ong,
Mauleverer, charmed out of himself, gently took her hand, and holding
the soft treasure in his own, scarcely less soft, he murmured,--

"Angel, sing on! Life would be like your own music, if I could breathe
it away at your feet!"

There had been a time when Lucy would have laughed outright at this
declaration; and even as it was, a suppressed and half-arch smile played
in the dimples of her beautiful mouth, and bewitchingly contrasted the
swimming softness of her eyes.

Drawing rather an erroneous omen from the smile, Mauleverer rapturously
continued, still detaining the hand which Lucy endeavoured to
extricate,--

"Yes, enchanting Miss Brandon! I, who have for so many years boasted
of my invulnerable heart, am subdued at last. I have long, very long,
struggled against my attachment to you. Alas! it is in vain; and you
behold me now utterly at your mercy. Make me the most miserable of men
or the most enviable. Enchantress, speak!"

"Really, my lord," said Lucy, hesitating, yet rising, and freeing
herself from his hand, "I feel it difficult to suppose you serious; and
perhaps this is merely a gallantry to me by way of practice on others."

"Sweet Lucy, if I may so call you," answered Mauleverer, with an ardent
gaze, "do not, I implore you, even for a moment, affect to mistake me!
Do not for a moment jest at what, to me, is the bane or bliss of life!
Dare I hope that my hand and heart, which I now offer you, are not
deserving of your derision?"

Lucy gazed on her adorer with a look of serious inquiry; Brandon still
appeared to sleep.

"If you are in earnest, my lord," said Lucy, after a pause, "I am truly
and deeply sorry. For the friend of my uncle I shall always have esteem;
believe that I am truly sensible of the honour you render me, when I add
my regret that I can have no other sentiment than esteem."

A blank and puzzled bewilderment for a moment clouded the expressive
features of Mauleverer; it passed away. "How sweet is your rebuke!" said
he. "Yes; I do not yet deserve any other sentiment than esteem. You are
not to be won precipitately; a long trial, a long course of attentions,
a long knowledge of my devoted and ardent love, alone will entitle me
to hope for a warmer feeling in your breast. Fix then your own time of
courtship, angelic Lucy!---a week, nay, a month! Till then, I will not
even press you to appoint that day which to me will be the whitest of my
life!"

"My lord!" said Lucy, smiling