It was a very simple question, just such a one as anyone might ask to help a hesitating speaker who had come to a standstill; but to Lucy it seemed so different from what she had been accustomed to hear from the major's lips. His manner had always been tenderly paternal towards her; there had been such openness and full confidence between them, and such a warm pressure of hand to hand. Now this was gone, and there was a cold and dreary gap. "Successful?" said Lucy, with her voice trembling and her face beginning to work. "Yes--no--I--Have you many truffles, Major Day?" This last with an effort to master her emotion, and its effect, as she spoke sharply and quickly, was to give her time to recover herself, and the major a respite from what had threatened to be a painful scene. "Yes, yes; a fair number," he said, as if he were addressing one who was a comparative stranger, but towards whom he wished to behave with the greatest deference. "They are very small, though--very small; not like those they dig in France. May I send you a few, my--Miss Alleyne?" Lucy shook her head, for her emotion mastered her this time. That alteration from what was to have been "my dear" to "Miss Alleyne" was too much for her, and she bowed hastily and hurried away. But the major hastened after her, and overtook her in the lane. "Miss Alleyne--Lucy," he cried. "One moment, please." "Major Day!" she cried, in surprise. "And your very good old friend, my dear. Since I saw you last I have been thinking a great deal, and many things which troubled me before we left home have gradually assumed an entirely fresh aspect. I was hasty, and, to be frank, I used to think ill of you, and my conscience is so full of reproach that I--if you'll excuse me--I--I must beg your pardon." "Beg my pardon, Major Day?" said Lucy, and she turned red and white by turns as she began to tremble. "Yes, my dear, and ask you to forgive me." "Forgive you, Major Day?" "Yes, my dear, I fear I was too ready to believe you were weak and foolish, and did not give you credit for being what you are, and--there, there, my dear, I surrender at discretion, I leave it to your generosity to let me march off with colours flying." "Dear Major Day! I didn't deserve that you should think so ill of me," sobbed Lucy passionately, and laying her hands in the old man's she made no resistance as he drew her towards him, and kissed her forehead, just when, according to his unlucky custom, Oldroyd came into sight. At the moment when the major bent down and pressed his lips on little Lucy's white forehead, the pony's head was directed straight towards them; the next instant he had sprung round like a weather-cock, and his head was directed towards home, but only for a few moments, before it was dragged round again, and the doctor come slowly ambling towards them, looking indignant and fierce. "Then we are to be the best of friends again, eh, my dear, and I am quite forgiven?"