The vision, I say, comes all too frequently
for my peace of mind, when I realise the fact that it can never be
realised."
Lucy stood, her hands tightly clasped before her, a world of sadness in
her fair, young face. One less entirely single-hearted, less _true_ than
Lucy Tempest, might have professed to ignore the drift of his words. Had
Lucy, since Mrs. Verner's death, cast a thought to the possibility of
certain happy relations arising between her and Lionel--those social
ties he now spoke of? No, not intentionally. If any such dreams did lurk
in her heart unbidden, there she let them lie, in entire abeyance.
Lionel Verner had never spoken a word to her, or dropped a hint that he
contemplated such; his intercourse with her had been free and open, just
as it was with Decima. She was quite content; to be with him, to see him
daily, was enough of happiness for her, without looking to the future.
"The farther I get away from England the better," he resumed. "India,
from old associations, naturally suggests itself, but I care not whither
I go. You threw out a suggestion once, Lucy, that Colonel Tempest might
be able to help me to something there, by which I may get a living.
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