rated into my
father's weakness on the former point; or perhaps you yourself have not
avoided all the errors into which men are hurried,--perhaps you have
been imprudent or thoughtless, perhaps you have (fashion is contagious)
played beyond your means or incurred debts: these are faults, it is
true, and to be regretted, yet surely not irreparable."

For that instant can it be wondered that all Clifford's resolution and
self-denial deserted him, and lifting his eyes, radiant with joy and
gratitude, to the face which bent in benevolent innocence towards him,
he exclaimed,--

"No, Miss Brandon!--no, Lucy!--dear, angel Lucy! my faults are less
venial than these, but perhaps they are no less the consequence of
circumstances and contagion; perhaps it may not be too late to repair
them. Would you--you indeed deign to be my guardian, I might not despair
of being saved!"

"If," said Lucy, blushing deeply and looking down, while she spoke
quick and eagerly, as if to avoid humbling him by her offer,--"if, Mr.
Clifford, the want of wealth has in any way occasioned you uneasiness
or--or error, do believe me--I mean us--so much your friends as not for
an instant to scruple in relieving us of some little portion of our last
night's debt to you."

"Dear, noble girl!" said Clifford, while there writhed upon his lips
one of those smiles of powerful sarcasm that sometimes distorted his
features, and thrillingly impressed upon Lucy a resemblance to one very
different in reputation and character to her lover,--"do not attribute
my misfortunes to so petty a source; it is not money that I shall want
while I live, though I shall to my last breath remember this delicacy in
you, and compare it with certain base remembrances in my own mind. Yes!
all past thoughts and recollections will make me hereafter worship you
even more than I do now; while in your heart they will--unless Heaven
grant me one prayer--make you scorn and detest me!"

"For mercy's sake, do not speak thus!" said Lucy, gazing in indistinct
alarm upon the dark and working features of her lover. "Scorn, detest
you! Impossible! How could I, after the remembrance of last night?"

"Ay! of last night," said Clifford, speaking through his ground
teeth,--"there is much in that remembrance to live long in both of us;
but you--you--fair angel" (and all harshness and irony vanishing at once
from his voice and countenance, yielded to a tender and deep sadness,
mingled with a respect th