Lucy, the
Lord-Lieutenant of the Coun--"

"And what of that?" cried Brandon, proudly, and interrupting his
brother. "Is not the race of Brandon, which has matched its scions with
royalty, far nobler than that of the upstart stock of Mauleverer? What
is there presumptuous in the hope that the descendant of the Earls of
Suffolk should regild a faded name with some of the precious dust of the
quondam silversmiths of London? Besides," he continued, after a pause,
"Lucy will be rich, very rich, and before two years my rank may possibly
be of the same order as Mauleverer's!"

The squire stared; and Brandon, not giving him time to answer, resumed.
It is needless to detail the conversation; suffice it to say that
the artful barrister did not leave his brother till he had gained his
point,--till Joseph Brandon had promised to remain at Bath in possession
of the house and establishment of his brother; to throw no impediment on
the suit of Mauleverer; to cultivate society, as before; and above
all, not to alarm Lucy, who evidently did not yet favour Mauleverer
exclusively, by hinting to her the hopes and expectations of her uncle
and father. Brandon, now taking leave of his brother, mounted to the
drawing-room in search of Lucy. He found her leaning over the gilt cage
of one of her feathered favourites, and speaking to the little inmate
in that pretty and playful language in which all thoughts, innocent yet
fond, should be clothed. So beautiful did Lucy seem, as she was thus
engaged in her girlish and caressing employment, and so utterly unlike
one meet to be the instrument of ambitious designs, and the sacrifice of
worldly calculations, that Brandon paused, suddenly smitten at heart,
as he beheld her. He was not, however, slow in recovering himself; he
approached. "Happy he," said the man of the world, "for whom caresses
and words like these are reserved!"

Lucy turned. "It is ill!" she said, pointing to the bird, which sat with
its feathers stiff and erect, mute and heedless even of that voice which
was as musical as its own.

"Poor prisoner!" said Brandon; "even gilt cages and sweet tones cannot
compensate to thee for the loss of the air and the wild woods!"

"But," said Lucy, anxiously, "it is not confinement which makes it ill!
If you think so, I will release it instantly."

"How long have you had it?" asked Brandon.

"For three years!" said Lucy. "And is it your chief favourite?"

"Yes; it does not sing so prettily