Mrs. Ashton went quietly up, put her arms round Lucy, and kissed her many times. She untied the bonnet, which Lucy had not done, and gave it with the shawl to Robert, standing behind. The bright hair fell down in a shower--the bonnet had caught it--and she put her feeble hand up as if to feel the extent of the disaster. It made her look so like the sweet young sister they had all prized, that Robert turned to the window and gave a few stamps, as if his boots were cold. How she cried!--tears that came from the very heart. Putting her face down on the arm of the chair, she let her grief have its way. Jane held her hand and stroked it lovingly. Robert felt inclined to dash his arms through the dark window-panes on which the fire-light played, in imaginary chastisement of the scamp, Bird. "Could you lend me a shawl of your own, Jane?" she asked, by-and-by, when Robert said they would have tea in--and she glanced down at her shabby brown gown. "I don't wish the servants to see me like this." Jane flew out and brought one. A handsome cashmere of scarlet and gold-colour, that her mother had given her before the wedding. "Just for an hour or two, until I leave," said Lucy, as she covered herself up in it. "You will not go out of this house to-night, Lucy." "I must, Robert. You can guess who it was I came to Timberdale to see." "Of course I can. She is going on all right and getting stronger; so there's no immediate haste about that. Mr. Bird would not--not come, I suppose." Lucy did not answer. Robert was right--Bird would not come: his young sister might die where she was or be sheltered in the workhouse, for all the concern he gave himself. For one thing, the man was at his wits' end for money, and not too sure of his own liberty. But Lucy's conscience had not let her be still: as soon as she had scraped together the means for a third-class ticket, she came over. "The poor girl has lain like a weight upon my mind, since the time when we abandoned her in London," confessed Lucy. "Why did you abandon her?" "It was not my fault," murmured Lucy; and Robert felt vexed to have asked the hasty question. "I hoped she went home, as I desired her; but I did not feel sure of it, for Clara was thoughtless. And those unsuspicious country girls cannot take care of themselves too well. Robert, whatever has happened I regard as our fault," she added, looking up at him with some fever in her eyes. "As Mr. Bird's fault; not yours," corrected Robert--who, strange perhaps to say, observed courtesy of speech towards Bird when talking with Lucy: giving him in general a handle to his name. It might have sounded ironical, but that he couldn't help. "Did you never write to ascertain what had become of her, Lucy?" "My husband would not let me. He is often in difficulties: and we never have a settled home, or address. What will be done with her, Robert?"