"I have just met Colonel Cleeve," he said: "but I had no idea that you were in London. Are you staying here?"
"Until to-morrow," she answered, her breath seeming to be a little short. "We came up yesterday. Papa chose this hotel, as it is convenient for the Folkestone trains. Mamma is here."
"Lucy, how very ill you look!"
"Yes. I had fever and ague in the summer, and do not get strong again. We are going to Paris for change. You do not look well either," added Lucy.
"I have not had fever: but I have had other things to try me," was his reply.
"Oh, Karl! I have been so grieved!" she earnestly said. "I did not know your brother, but I--I seemed to feel all the dreadful trouble as much as you must have felt it. When we are not strong, I think we do feel things."
"You call it by its right name, Lucy--a dreadful trouble. No one but myself can know what it has been to me."
They were gazing at each other yearningly: Lucy with her sweet brown eyes so full of tender compassion; Karl's grey-blue ones had a world of sorrowful regret in their depths. As she had done in their interview when they were parting, so she now did again--put out her hand to him, with a whisper meant to soothe.
"You will live it down, Karl."
He slightly shook his head: and took her hand to hold it between his.