eyes, looking at the girl's sweet face, wondering why it looked older
and sadder and more womanly than it ought. It was a good while before
either spoke.

"Would you mind telling me, Judge Keane, please," said Lucy timidly,
"where Newhaven lies from here, and how far it is?"

The judge raised himself on his elbow, put on his gold eye-glass, and
looked along the plain. "There, straight as the crow flies, little
one," he said, pointing west. "It is about thirty miles in a direct
line from where we sit; by rail about fifty, I think."

"It is a long way," she said, and a little sigh followed, as if she
wished it nearer.

"You lived in Newhaven, I think, didn't you?" asked the judge.

"Yes, sir, till mamma died. It is not a nice place, but I love it
dearly."

Ay, for a quiet grave there held the loved father and mother who had
once made for her a happy home.

The judge did not speak, he did not know what to say just then, and
Lucy did not seem to expect an answer. He shut his eyes again, and
there was a long silence. Thinking he slept, Lucy rose, and, gently
laying a rug over him, slipped away. He opened his eyes directly and
watched her. She only moved a few yards from him, and knelt down with
her face to the west. He heard a few faltering words, followed by a
sob--"O dear papa and mamma, I wonder if you can see Tom and me