As these thoughts ran through his mind, others came to crowd them out-- thoughts of a snug little home, made bright by a sweet face looking out from door or window to see him coming back after a long, tiring round. What was enough for one was enough for two--so people argued. That was right enough as regarded a house, but doubtful when it came to food, and absurd if you went as far as clothing. "No, it would never do," he said to himself, "I could not take her from her home to my poor, shabby place." But as he thought this he involuntarily looked round Mrs Alleyne's dining-room, that lady being at the window, and he could not help thinking that, after all, his cottage-like home was infinitely preferable to this great, gaunt, dingy place, where anything suggestive of any comfort was out of the question. "Yes, she would be more comfortable," he muttered; "and--there, I'm going mad again. I will not think such things." Just then Lucy came in ready for starting, and all Philip Oldroyd's good intentions might have been dressed for departure as well. Certainly, they all took flight, as he followed the eager little maiden into the hall. "Pray--pray let me have news of him directly you find him, Mr Oldroyd," cried Mrs Alleyne, piteously. "Run back yourself. You cannot tell what I suffer. Something must have happened." "You shall know about him directly, Mrs Alleyne," replied Oldroyd. "But pray make your mind easy, nothing can have happened to him here. The worst is that he may have gone to the Hall." "No, he would not have gone there without first letting me know." "Don't come to the gate, mamma," cried Lucy. "There, go in; Mr Oldroyd will take care of me, and we'll soon bring the truant back, only pray be satisfied. Come, Mr Oldroyd, let us run." The next minute they were outside the gate, and hurrying down the slope to the common, over whose rugged surface Lucy walked so fast that Oldroyd had to step out boldly. Here the sandy road was reached, and they went on, saying but little, wanting to say but little, for, in spite of all, there was a strange new ecstatic feeling in Lucy's bosom; while, in spite of his honesty something kept whispering to Oldroyd that it would be very pleasant if they were unable to find Alleyne for hours to come. He was not to be gratified in this, though, for at the end of a quarter of an hour's walking, when they came opposite to the big clump of pines, Lucy proposed that they should go up there. "I know how fond he is of this place," she said, rather excitedly; "and as its clearer now, I should not be at all surprised to find him here watching the moon, or the rising of some of the stars." "We'll go if you wish it," said Oldroyd, "but it seems a very unlikely place at a time like this." "Ah, but my brother is very curious about such things," said Lucy, as she left the road, and together they climbed up till all at once she uttered a faint cry-- "Look! there--there he is!"