A clue to these thoughts might be given by her putting out her hand, and drawing the paper to her, amongst the pieces she was tearing up. Where was the voice of conscience then? Alas! for a time, it slept, for she had slighted its first warning. She tore the paper in two, and then said to herself, "Well, it is done now," rather as if somebody else had done it, and it was no act of her own. Then she slowly twisted bit after bit into spills, laying each with those she had already done, and the last piece had just assumed its taper appearance, when Mrs. Lesly entered the room. "What did I do with that paper?" said she, after looking on all sides for it, "how careless I am." "I think," said Mrs. Villars, "you put it in your secretary--you had it open while you were writing." "Ah, so I must, I suppose," said Mrs. Lesly; but she looked suspiciously at the secretary, she had no remembrance of going there; yet, she had had it open that morning, she knew. Her sister must remember better than she did. She would look presently, she had not quite the resolution to look now; and suffering her characteristic indolence to overcome her prudence, she sank into an arm-chair, and took up her knitting. At this moment, the chaise, which had been ordered, slowly drove up to the door, and Mabel entered to tell them that luncheon waited them in the sitting-room. Mrs. Villars started up, full of business and bustle, which she felt to be a welcome relief after the morning's _tête-à-tête_, and hurried down stairs. Mabel regarded her mother's pale looks with affectionate anxiety; but there was little time for thought, as Mrs. Villars and her maid kept the house in a perfect ferment for the next five minutes. Amy stood looking aghast at a very bright carpet-bag, with a kind of travelling scent about it, which she thought grander and newer than anything of the kind she had before seen; and she quite shrank within herself when her aunt kissed her, and blessed her in a tone which made her feel cold; nor was she sorry when she saw her get into the carriage, attended by the bright carpet-bag--and when box after box was moved to the top of the creaking vehicle--and when the vehicle itself moved down the walk, she drew a long breath, as if relieved from some heavy pressure, feeling the place once more quite their own. Lucy ran to the gate, to open it to let her mamma pass, kissing her hand to her, and stopping to watch till the carriage turned the corner, and was only visible down Amy's point of observation on the wall. She then came back with her cheeks crimson, and putting her arm round Mabel's waist, she whispered-- "Who do you think passed while I was holding the gate?" "Who?" said Mabel, a little surprised at anything like an apparition in their quiet village, and not yet quite aware of their Bath cousin's usual train of thought. "I cannot guess." Lucy's cheeks were of a deeper tint, as she whispered-- "Captain Clair."