"It is six o'clock and a beautiful morning," replied Lucy, adding rather mischievously: "I should think you had slept sound enough, Anne. You never heard the storm last night. And, Anne, go down and see about my breakfast. I should like to be alone a little while." All that day Lucy kept herself closely within the limits of the house and garden, doing her task with punctilious accuracy. She even resumed the open-hem ruffling which had lain untouched in her drawer ever since she came from Aunt Bernard's, intending to ask Cousin Deborah if she might make it into something for the twins at the lodge, in which she took a great interest. She would have liked to go down and see the dear little babies, but she thought it likely enough that she might encounter the gipsy-woman, and she wisely judged it best to keep out of her way. The old bloodhound, her self-elected guardian, was faithful to his trust, stalking up and down the terrace at Lucy's side, sitting at her elbow at meal-times, and lying at her feet while she was reading or working in the terrace parlour. There was nothing very remarkable in the dog's taking a fancy to the lonely little girl, who had always a kind word for him in passing and often gave him a share of the bun, or the bit of ginger-bread which Cousin Deborah allowed her. Neither was it surprising, that Goodman should prefer lying on the Turkey carpet in the parlour to reposing upon the flags outside. Nevertheless, Anne chose to see in it a new marvel, and pointed it out to Jenny with many significant shrugs and winks. When Lucy went to bed, Goodman still accompanied her, and settled himself down on the mat in a composed matter-of-fact way, which moved Anne to say that the dog had more sense than some Christians. There was another thunder-storm in the night, but Lucy only roused herself to wonder whether there were any fishermen out in their boats from the cove below; to murmur a prayer for them, and for her father and cousin and then sank to sleep again. "Will Mattison has come home," was the news which met Lucy, as she came down-stairs the next morning. "He is waiting to speak to you." "Has not my cousin come, then?" asked Lucy, her heart beating fast. "Oh, Anne, has any thing happened to Cousin Deborah?" "Now, don't, my lady! I don't think any harm has come to Mrs. Corbet; but Will will tell you all about it. Shall I send him in to you?" It turned out that nothing serious was the matter. Cousin Deborah had met an old friend in Exeter, who persuaded her to stay a night with her upon the road. And she had sent Will Mattison home with her parcels, that he might apprise Lady Lucy of the cause of her delay.