times during the day; at those times they quietly spoke of Lucie,

and of her father then present, precisely in the usual manner, and

as if there were nothing amiss. This was done without any

demonstrative accompaniment, not long enough, or often enough

to harass him; and it lightened Mr. Lorry’s friendly heart to

believe that he looked up oftener, and that he appeared to be

stirred by some perception of inconsistencies surrounding him.

When it fell dark again, Mr. Lorry asked him as before:

“Dear Doctor, will you go out?”

As before, he repeated, “Out?”

“Yes; for a walk with me. Why not?”

This time, Mr. Lorry feigned to go out when he could extract no

answer from him, and, after remaining absent for an hour,

returned. In the meanwhile, the Doctor had removed to the seat in

the window, and had sat there looking down at the plane-tree; but

on Mr. Lorry’s return, he slipped away to his bench.

The time went very slowly on, and Mr. Lorry’s hope darkened,

and his heart grew heavier again, and grew yet heavier and

heavier every day. The third day came and went, the fourth, the

fifth. Five days, six days, seven days, eight days, nine days.

With a hope ever darkening, and with a heart always growing

heavier and heavier, Mr. Lorry passed through this anxious time.

The secret was well kept, and Lucie was unconscious and happy;