Like all the rest of her neighbours he had supposed Mrs.Costello a widow, whose married life had been too unhappy for her to care to speak of it.

The idea that this dead husband was a Spaniard had arisen in the first place from Lucia's dark complexion and black hair and eyes, as well as from the name her mother had assumed; it had been, in fact, simply a fancy of the Cacouna people, and no part of Mrs.Costello's original plan of concealment.

It had come, however, to be as firmly believed as if it had been ever so strongly asserted, and had no doubt helped to save much questioning and many remarks.
All these ideas, firmly rooted in Mr.Leigh's mind, had taken some little time to weed out; but when he heard and understood the truth, it never occurred to him to question for a moment the wisdom or propriety of her flight from her husband or of the means she had taken to remain safe from him.

He thought the part of a friend was to sympathize and help, not to criticize, and after a few minutes' consideration as to how help could best be offered, he asked whether she intended that very day to claim her rightful post as Christian's nurse.
"I did intend to do so," she answered, "but for two or three reasons I think I had perhaps better wait until to-morrow.

Mr.Strafford may possibly be here then." "You will be glad to have him with you," Mr.Leigh answered, "but it seems to me that an old neighbour who has seen you every day for years, might not be out of place there too.