in future."

Mr. Mainwaring now rose up to take his usual stroll, but turning to Lucy
before he went, he said,

"At all events, my dear Miss Gourlay, what between her painting and the
worth of the original, permit me to say that this house is your home
just as long as you wish. Consider Mrs. Mainwaring and me as parents to
you; willing, nay, most anxious, in every sense, to contribute to
your comfort and happiness. We are not poor, Miss Gourlay; but, on the
contrary, both independent and wealthy. You must, therefore, want for
nothing. I am, for as long as may be necessary, your parent, as I said,
and your banker; and if you will permit me the honor, I would wish to
add, your friend. Good-by, my dear child, I am going to take my daily
ramble; but I am sure you are in safe hands when I leave you in my dear
Martha's. Good-by, my love."

The amiable man took his golden-headed cane, and sauntered out to amuse
himself among the fields, occasionally going into the town of Wicklow,
taking a glance at the papers in the hotel, to which he generally added
a glass of ale and a pipe.

It was not until he had left them that Lucy enjoyed an opportunity of
pouring out, at full length, to her delicate-minded and faithful friend,
the cause of her flight from home. This narrative, however, was an
honorable proof of the considerate forbearance she evinced when,
necessarily alluding to the character and conduct of her father. Were
it not, in fact, that Mrs. Mainwaring had from personal opportunity been
enabled to thoroughly understand the temper, feelings, and principles of
the worthy baronet, she would have naturally concluded that Lucy was a
disobedient girl, and her father a man who had committed no other error
than that of miscalculating her happiness from motives of excessive
affection.

Mrs. Mainwaring heard it all with a calm and matronly benignity that
soothed poor Lucy; for it was for the first time she had ever disclosed
the actual state of her feelings to any one, with the exception of her
late mother.

"Now, my dear Miss Gourlay--"

"Call me Lucy, Mrs. Mainwaring," said the affectionate girl, wiping
her eyes, for we need not assure our readers that the recital of her
sufferings, no matter how much softened down or modified, cost her many
a bitter tear.

"I will indeed, my love, I will, Lucy," she replied, kissing her cheek,
"if it gratifies you. Why should I not? But you know the distance there
is between us."

"O