han to
watch that countenance whilst moving under the influence of melancholy,
and to observe how quickly the depths of feeling, or the impulses of
tenderness, threw their delicious shadows into its expression--unless,
indeed, to watch the same face when lit up by humor, and animated into
radiance by mirth. Such is a faint outline of Lucy Gourlay, who, whether
in shadow or whether in light, was equally captivating and irresistible.

On entering the room, her father, incapable of appreciating even the
natural graced and beauty of her person, looked at her with a gaze of
sternness and inquiry for some moments, but seemed at a loss in what
terms to address her. She, however, spoke first, simply saying:

"Has anything discomposed you, papa?"

"I have been discomposed, Miss Gourlay"--for he seldom addressed her as
Lucy--"and I wish to have some serious conversation with you. Pray be
seated."

Lucy sat.

"I trust, Miss Gourlay," he proceeded, in a style partly interrogatory
and partly didactic--"I trust you are perfectly sensible that a child
like you owes full and unlimited obedience to her parents."

"So long, at least, sir, as her parents exact no duties from her that
are either unreasonable or unjust, or calculated to destroy her own
happiness. With these limitations, I reply in the affirmative."

"A girl like you, Miss Gourlay, has no right to make exceptions. Your
want of experience, which is only another name for your ignorance of
life, renders you incompetent to form an estimate of what constitutes,
or may constitute, your happiness."

"Happiness!--in what sense, sir?"

"In any sense, madam."

"Madam!" she replied, with much feeling. "Dear papa--if you will allow
me to call you so--why address me in a tone of such coldness, if not
of severity? All I ask of you is, that, when you do honor me by an
interview, you will remember that I am your daughter, and not speak to
me as you would to an utter stranger."

"The tone which I may assume toward you, Miss Gourlay, must be regulated
by your own obedience."

"But in what have I ever failed in obedience to you, my dear papa?"

"Perhaps you compliment your obedience prematurely, Lucy--it has never
yet been seriously tested."

Her beautiful face crimsoned at this assertion; for she well knew that
many a severe imposition had been placed upon her during girlhood, and
that, had she been any other girl than she was, her very youth would
have been forced into oppo