Amy stood looking aghast at a very bright carpet-bag, with a kind of travelling scent about it, which she thought grander and newer than anything of the kind she had before seen; and she quite shrank within herself when her aunt kissed her, and blessed her in a tone which made her feel cold; nor was she sorry when she saw her get into the carriage, attended by the bright carpet-bag—and when box after box was moved to the top of the creaking vehicle—and when the vehicle itself moved down the walk, she drew a long breath, as if relieved from some heavy pressure, feeling the place once more quite their own.
Lucy ran to the gate, to open it to let her mamma pass, kissing her hand to her, and stopping to watch till the carriage turned the corner, and was only visible down Amy's point of observation on the wall. She then came back with her cheeks crimson, and putting her arm round Mabel's waist, she whispered—
"Who do you think passed while I was holding the gate?"
"Who?" said Mabel, a little surprised at anything like an apparition in their quiet village, and not yet quite aware of their Bath cousin's usual train of thought. "I cannot guess."
Lucy's cheeks were of a deeper tint, as she whispered—
"Captain Clair."
[CHAPTER VII.]
But when the weight of sorrow found
My spirit prostrate and resigned,
The anguish of the bleeding wound
Taught me to feel for all mankind.