which was now transpiring;
it did not take her by surprise, and she desired to let it pass with
dignity, reliant upon reaction. Her dignity stood her in no stead.
Suddenly her soul melted in her eyes; she fell on his neck:--"I won't
leave you, papa; I'll never leave you. I won't pain you! I'll never
pain you!" was her cry.

"My lamb! my treasure!" murmured the loving though rugged sire. He said
no more for the moment; indeed, those two words were hoarse.

The room was now darkening. I heard a movement, a step without.
Thinking it might be a servant coming with candles, I gently opened, to
prevent intrusion. In the ante-room stood no servant: a tall gentleman
was placing his hat on the table, drawing off his gloves
slowly--lingering, waiting, it seemed to me. He called me neither by
sign nor word; yet his eye said:--"Lucy, come here." And I went.

Over his face a smile flowed, while he looked down on me: no temper,
save his own, would have expressed by a smile the sort of agitation
which now fevered him.

"M. de Bassompierre is there--is he not?" he inquired, pointing to the
library.

"Yes."

"He noticed me at dinner? He understood me?"

"Yes, Graham."

"I am brought up for judgment, then, and so is _she_?"

"Mr. Home" (we now and always continued to term him Mr. Home at times)
"is talking to his daughter."

"Ha! These are sharp moments, Lucy!"

He was quite stirred up; his young hand trembled; a vital (I was going
to write _mortal_, but such words ill apply to one all living like
him)--a vital suspense now held, now hurried, his breath: in all this
trouble his smile never faded.

"Is he _very_ angry, Lucy?"

"_She_ is very faithful, Graham."

"What will be done unto me?"

"Graham, your star must be fortunate."

"Must it? Kind prophet! So cheered, I should be a faint heart indeed to
quail. I think I find all women faithful, Lucy. I ought to love them,
and I do. My mother is good; _she_ is divine; and _you_ are true as
steel. Are you not?"

"Yes, Graham."

"Then give me thy hand, my little god-sister: it is a friendly little
hand to me, and always has been. And now for the great venture. God be
with the right. Lucy, say Amen!"

He turned, and waited till I said "Amen!"--which I did to please him:
the old charm, in doing as he bid me, came back. I wished him success;
and successful I knew he would be. He was born victor, as some are born
vanquished.

"Follow me!" he said; and I followed him int