He, in the meantime, had regained the dread composure, that death-like
calmness, into which he had passed from his frenzy.

"Forgive you, papa? I do--I do, a thousand times; but I have nothing
to forgive. Do I not know that all your plans and purposes were for my
advancement, and, as you hoped, for my happiness?"

"Lucy," said he, "disgrace is hard to bear; but still I would have borne
it had my great object in that advancement been accomplished; but now,
here is the disgrace, yet the object lost forever. Then, my son, Lucy--I
am his murderer; but I knew it not; and even that I could get over; but
you, that is what prostrates me. And, again, to have been the puppet of
that old villain! Even that, however, I could bear; yes, everything but
you!--that was the great cast on which my whole heart was set; but now,
mocked, despised, detested, baffled, detected, defeated. However, it is
all over, like a troubled dream. Dry your eyes now," he added, "and see
Dunroe."

"Would you wish to see Dean Palmer, papa?"

"No, no, Lucy; not at all; he could do me no good. Go, now, and see
Dunroe, and do not let me be disturbed for an hour or two. You know I
have seen the body of my son to-day, and I wish I had not."

"I am sorry you did, papa; it has depressed you very much."

"Go, Lucy, go. In a couple of hours I--Go, dear; don't keep his lordship
waiting."

Poor Lucy's heart was in a tumult of delight as she went down stairs.
In the whole course of her life she had never witnessed in her father
anything of tender emotion until then, and the tear that fell upon her
hand she knew was the only one she ever saw him shed.

"I have hope for papa yet," she said to herself, as she was about to
enter the drawing-room; "I never thought I loved him so much as I find I
do now."

On advancing into the room, for an instant's time she seemed confused;
her confusion, however, soon became surprise--amazement, when Dean
Palmer, taking our friend the stranger by the hand, led him toward her,
exclaiming, "Allow me, Miss Gourlay, to have the honor of presenting to
you Lord Dunroe."

"Lord Dunroe!" exclaimed Lucy, in her turn, looking aghast with
astonishment. "What is this, sir--what means this, gentlemen? This
house, pray recollect, is a house of death and of suffering."

"It is the truth, Miss Gourlay," replied the Dean. "Here stands the
veritable Lord Dunroe, whose father is now the earl of Cullamore."

"But, sir, I don't understand this."