r
compact?"

"No," laughed she.

"And you will not forget it?"

"Never," said the child, shaking her head. "You shall see if I do."

"Lucy is to be my wife," cried he, turning to Madame Vine. "It is a
bargain, and we have both promised. I mean to wait for her till she is
old enough. I like her better than anybody else in the world."

"And I like him," spoke up Miss Lucy. "And it's all true."

Lucy was a child--it may almost be said an infant--and the viscount was
not of an age to render important such avowed passions. Nevertheless,
the words did thrill through the veins of the hearer. She spoke, she
thought, not as Madame Vine would have spoken and thought, but as the
unhappy mother, the ill-fated Lady Isabel.

"You must not say these things to Lucy. It could never be."

Lord Vane laughed.

"Why?" asked he.

"Your father and mother would not approve."

"My father would--I know he would. He likes Lucy. As to my mother--oh,
well, she can't expect to be master and mistress too. You be off for a
minute, Lucy; I want to say some thing to Madame Vine. Has Carlyle shot
that fellow?" he continued, as Lucy sprung away. "My father is so stiff,
especially when he's put up, that he would not sully his lips with the
name, or make a single inquiry when we arrived; neither would he let me,
and I walked up here with my tongue burning."

She would have responded, what fellow? But she suspected too well, and
the words died away on her unwilling lips.

"That brute, Levison. If Carlyle riddled his body with shots for this
move, and then kicked him till he died, he'd only get his deserts, and
the world would applaud. _He_ oppose Carlyle! I wish I had been a man
a few years ago, he'd have got a shot through his heart then. I say,"
dropping his voice, "did you know Lady Isabel?"

"Yes--no--yes."

She was at a loss what to say--almost as unconscious what she did say.

"She was Lucy's mother, you know, and I loved her. I think that's why
I love Lucy, for she is the very image of her. Where did you know her?
Here?"

"I knew her by hearsay," murmured Lady Isabel, arousing to recollection.

"Oh, hearsay! _Has_ Carlyle shot the beast, or is he on his legs yet?
By Jove! To think that he should sneak himself up, in this way, at West
Lynne!"

"You must apply elsewhere for information," she gasped. "I know nothing
of these things."

She turned away with a beating heart, and took Lucy's hand, and
departed. Lord Vane set off on