If Mrs.Costello had been the mother of half-a-dozen children--a woman living in the midst of a busy, lively household, where motherly cares and castle-buildings had to be shared among three or four daughters--she would not have had time to occupy herself so intensely with the affairs of any one.

As it was, however, this one girl was her life of life; she threw into her interests the hopes of youth and the experience of middle age.

As Lucia grew up, she had watched with anxiety, with hope, and with fear, for the coming of that inevitable time when, either for good or evil, she must love.

It had been her fancy that, if Lucia loved Maurice, all would be well; if she loved any other, all would be ill.

But time had passed on, and brought change; not one thing had happened according to her anticipations.