"Ah," he added, thoughtfully, "you little know of how great a value your kindness has been to me—now, while my spirits seem to sink within me. How should I ever have borne my heavy trial without such a sweet comforter, as you have proved yourself to be to me."
"Ah," said Lucy, her eyes falling beneath his anxious glance, "how proud I ought to be, to have been able to administer comfort to such a mind as yours."
"All the mental energy we possess," returned Beauclerc, in the same sad tone, "does not equal the magic of one kind word from a feeling woman."
"I am too glad to have the power of serving you," said Lucy, as her eyes sparkled with pleasure.
"And is it really a pleasure to you to serve me," repeated Beauclerc, looking at her with liquid eyes—"then yes—I think—yes, I will be bold enough to ask you to serve me still further; but first you shall know my history—a painful story indeed—but it is fair that you should know it, before you bestow any further kindness upon me. But when could I find such an opportunity?"
Lucy thought, for a moment, and then replied—
"I often walk before breakfast—and if you happen to meet me any morning in the park, you can tell it me there undisturbed."
"Will you walk to-morrow?" he enquired.
"Very likely I may; but stay, I will go to-morrow, because they will not be down till eleven, I know, so there will be plenty of time for you to say anything you like."
"Ingenuous, kind-hearted girl," he exclaimed; "I know some who hide their coldness, for the feelings of others, behind a prudish reserve, which would not allow them to do such a vastly improper thing, as meet a gentleman in their morning walk—but you are not of the number of those worldly beings—I will be waiting for you at that corner, where there is, if I remember rightly, an old Jupiter's head."