"Down first, Lucy!" he cried, shaking hands with her. "You wish me somewhere, I dare say, getting you up before your time."
"By how much—a few minutes?" she answered, laughing. "It wants twenty minutes to nine. What would they have said to me at the rectory, had I come down so late as that?"
"Ah, well, you won't have me here to torment you to-morrow. I have been a trouble to you, Lucy, take it altogether. You will be glad to see my back turned."
Lucy shook her head. She looked shyly up at him in her timidity; but she answered truthfully still.
"I shall be sorry; not glad."
"Sorry! Why should you be sorry, Lucy?" and his voice insensibly assumed a tone of gentleness. "You cannot have cared for me; for the companionship of a half-dead fellow, like myself!"
Lucy rallied her courage. "Perhaps it was because you were half dead that I cared for you," she answered.
"I suppose it was," mused Lionel, aloud, his thoughts cast back to the past. "I will bid you good-bye now, Lucy, while we are alone. Believe me that I part from you with regret; that I do heartily thank you for all you have been to me."
Lucy looked up at him, a yearning, regretful sort of look, and her eyelashes grew wet. Lionel had her hand in his, and was looking down at her.
"Lucy, I do think you are sorry to part with me!" he exclaimed.