"I _think_ I should regard its renewal as still a possibility," he said. "Here is the turn to the Mount, perhaps I had better go at once to Mrs Leigh." "And I to look after poor Lucy," said Sylvester with some compunction. But all the time he was wondering who would comfort Amethyst, and thinking that the woe that her beautiful eyes could express, would be deeper than Lucian's nature was capable of feeling. Perhaps he was wrong. Lucian was incapable of speech, indifferent to sympathy. He did not care just then whether Sylvester came to him or not. He would not let his mother say a word to him, except on the business necessary to be gone through; no friendship and no family affection could help him then. Like many happy, unemotional young people, he had taken all these sentiments for granted; the first conscious emotion he had known had been his ill-starred love, and now this love was changed into stinging, burning pain. He had once been for some shooting up to the West of Scotland, he would go there now and walk over the moors, and face it out by himself. It was impossible to oppose him, and Mrs Leigh spared him, as much as possible, the anxious cautions which she longed to give. Mr Riddell attempted little but a squeeze of the hand and an earnest-- "God bless you, my dear boy, and bring good out of evil." "Thank you," said Lucian. "I shall write, mother, and you know my address." "Take care of yourself, my dearest boy. If you would but have let me come with you." "I'd rather be alone. Good-bye," said Lucian. It was not pride, struggling to control emotion, it was simple incapacity to express, almost to feel, the blow that had come upon him. Sylvester went to the station with him to meet the evening train, for Mrs Leigh's satisfaction, and as they walked up and down the platform, waiting for it, Lucian said suddenly-- "Amethyst is very fond of the Rector and Miss Riddell, I hope they'll go on being kind." "I am sure they will," said Sylvester, starting at the name which had not yet had time to grow strange to Lucian's lips. "And, Lucy, any time you send me a word, I'll come to you." "Thanks," said Lucian, "but I think I'd rather not have any one from here." "Well--I will write if--" "No," said Lucian, suddenly and abruptly, "I don't want to hear." Ungracious as the speeches sounded, they did not so strike Sylvester, even though Lucian parted from him with only an ordinary hand-shake, and with no softening of eye or lip.