Mrs. Wilson hastened downstairs, to find her visitor rather nervously turning over the books on her table. Eugene's once bright chestnut curls were as thin now as Henry Wilson's sandy locks, and his attire was elegant with an effort, though he still kept his fine eyes and winning smile.
"Won't you sit down?"
"No, thank you. I only came—I have not much time—I came on business—if you are not too much engaged?"
"Not at all," said Lucy, quietly seating herself, which seemed to soothe her companion's nerves.
He sat down, too, and began abruptly, "I cannot begin to tell you how much we owe to your husband!"
"We have both sympathised so much in your sorrow and anxiety! If he could do anything at all, I am sure he is only too glad, and so am I."
"It was not only his saving our child's life, but he has done—I can't tell you what he has done for us in every way, as if he had been a brother—"
Lucy raised her head proudly, with a glad light in her eyes. Eugene looked at her a moment, and then went on with a sigh; "I couldn't say this to him, but I must to you, though of course you don't need any praise I can give him to tell you what he is."
"No," said Lucy, "it is the greatest happiness of my life to know it—it would be if no one else did; not but what it is very pleasant to have him appreciated," she added, smiling.
"I know," said Eugene, now growing red and confused, "that no recompense could ever express all we felt. Such services as his are not to be bought with a price, but I could not feel satisfied if I did not give him all that was in my power. I shall never rest till I have done so,—but—the fact is," he hurried on desperately, "I know his charges are very small—they seem ridiculously so for a man of his reputation—but the fact is, I am unable just now to meet all my obligations; the ill-health of my family has been terribly expensive—I must ask a little time—I am ashamed to do so, but I can do it better from him than from anyone else—and from you."