"
Upon that the gentlemen retired to the library to talk over business
matters, and Mrs. Carrington led the way for Elsie to Lucy's room. But
pausing in the upper hall, she took the young girl in her arms, folding
her in a close, loving embrace, and heaping upon her tearful, tender,
silent caresses.
"My poor boy! my poor dear Herbert," she murmured at length, as she
released her hold. "Darling, I can never forget that you might have been
my daughter. But there--I will leave you. Lucy occupies her old rooms, and
yonder is her door; you know the way."
"But come in with me, dear Mrs. Carrington," urged Elsie, the tears
shining in her eyes.
"No, dear, not just yet. Lucy would prefer to see you quite alone at
first, I know." And she glided away in the opposite direction.
A soft, cooing sound came to Elsie's ear, mingled with fondling words, in
a negro voice, as she stood an instant waiting admittance. Lucy, a good
deal paler and thinner than the Lucy of old, lay back in an easy chair,
languidly turning the leaves of a new magazine.
"Open the door, mammy," she said, "I thought I heard a rap." Then at sight
of Elsie, the magazine was hastily tossed aside, and with a cry of joy,
"Oh, you darling! I thought I'd never see you again," she sprang forward,
caught her friend in a close embrace, and wept upon her neck.
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