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As a quick step sounded outside, she lowered herself slowly to a high-backed chair and waited, hands locked closely upon her lap. "But you don't say you were paid to do so," answered Greyquill. So, then, as she sat at table she almost looked the same beautiful Lucy Acton who had left her house early one morning for[Pg 369] a walk in which she had met the hunchback Paul and read a letter he gave her. The old rich colour was indeed lacking; no charm of hat, no grace of coiffure, no elegance of costume could immediately qualify or dispel the languor of fatigue in the eyes, the delicate shadow pencilled by worry and an enormous mental strain under the eyes, and a general expression in movements of silence or repose, of anxiety, pain, and another quality which you might have seen was present without being able to give it a name..

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"I should think so indeed, poor men!" exclaimed Miss Acton. Suddenly Croaker stretched himself erect. A soft whistle, so low as to be inaudible to the indignant woman but clear to his acute ears, had sounded from the far side of the wood pile. Pausing only long enough to locate the sound, Croaker spread his wings and volplaned down, emitting a hoarse croak of triumph almost in Mrs. Wilson's face, as he swept close above her. "I will nurse him," cried Lucy. Harry glanced behind him with a shudder. "God love you fer a good lad, Billy," he cried; "but this is no way to trate an ould frind, is ut now?".