ook her leave, and retired to her
own room, whither she summoned Alley Mahon. This blunt but faithful
attendant felt no surprise in witnessing her grief; for indeed she
had done little else than weep, ever since she heard of her father's
illness.

"Now don't cry so much, miss," she said; "didn't I tell you that your
grief will do neither you nor him any good? Keep yourself cool and
quiet, and spake to him like a raisonable crayture, what you are not,
ever since you herd of his being sick. It isn't by shedding tears that
you can expect to comfort him, as you intend to do, but by being calm,
and considerate, and attentive to him, and not allowin' him to see what
you suffer."

"That is very true, Alice, I admit," replied Lucy; but when I consider
that it was my undutiful flight from him that occasioned this attack,
how can I free myself from blame? My heart, Alice, is divided between a
feeling of remorse for having deserted him without sufficient cause, and
grief for his illness, and in that is involved the apprehension of his
loss. After all, Alice, you must admit that I have no friend in the
world but my father. How, then, can I think of losing him?"

"And even if God took him," replied Alley, "which I hope after all isn't
so likely--"

"What do you mean, girl?" asked Lucy, ignorant that Alley only used
a form of speech peculiar to the people, "what language is this of my
father?"

"Why, I hope it's but the truth, miss," replied the maid; "for if God
was to call him to-morrow--which may God forbid! you'd find friends that
would take care of you and protect you."

"Yes; but, Alice, if papa died, I should have to reproach myself with
his death; and that consideration would drive me distracted or kill me.
I am beginning to think that obedience to the will of a parent is, under
all circumstances, the first duty of a child. A parent knows better what
is for our good than we can be supposed to do. At all events, whatever
exceptions there may be to this rule, I care not. It is enough, and too
much, for me to reflect that my conduct has been the cause of papa's
illness. His great object in life was to promote my happiness. Now this
was affection for me. I grant he may have been mistaken, but still it
was affection; and consequently I cannot help admitting that even his
harshness, and certainly all that he suffered through the very violence
of his own passions, arose from the same source--affection for me."

"Ah," replie