on.

"I have a favor to ask, papa," said the generous and considerate girl.

"It is granted, my darling Lucy, before I hear it," he replied. "What
is it? Oh how happy I feel that you have returned to me; I shall not
now pass away my last moments on a solitary deathbed. But what is your
request, my love?"

"You have to-day, papa, told me that the danger of your present attack
proceeds from the anxious state of your mind. Now, my request is, that I
may be permitted to make that state easier; to remove that anxiety, and,
if possible, all other anxiety and care that press upon you. You know,
papa, the topic upon which we have always differed; now, rather than any
distress of feeling connected with it should stand in the way of your
recovery, I wish to say that you may I count upon my most perfect
obedience."

"You mean the Dunroe business, dear Lucy?"

"I mean the Dunroe business, papa."

"And do you mean to say that you are willing and ready to marry him?"

The reply to this was indeed the coming away of the branch by which she
had hung on the precipice of life. On hearing the question,
therefore, she paused a little; but the pause did not proceed from
any indisposition to answer it, but simply from what seemed to be the
refusal of her natural powers to enable her to do so. When about to
speak, she felt as if all her physical strength had abandoned her; as
if her will, previously schooled to the task, had become recusant. She
experienced a general chill and coldness of her whole body; a cessation
for a moment or two of the action of the heart, whilst her very sight
became dim and indistinct. She thought, however, in this unutterable
moment of agony and despair, that she must act; and without feeling able
to analyze either her thoughts or sensations, in this terrible tumult of
her spirit, she heard herself repeat the reply, "I am, papa."

For a moment her father forgot his part, and started up into a sitting
posture with as much apparent energy as ever. Another moment, however,
was sufficient to make him feel his error.

"Oh," said he, "what have I done? Let me pause a little, my dear Lucy;
that effort to express the joy you have poured into my heart was nearly
too much for me. You make this promise, Lucy, not with a view merely to
ease my mind and contribute to my recovery; but, should I get well, with
a firm intention to carry it actually into execution?"

"Such, papa, is my intention--my fixed determination, I