"I've found him out, though, after all, and it's worth every pain I may feel, and Glynne shall know what a wretch he is, and then she'll turn to poor, dear Moray, and he'll be happy once again. Poor fellow, how he has suffered, and without a word, believing that there was no hope for him when there is; and I don't care, I'm growing reckless now; I'd even let Glynne see how unworthy Captain Rolph is, by going to meet him. It doesn't matter a bit, people will believe I'm weak and silly; and if the captain were to boast that he had won me, everybody would believe him. Oh, it's dreadful, dreadful, I want to do mischief to some one else and--and--and--but I don't care, not a bit. Yes, I do," she sobbed bitterly. "Everybody will think me a weak, foolish, untrustworthy girl, and it will break my heart, and--oh!" Lucy stopped short, tear-blinded, having nearly run against an obstacle in the way. The obstacle was Lucy's mental definition of "everybody," who would think slightingly of her now. For "everybody" was seated upon a pony, waiting evidently for her to come. Volume 2, Chapter VII. STARLIGHT DOINGS. It was astonishing how great the interest in the stars had now become in the neighbourhood of Brackley. Glynne was studying hard so as to learn something of the wondrous orbs of whose astounding nature Moray Alleyne loved to speak; and now Philip Oldroyd had told himself that it would be far better if he were not quite so ignorant on matters astronomical. The result was that he had purchased a book or two giving accounts of the Royal Observatory, the peculiarities of the different instruments used, the various objects most studied; and in these works he was coaching himself up as fast as he could on the present night--having "a comfortable read" as he called it, before going to bed--when there came a bit of a novelty for him, a sudden summons to go and see a patient. "What's the matter?" he said, going to the door to answer the call, after a glance at his watch, to see that it was half-past twelve. "Well, sir," said the messenger, Caleb Kent, "it's mate o' mine hurt hissen like, somehow. Met of a fall, I think." "Fall, eh? Where is he hurt?" "Mostlings 'bout the 'ead, sir, but he's a bit touched all over." "What did he fall off--a cart?" "No, sir, it warn't off a cart. Hadn't you better come and see him, sir?" "Of course, my man, but I don't want to go away from home, and then find I might have taken something, and saved my patient a great deal of suffering." "Yes, sir; quite right, sir," said the man mysteriously; "well, you see, sir, I can't talk about it like. It weer a fall certainly, but some one made him fall." "Oh, a fight, eh?" "Yes, sir; there was a bit of a fight." "Well, if your mate has been fighting, is he bad enough to want a doctor?" "He's down bad, sir. It warn't fisties." "Sticks?" The man nodded. "Anything worse?" "Well, sir, I didn't mean to speak about it, but it weer."