"I _will_ take charge of her," said Mrs. St. John--and the tone of the voice showed how genuinely ready was the acquiescence--"that is, if I go myself. But Frederick is ill to-day, and I am not sure that I can leave him to-morrow. But Lucy shall go with some of us. My niece, Anne, will be here, I expect, to-night. She is coming to pay a long visit." "What is the matter with Frederick?" asked Travice, quickly. "It appears like incipient fever. I suppose he has caught a violent cold." "I'll go and see him," said Travice, catching up his trencher, and vaulting off before anyone could stop him. Mrs. St. John rose, saying something final about the taking Lucy, and the arrangements for the morrow. She was the only one of the acquaintances of Miss Lucy Cheveley who had not abandoned Mrs. Peter Arkell. It is true the St. Johns were not very often at the Palmery, but when they were there, Mrs. St. John never failed to be found once a week sitting with the wife of the poor tutor, so neglected by the world. And, after all, when the morrow came, Mrs. Peter Arkell _was_ too ill to go. So she folded the spare ticket in paper, and sent it, with her love, to Miss Sophia Arkell. CHAPTER XVIII. THE CONCERT. Never did there rise a brighter morning than the one on which the amateur concert was to take place. And Westerbury was in a ferment of excitement; carriages were rolling about, bringing the county people into the town; and fine dresses, every colour of the rainbow, crowded the streets. Three parts of the audience walked to the concert, nothing loth, gentle and simple, to exhibit their attire in the blazing sunlight. It was certainly suspiciously bright that morning, had people been at leisure to notice it. The Guildhall was filled to overflowing, when three ladies came in, struggling for a place. One was a middle-aged lady, quiet looking, and rather dowdy; the other was an elegant girl of seventeen, with clear brown eyes and a pointed chin; the third was Lucy Arkell. There was not a seat to be found. The elder lady looked annoyed; but there was nothing for it but to stand with the mass. And they were standing when they caught--at least Lucy did--the roving eye of Travice Arkell. Now, it happened that the four senior pupils of the college school--not the private pupils of Mr. Wilberforce, but the king's scholars--were being made of much account at this concert; and, by accident, or design, a side sofa, near to the orchestra--one of the best places--was assigned to them. Travice Arkell suddenly darted from his seat on it, and began to elbow his way down the room, for every avenue was choked. He reached Lucy at last. "How late you are, Lucy! But I can get you a seat--a capital one, too. Will you allow me to pilot you to a sofa?" he courteously added to had the two ladies with her.