“Tell me particularly about this when you write. Tell me also, have you met Lady Lendrick, and if so, on what terms? I have ever found her obliging and good-natured, and with many qualities which the world has not given her credit for. Give her my most respectful regards when you see her. “It is daybreak; the hot sun of Africa is already glancing into the room, and I must conclude. I cannot bear to think of the miles these lines must travel ere they meet you, but they will be with you at last, and they are in this more fortunate than your loving father, “T. Lendrick.” Lucy sat long pondering over this letter. She read it too, again and again, and by a light which was certainly not vouchsafed to him who wrote it. To _her_ there was no mystery in Trafford's conduct. It was plain enough he had gone out, expecting to find her as his fellow-passenger. His despair--his wretchedness--his devotion to her father, the last resource of that disappointment he could not subdue--were all intelligible enough. Less easy, however, to read the sudden attachment he had formed for the Sewells. What did this mean? Had it any meaning; and if so, was it one that concerned her to know? CHAPTER XIX. OFFICIAL MYSTERIES “I think I had better see him myself,” said Fossbrooke, after patiently listening to Tom Lendrick's account of his meeting with his grandfather. “It is possible I may be able to smooth down matters a little, and dispose the old gentleman, besides, to accord us some aid in our Sardinian project, for I have resolved upon that, Tom.” “Indeed, sir; the gold-mine?” “No, the lead,--the lead and silver. In the rough calculation I made last night on this slip of paper, I see my way to something like seven thousand a year to begin with; untold wealth will follow. There are no less than eleven products available,--the black lead of pencils and the white used by painters being the chief; while in my new salt, which I am disposed to call the 'pyrochloride of plumbium,' we have a sedative that will allay the pangs of hydrophobia.” “I wish it would quiet the Chief Baron,” muttered Tom; and Sir Brook, not hearing him correctly, continued,--“I think so,--I think the Chief Baron eminently calculated to take a proper estimate of my discovery. A man of fine intellect is ever ready to accept truth, albeit it come in a shape and through a channel in which he has himself not pursued it. Will you write a line to your sister and ask if it would be his Lordship's convenience to receive me, and at what time?” “Of course, sir, whatever you wish,” said Tom, in some confusion; “but might I ask if it be your intention to ask my grandfather to aid me with his purse?”