‘Ratia is going to take me out riding and in the boat,’ said Lucy, without a direct answer.
‘You like your cousins better than you expected?’
‘Rashe is famous,’ was the answer, ‘and so is Uncle Kit.’
‘My dear, you noticed the mark on his hand,’ said Honora; ‘you do not know the cause?’
‘No! Was it a shark or a mad dog?’ eagerly asked the child, slightly alarmed by her manner.
‘Neither. But do not you remember his carrying you into Woolstone-lane? I always believed you did not know what your little teeth were doing.’
It was not received as Honora expected. Probably the scenes of the girl’s infancy had brought back associations more strongly than she was prepared for—she turned white, gasped, and vindictively said, ‘I’m glad of it.’
Honora, shocked, had not discovered a reply, when Lucilla, somewhat confused at the sound of her own words, said, ‘I know—not quite that—he meant the best—but, Cousin Honor, it was cruel, it was wicked, to part my father and me! Father—oh, the river is going on still, but not my father!’
The excitable girl burst into a flood of passionate tears, as
though the death of her father were more present to her than ever before; and she had never truly missed him till she was brought in contact with her old home. The fatigue and change, the talking evening and restless night, had produced their effect; her very thoughtlessness and ordinary insouciance rendered the rush more overwhelming when it did come, and the weeping was almost hysterical.