But Thornton was on Lucy's side. He did with cooler judgment what she
could not, and when, at last, the interview was ended, there was no
ring on Lucy's forefinger, for Arthur held it in his hand and their
engagement was at an end.
Stunned with what he had passed through, Arthur stood motionless,
while Thornton drew Lucy's cloak about her shoulders, fastened her fur
himself, tied on her satin hood, taking such care of her as a mother
would take of a suffering child.
"It is hardly safe to send her home alone," he thought, as he looked
into her face and saw how weak she was. "As a friend of both, I ought
to accompany her."
She was, indeed, very weak, so weak that she could scarcely stand,
and Thornton took her in his arms and carried her to the sleigh; then
springing in beside her he made her lean her tired head upon his
shoulder as they drove to Prospect Hill. She did not seem frivolous to
him now, but rather the noblest type of womanhood he had ever met. Few
could do what she had done, and there was much of warmth and fervor in
the clasp of his hand as he bade her good-by and went back to the
rectory, thinking how deceived he had been in Lucy Harcourt.
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