Margery into the small parlour.  The room was empty; and in a little surprise—­for he expected Lucia would have prepared her mother for his coming—­he walked to the window and looked out on to the verandah.  There was no one there, nor in the garden, but the sound of a door opening made him turn round, as Lucia, instead of Mrs. Costello, came in.

As they met he saw a change in her.  A crimson colour had rushed to her face for a moment when she came in, but in a moment faded to the most complete pallor.  There was not a sign of her usual shy grace or timid welcome:  she was cold, erect, and composed, nothing more.

She gave him her hand, and said,

“My mother is not well.  I must speak to you for her, Mr. Percy, and for myself.”

“But Lucia!” he cried.  “What is this?  What is the matter?  Have you forgotten last night?”

Her quiet was shaken for a moment.

“No, indeed,” she answered.  “No.  I shall never forget last night.”

“You have surely forgotten what I came for this morning then,” he said placing a chair for her.  “Sit down and tell me what is wrong, for something is.”  His tone, his look, so utterly unsuspicious of anything that could come between them in this trouble of hers, were hard to bear.  But she had to speak.