tter, "take this young woman with you, and make her
comfortable. You seem exhausted. Miss Gourlay; shall I get some tea?"

"Thank you, Mrs. Nor--Mainwaring, no; we have had a hasty cup of tea in
Dublin. But if it will not be troublesome, I should like to go to bed
for a time."

Mrs. Mainwaring flew out of the room, and called Nancy Gallaher. "Nancy,
prepare a bed immediately for this lady; her maid, too, will probably
require rest. Prepare a bed for both."

She was half in and half out of the room as she spoke; then returning
with a bunch of keys dangling from her finger, she glanced at Miss
Gourlay with that slight but delicate and considerate curiosity which
arises only from a friendly warmth of feeling--but said nothing.

"My dear Mrs. Mainwaring," said Lucy, who understood her look, "I feel
that I have acted very wrong. I have fled from my father's house, and I
have taken refuge with you. I am at present confused and exhausted, but
when I get some rest, I will give you an explanation. At present, it is
sufficient to say that papa has taken my marriage with that odious Lord
Dunroe so strongly into his head, that nothing short of my consent will
satisfy him. I know he loves me, and thinks that rank and honor, because
they gratify his ambition, will make me happy. I know that that ambition
is not at all personal to himself, but indulged in and nurtured on my
account, and for my advancement in life. How then can I blame him?"

"Well, my child, no more of that at present; you want rest."

"Yes, Mrs. Mainwaring, I do; but I am very wretched and unhappy.
Alas! you know not, my dear friend, the delight which I have always
experienced in obeying papa in everything, with the exception of this
hateful union; and now I feel something like remorse at having abandoned
him."

She then gave a brief account to her kind-hearted friend of her journey
to Dublin by the "Fly," in the first instance, suppressing one or two
incidents; and of her second to Mrs. Mainwaring's, who, after hearing
that she had not slept at all during the night, would permit no further
conversation on that or any other subject, but hurried her to bed, she
herself acting as her attendant. Having seen her comfortably settled,
and carefully tucked her up with her own hands, she kissed the fair
girl, exclaiming, "Sleep, my love; and may God bless and protect you
from evil and unhappiness, as I feel certain He will, because you
deserve it."

She then left he