"What might what mean?"

"That I look like your father."

He had turned his face to her now, but she still gazed at him, as if the truth was just struggling for recognition. The smile vanished for an instant from her face, and then returned. She would not entertain the advance messenger.

"I don't object to your looking like my papa, for he's a mighty fine looking man."

"Lucy, you saw what your father and I were doing last night?"

"Yes."

"What did you think--what do you now think of us?"

"Again, Chester, I don't object to you and father spooning a bit. In fact, I think that's rather nice."

Chester laughed a little now, which loosened the tension considerably; but he returned to the attack:

"Lucy, what would you think if your father had a son who had been lost when a baby, and that now he should return to him as a grown man?"

"Well, I would think that would be jolly, as the English say."

"And that his son's name was Chester Lawrence?" he continued as if there had been no interruption.

Now the cog in Lucy's mental make-up caught firmly into the machinery that had been buzzing about her for some time.

"Are you my brother?" she asked.

"Yes; I am your brother."

"My real, live, long lost brother?"

"Yes."

"Now I see what you have been driving at all this time. You say you are my brother, that my father is your father. Now explain."

"That's not so easy, Lucy. I would much rather your father would do that. But I can tell you a little, for it's very little I know--and, Lucy, that little is not pleasant."

"But I must know." Her face was serious again. She was bracing herself bravely too.

"I was born outside the marriage relation, and your father was my father!"

That was plain enough--brutally plain. The girl turned to marble. Had he killed her?

"Go on," she whispered.

"No more now--some other time."

"Go on, Chester."

Chester told her in brief sentences the simple facts, and what had led to his discovery of the truth just the other day. It was this that had caused the change she had noticed in him.

"Lucy, I was not sure," he said, "so I went to your father last night and asked him pointedly, directly, and he said 'Yes.' That explains the situation you found us in. My heart went out to my father, Lucy; and his heart went out to his son."

"The son to which his heart has been reaching for many long years, Chester. Yes, I see it plainly.... You have told the truth ... you are my brother--you--"

She trembled, then fell into his arms; but she controlled herself again, and when he kissed her pale face and stroked her hair, she opened her eyes and looked steadily up into his face. Thus they remained for a time, heedless of the few passers-by who but looked at a not uncommon sight. She closed her eyes again, and when she opened them Chester was struggling hard to keep back the tears.

To tell the truth, both of them cried a little about that time, and it did them good too. They got up, walked about on the grass for a time until they could look more unmovedly at their changed standing to each other. Then they talked more freely, but things were truly so newly mixed that it was difficult to get them untangled. At last Lucy said she would have to go back to her father--our father, she corrected.

"And he knows, remember," said Chester to her. "I and you also know. We know too," he added, "that the Lord is above, and will take care of us all."

"Yes," said Lucy.

Then they went back. The father was still very ill. Chester did not try to see him, for Uncle Gilbert had not relented.

"I'm going to see Elder Malby this afternoon," said Chester. "This evening I shall call again. Meanwhile"--they were alone in the hall now--"you must keep up your courage and faith. I feel as though everything will yet turn out well."

He took her as usual in his arms, and she clung to him closer than she had ever done before.

"Chester," she said, "I can't yet _feel_ that there is any difference in our relationship. You are yet my lover, are you not?"

"Yes, Lucy; and you are my sweetheart. Somehow, I am not condemned when I say it. What can it be--"

"Something that whispers peace to our hearts."

"The Comforter, Lucy, the Comforter from the Lord."

CHAPTER XVII.

The delay in getting back to Kildare Villa was making Uncle Gilbert nervous. In his own mind, he blamed Chester Lawrence for being the cause of much of the present trouble, though in what way he could not clearly tell. The young man's presence disturbed the usual placid life of the minister. Why such a disturber should be so welcomed into the family, the brother could not understand. Perhaps this new-fangled religion called "Mormonism" was at the root of all the trouble.

In his confusion, Uncle Gilbert determined on a very foolish thing: he would get his brother and Lucy away with him to Ireland, leaving Chester behind, for at least a few days. Of course, a young fellow in love as deeply as Chester seemed to be, would follow up and find them again, but there would be a respite for a time. With this idea in mind, Uncle Gilbert, the very next day, found Chester at his lodgings; and apparently taking him into his confidence, told him of his plan. Chester was willing to do anything that Uncle Gilbert and "the others" thought would be for the best. Chester was made to understand that "the others"

agreed to the plan, and although the thought sent a keen pang through the young man's heart, he did not demur.

It must also be admitted that Uncle Gilbert was not quite honest with Lucy, for when he proposed to her to get her father to Ireland as soon as possible, she understood that Chester was lawfully detained, but would meet them perhaps in Liverpool. Though she, too, felt keenly the parting, yet she mistrusted no one.

So it came about that Lucy and her father were hurried to the station early next morning to catch a train for Liverpool. The minister was physically strong enough to stand the journey, but he mutely questioned the reason for this hasty move. Chester had absented himself all the previous day, and he did not even see them off at the station. Lucy could not keep back the tears, though she tried to hide them as she tucked her father comfortably about with cushions in the first class compartment which they had reserved.

Uncle Gilbert's victory was short lived, however; no sooner did the ailing man realize that Chester was not with them than he become visibly affected. He tried hard to talk, but to no avail. He looked pleadingly at Lucy and at his brother as if for information, but without results.

Lucy's pinched, tear-stained face added to his restlessness, and there was a note of insincerity in Uncle Gilbert's reassuring talk that his brother did not fail to discern.

That ride, usually so pleasant over the beautiful green country, was a most miserable one. It was so painful to see the expression on the minister's face that Uncle Gilbert began to doubt the wisdom of the plan he was trying. Lucy became quite alarmed, and asked if they ought not to stop at one of the midland cities; but Uncle Gilbert said they could surely go on to Liverpool.

"But we can't cross over to Ireland. Father could not possibly stand the trip," she said.