Taking that narrow by-path on my way back that leads into the Tything by St. Oswald's Chapel, and whistling a bar of the sweet song I had heard at the theatre overnight, "There's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream," some one came swiftly advancing down the same narrow path, and I prepared to back sideways to give her room to pass--a young woman, with a large shabby shawl on, and the remains of faded gentility about her. It was Lucy Bird! As she drew near, lifting her sad sweet eyes to mine with a mournful smile, my heart gave a great throb of pity. Faded, worn, anxious, reduced!--oh, how unlike she was, poor girl, to the once gay and charming Lucy Ashton! "Why, Lucy! I did not expect to see you in Worcester! We heard you had left it months ago." "Yes, we left last February for London," she answered. "Captain Bird has only come down for the races." As she took her hand from under her shawl to respond to mine, I saw that she was carrying some cheese and a paper of cold cooked meat. She must have been buying the meat at the cook's shop, as the Worcester people called it, which was in the middle of High Street. Oh! what a change--what a change for the delicately-bred Lucy Ashton! Better that her Master of Ravenswood had buried his horse and himself in the flooded land, as the other one did, than have brought her to this. "Where are you going to, down this dismal place, Lucy?" "Home," she answered. "We have taken lodgings at the top of Sansome Walk." "At one of the cottages a little beyond it?" "Yes, at one of those. How are you all, Johnny? How is Mrs. Todhetley?" "Oh, she's first-rate. Got no neuralgia just now." "Is she at Worcester?" "No; at Dyke Manor. She would not come. The Squire drove us in yesterday. We are at the Star." "Ah! yes," she said, her eyes taking a dreamy, far-off look. "I remember staying at the Star myself one race-week. Papa brought me. It was the year I left school. Have you heard or seen anything of my brothers lately, Johnny Ludlow?" "Not since we were last staying at Crabb Cot. We went to Timberdale Church one day and heard your brother Charles preach; and we dined once with Robert at the Court, and he and his wife came once to dine with us. But--have you not seen your brother James here?" "No--and I would rather not see him. He would be sure to ask me painful questions." "But he is always about the streets here, seeing after his patients, Lucy. I wonder you have not met him." "We only came down last Saturday: and I go out as little as I can," she said; a hesitation in her tone and manner that struck me. "I did think I saw James's carriage before me just now as I came up the Tything. It turned into Britannia Square." "I dare say. We met it yesterday in Sidbury as we drove in." "His practice grows large, I suppose. You say Charles was preaching at Timberdale?" she added: "was Herbert Tanerton ill?"