Ngth and courage as she could. At last she stopped in front of her
mother's chair. Her face was pale, but so steady and composed that its
girlishness seemed gone--she looked, what she would be from that time,
a woman able to endure, and resolute to act. "Mother," she said
quietly, "Mr. Percy is coming to-morrow morning. He is coming to see
you, but I would rather speak to him myself. There is no need that he
should know anything whatever--of
my father, or of what you have told
me--we shall never see him again." Except once, there was neither
hesitation nor faltering in her voice, but her
meaning could not be misunderstood. For a moment Mrs. Costello felt her
convictions and her judgment shaken; if, after all, this love, which
Lucia was about
to lose, should be true and perfect? if Percy should be capable of
knowing all, and yet cherishing and prizing her?
Ought pride, ought her own opinion of him, to stand between her child
and possible happiness and safety? But she saw in Lucia's face that
underneath all her love, the same feeling, that
his would not stand this shock, lay deep in her heart, and the doubt
died away as suddenly as it had risen. "Do as you will, my child," she
said.
"But think well first. I, who have failed where I most desired to
succeed,
cannot venture now to advise you." Lucia bent down
and kissed her.
"Poor mother!" she said tenderly, "you have thou