It was all in a moment. Lucy's eyes had ceased to flash, and had darted out such a confession of forgiveness, and love, and tenderness, all mingled, as made Oldroyd forget all about the laws of equitation, and fall off his pony on the wrong side, to catch Lucy's hand in his and draw it tightly through his arm. Peter began to nibble placidly at shoots, and everything was more commonplace than ever, for they walked slowly along by the roadside, with their heads down, perfectly silent; while the pony browsed along, with his head down, and the rein dragging on the ground, till after a bit he trod upon it, gave his head a snatch at the check, and broke it, making it very little worse than it was before. And so they went on, with the larks singing overhead, the grass and daisies springing beneath their feet, and the world looking more beautiful than it ever did before; what time Glynne was sitting, pale, large-eyed, and thin, in her own room, reading hard--some heavy work, which she jealously placed aside whenever she had finished perusing; and Moray Alleyne was alone in his observatory, gaunt, grey, and strange, busy over the calculations respecting the star he had been watching for nights past, that bright particular star that seemed somehow connected with the woman he had ventured to love. "Are you very angry, Mrs Alleyne?" said Oldroyd, as he took Lucy's hand in his and walked with her to where the mistress of The Firs was seated, busily stitching, in the very perfection of neatness, the pleats of a new garment for her son. "Angry?" said Mrs Alleyne, starting and flushing, and then turning pale as she dropped her work, and her hands began to tremble. "Does this mean--does this mean--?" "That we love each other?" replied Oldroyd, glancing sidewise at Lucy. "Yes, madam, it does, and I feel dread and shame, I scarcely know what, when I speak to you like this, for I am so poor, and my prospects so extremely wanting in brightness." "We are used to being poor, Mr Oldroyd," said Mrs Alleyne, sadly. "Then you do not object?" "Why should I?" said Mrs Alleyne. "It is natural that my child should some day form an attachment. She has, I presume, done so?" "Oh, yes, yes, yes, mamma," cried Lucy, "a long time now." "Then, knowing as I do, that the attachment is to a man of sterling worth," said Mrs Alleyne softly, as she held out her hand, "what more could I wish?" Oldroyd caught the hand in his and kissed it, hesitated a moment, and then bent down and kissed Mrs Alleyne's thin pinched lips. "It has given me the stimulus I wanted," he said, proudly. "Mrs Alleyne, Lucy shall not be a poor man's wife, but--Ah, Alleyne." "Ah, Oldroyd," said the astronomer, in his soft, deep voice, and he smiled sadly; "come to prescribe for me again. And I'm better than ever now--but--is anything wrong?" For the positions of the three occupants of the room he had entered struck him as being singular.