With another warm handshake, the Colonel passed on. Karl walked back to his hotel. In traversing one of its upper passages, a young lady came out of a sitting-room to cross to an opposite chamber. Captain Andinnian took a step back to let her pass in front of him; she turned her head, and they met face to face. "Lucy!" "Karl!" The salutation broke from each before they well knew where they were or what had happened, amidst a rush of bewildering excitement, of wild joy. They had, no doubt, as in duty bound, been trying to forget each other; this moment of unexpected meeting proved to each how foolish was the fallacy. A dim idea made itself heard within either breast that they ought, in that duty alluded to, to pass on and linger not: but we all know how vain and weak is the human heart. It was not possible: and they stood, hand locked within hand. Only for an instant. Lucy, looking very weak and ill, withdrew her hand, and leaned back against the doorpost for support. Karl stood before her. "I have just met Colonel Cleeve," he said: "but I had no idea that _you_ were in London. Are you staying here?" "Until to-morrow," she answered, her breath seeming to be a little short. "We came up yesterday. Papa chose this hotel, as it is convenient for the Folkestone trains. Mamma is here." "Lucy, how very ill you look!" "Yes. I had fever and ague in the summer, and do not get strong again. We are going to Paris for change. You do not look well either," added Lucy. "I have not had fever: but I have had other things to try me," was his reply. "Oh, Karl! I have been so grieved!" she earnestly said. "I did not know your brother, but I--I seemed to feel all the dreadful trouble as much as you must have felt it. When we are not strong, I think we do feel things." "You call it by its right name, Lucy--a _dreadful_ trouble. No one but myself can know what it has been to me." They were gazing at each other yearningly: Lucy with her sweet brown eyes so full of tender compassion; Karl's grey-blue ones had a world of sorrowful regret in their depths. As she had done in their interview when they were parting, so she now did again--put out her hand to him, with a whisper meant to soothe. "You will live it down, Karl." He slightly shook his head: and took her hand to hold it between his. "It is only since this happened that I have become at all reconciled to--to what had to be done at Winchester, Lucy. It would have been so greatly worse, had you been tied to me by--by any engagement." "Not worse for you, Karl, but better. I should have helped you so much to bear it." "My darling!" The moment the words had crossed his lips, he remembered what honour and his long-ago-passed word to Colonel Cleeve demanded of him--that he should absolutely abstain from showing any tokens of affection for Lucy. Nay, to observe it strictly, he ought not to have stayed to talk with her. "I beg your pardon, Lucy," he said, dropping her hand.