It was not only that Lucia grew if possible dearer than ever to him from these conversations, but there was something--though Maurice himself would not have admitted it--in making Lucia's father an object of interest and sympathy, instead of leaving him a kind of dark but inevitable blot on the history of the future bride.
On the evening before Mr.Leigh and his son were to start for England, as many as possible of their old friends were gathered together at Mr.
Bellairs' for a farewell meeting.

Every one there had known the Costellos; every one remembered how Maurice and Lucia had been perpetually associated together at all Cacouna parties; every one, therefore, naturally thought of Lucia, and she was more frequently spoken of than she had been at all since she left.

It seemed also to be taken for granted that Maurice would see her somewhere before long, and he was entrusted with innumerable messages both to her and her mother.
"But," he remonstrated, "you forget that I am going to England, and that they are in France--at least, that it is supposed so." "Oh! yes," he was answered, "but you will be sure to see them; don't forget the message when you do." At last he gave up making any objection, and determined to believe what everybody said.

It was a pleasant augury, at any rate, and he was glad to accept it for a true one.
When all the visitors were gone, and the household had retired for the night, Mr.Bellairs and his former pupil sat together over the drawing-room fire for one last chat.

Their talk wandered over all sorts of subjects--small incidents of law business--the prospects of some Cacouna men who had gone to British Columbia--the voyage to England--the position of Hunsdon--and Maurice had been persuading his host to come over next summer for a holiday, when by some chance Percy was alluded to.
"You have not seen or heard anything of him, I suppose ?" Mr.Bellairs asked.
"Yes, indeed, I have," Maurice answered, slowly stirring the poker about in the ashes as he spoke.