"And I have been so rapt in my studies--in myself," he said, colouring slightly, as if ashamed to accept the screen of the slightest subterfuge. "I have neglected you, little Lucy," he went on, tenderly caressing her. "And this wretched anonymous letter, evidently from some spiteful woman, is all false, dear?" "Every word, Moray. I have not spoken to Captain Rolph since that day he came here, and--" "Hush! hush!" said Alleyne softly; and his face grew very thin and old. "Think no more about the letter. Wipe your eyes, my child. I'm glad-- very glad you do not care for this man." "I care for that animal!" cried Lucy scornfully. "Oh, Moray, how could you think it of me?" "Because--" The words were on Moray Alleyne's lips to say, "Women are such strange creatures!" but he checked himself, and said softly,--"Let it pass, my child. There, there, wipe those poor, wet, red eyes. I'll go and speak to our mother. This vexed her, for she thought you had been a little weak and foolish. She is jealous, dear, and proud and watchful of our every act. It is her great love for us. There, there, kiss me; and go to your room for a while. Everything will be well when you come down again." "Will it, Moray?" whispered Lucy, nestling more closely to him. "Is my brave, strong, noble brother going to be himself once more?" She held herself from him so that she might gaze full in his face, but he kept his eyes averted. "Moray, I am so little and weak," she whispered, "but I have my pride. You must not let a disappointment eat out all the pleasure of your life." "Hush!" he said softly. "I will speak," she cried. "Moray, my own brother, you must not break your great true heart because a handsome woman has played with you for a time, and then thrown you aside for a worthless, foolish man." He fixed his eyes upon her now, and said sadly, as he smiled in her face,-- "Wrong, little sister, wrong. I was mad, and forgot myself. She was promised to another before we had met." "Yes, Moray, dear, but--" "Silence! No more," he said sternly. "Never refer to this again." "Oh, but, Moray, darling, let me--" "Hush!" he said, laying his finger tenderly, half-playfully, upon her lip, and then removing it to kiss her affectionately. "All that is dead and gone, Lucy. We must not dig up the dry bones of our old sorrows to revive them once again. I have long been promised to a mistress whom I forsook for a time--to whom I was unfaithful. She has forgiven me, dear, and taken me back to her arms. Urania is my heart's love," he continued, smiling, "and I am going to be a faithful spouse. There, there, little sister, go now, and I will make your peace with our mother, or rather ask her to make her peace with you."