She gave his hand a slight, a very slight pressure, and tried to say something, but could not. “I will go down now, and see what is to be done about your brother.” She nodded, and he continued: “I will pay you another visit to-morrow early, before I leave town, and let me find you strong and hearty; and remember that though I force no confidences, Lucy, I will not refuse them if you offer.” “I have none, sir,--none,” said she, in a voice of deep melancholy. “So that I know all that is to be known?” asked he. “All, sir,” said she, with a trembling lip. “Well, accept me as a friend whom you may trust, my dear Lucy. If you want me, I will not fail you; and if you have no need of me, there is nothing that has passed to-day between us ever to be remembered,--you understand me?” “I do, sir. You will come to-morrow, won't you?” He nodded assent, and left her. CHAPTER XXXVI. AN EXIT Colonel Sewell stood at the window of a small drawing-room he called “his own,” watching the details of loading a very cumbrous travelling-carriage which was drawn up before the door. Though the postilions were in the saddle, and all ready for a start, the process of putting up the luggage went on but slowly,--now a heavy imperial would be carried out, and after a while taken in again; dressing-boxes carefully stowed away would be disinterred to be searched for some missing article; bags, baskets, and boxes of every shape and sort came and went and came again; and although the two footmen who assisted these operations showed in various ways what length of training had taught them to submit to in the way of worry and caprice, the smart “maid,” who now and then appeared to give some order, displayed most unmistakable signs of ill-humor on her face. “Drat those dogs! I wish they were down the river!” cried she, of two yelping, barking Maltese terriers, which, with small bells jingling on their collars, made an uproar that was perfectly deafening. “Well, Miss Morris, if it would oblige _you_--” said one of the tall footmen, as he caressed his whisker, and gave a very languishing look, more than enough, he thought, to supply the words wanting to his sentence. “It would oblige _me_ very much, Mr. George, to get away out of this horrid place. I never did--no, never--in all my life pass such a ten days.” “We ain't a-going just yet, after all,” said footman number two, with a faint yawn. “It's so like you, Mr. Breggis, to say something disagreeable,” said she, with a toss of her head. “It's because it's true I say it, not because it's onpleasant, Miss Caroline.” “I'm not Miss Caroline, at least from you, Mr. Breggis.” “Ain't she haughty,--ain't she fierce?” But his colleague would not assent to this judgment, and looked at her with a longing admiration. “There's her bell again,” cried the girl; “as sure as I live, she's rung forty times this morning;” and she hurried back to the house. “Why do you think we're not off yet?” asked George.