And yet he was very miserable.
Ten o'clock came at last, and he went away.

After he was gone, Lucia came to her mother's knee, and sat down, resting her aching head against the arm of the chair.

The old attitude, and the soft clinging touch, completely thawed the slight displeasure in Mrs.Costello's heart.
"Something is wrong, darling," she said.

"If you do not want to tell me, or think you ought not, remember I do not ask any questions; but you have never had a secret from me." Lucia raised her mother's hand, and laid it on her forehead.
"I ought to tell you, mamma," she said, "and I want to; but yet I don't like." "Why ?" "You will be so angry; no, not that, perhaps, but you will be shocked, and yet I could not help it." "Help what?
Do you know, Lucia, that you are really trying me now ?" "Oh, mamma, no! I am not worth caring so much about." "Have you and Maurice quarrelled ?" "Maurice! No, indeed.

He is the best friend anybody ever had." "What is it, then ?" "Mamma, do you remember what happened that first night at Cacouna ?" "What first night ?" Mrs.Costello pressed her hand upon her heart, which began to beat painfully.
"The night when you told me about my father." "Yes; I remember.