iety as far as in me lay. Heaven knows," she added,
bursting into tears, "that this unnatural estrangement between father
and daughter is most distressing. I am anxious to be with papa, to
render him, in every sense, all the duties of a child, provided only he
will not persist in building up the superstructure of rank upon my own
unhappiness. Have you seen him?" she inquired, drying her eyes, a task
in which she was tenderly assisted by the stranger.

"I saw him," he replied, "for a short time;" but the terms in which he
explained the nature of the interview between himself and the baronet
were not such as could afford her a distinct impression of all that
took place, simply because he wished to spare her the infliction of
unnecessary pain.

"And now, Lucy," he added, "I feel it necessary to claim a large portion
of your approbation."

She looked at him with a smile, but awaited his explanation.

"You will scarcely credit me when I assure you that I have had a clew to
your place of residence, or concealment, or whatever it is to be termed,
since the first morning of your arrival there, and yet I disturbed you
not, either by letter or visit. Thus you may perceive how sacred your
lightest wish is to me."

"And do you imagine that I am insensible to this delicate generosity?"
she asked--"oh, no; indeed, I fully appreciate it; but now, Charles,
will you permit me to ask how, or when, or where you have been
acquainted with my aunt Gourlay, for I was not aware that you had known
each other?"

"This, my dear Lucy," he replied, smiling, "you shall have cleared up
along with all my other mysteries. Like every riddle, although it may
seem difficult now, it will be plain enough when told."

"It matters not, dear Charles; I have every confidence in your truth and
honor, and that is sufficient."

He then informed her briefly, that he should be under the necessity
of going to France for a short space, upon business of the deepest
importance to himself.

"My stay, however," he added, "will not be a very long one; and I trust,
that after my return, I shall be in a position to speak out my love.
Indeed, I am anxious for this, dear Lucy, for I know how strong the love
of truth and candor is in your great and generous heart. And yet, for
the sake of one good and amiable individual, or rather, I should say, of
two, the object of my journey to France will not be accomplished without
the deepest pain to myself. It is, I may say he