derstand you, papa."

"You soon shall. I paid him a visit, as you are aware, at his own
request, a few days ago. The object of that visit was to discuss the
approaching union between you and his son. He said he would not have you
pressed against your inclinations, and expressed an apprehension that
the match was not exactly in accordance with your wishes. Now, mark me,
Lucy, I undertook, upon my own responsibility, as well as upon yours, to
assure him that it had your fullest concurrence, and I expect that you
shall bear me out and sustain me in this assertion."

"I who am engaged to another?"

"Yes, but clandestinely, without your father's knowledge or
approbation."

"I admit my error, papa; I fully and freely acknowledge it, and the only
atonement I can make to you for it is, to assure you that although I
am not likely ever to marry according to your wishes, yet I shall never
marry against them."

"Ha!" thought the baronet, "I have brought her down a step already."

"Now, Lucy," said he, "it is time that this undutiful obstinacy on your
part should cease. It is time you should look to and respect--yes, and
obey your father's wishes. I have already told you that I have impressed
Lord Cullamore with a belief that you are a free and consenting party to
this marriage, and I trust you have too much delicacy and self-respect
to make your father a liar, for that is the word. I admit I told him a
falsehood, but I did so for the honor and exaltation of my child. You
will not betray me, Lucy?"

"Father," said she, "I regret that you make these torturing
communications to me. God knows I wish to love and respect you, but
when, under solemn circumstances, you utter, by your own admission, a
deliberate falsehood to a man of the purest truth and honor; when
you knowingly and wilfully mislead him for selfish and ambitious
purposes;--nay, I will retract these words, and suppose it is from an
anxiety to secure me rank and happiness,--I say, father, when you thus
forget all that constitutes the integrity and dignity of man, and stoop
to the discreditable meanness of falsehood, I ask you, is it manly,
or honorable, or affectionate, to involve me in proceedings so utterly
shameful, and to ask me to abet you in such a wanton perversion
of truth? Sir, there are fathers--indeed, I believe, most fathers
living--who would rather see any child of theirs stretched and
shrouded up in the grave than know them to be guilty of such a base a