Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. She was going to him soon and certainly, going to his strong, embracing arms. She had no place she loved. She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. Their momentary absence seemed to have worked wonders; for now the most perfect understanding appeared to subsist between them. Wood could give him no further information respecting Sir Rowland Trenchard than what he had obtained from Kneebone; but begged him to defer the further consideration of the line of conduct he meant to pursue until the morrow, when he hoped to have a plan to lay before him, of which he would approve.
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