istaken as well as
another,--only I don't believe I am mistaken."

When this little scene took place, only a month remained of the time
for which Lucy's services were engaged to Lady Linlithgow, and no
definite arrangement had been made as to her future residence. Lady
Fawn was prepared to give her a home, and to Lady Fawn, as it seemed,
she must go. Lady Linlithgow had declared herself unwilling to
continue the existing arrangement because, as she said, it did not
suit her that her companion should be engaged to marry her late
sister's nephew. Not a word had been said about the deanery for the
last month or two, and Lucy, though her hopes in that direction had
once been good, was far too high-spirited to make any suggestion
herself as to her reception by her lover's family. In the ordinary
course of things she would have to look out for another situation,
like any other governess in want of a place; but she could do this
only by consulting Lady Fawn; and Lady Fawn when consulted would
always settle the whole matter by simply bidding her young friend to
come to Fawn Court.

There must be some end of her living at Fawn Court. So much Lucy told
herself over and over again. It could be but a temporary measure.
If--if it was to be her fate to be taken away from Fawn Court a
happy, glorious, triumphant bride, then the additional obligation put
upon her by her dear friends would not be more than she could bear.
But to go to Fawn Court, and, by degrees, to have it acknowledged
that another place must be found for her, would be very bad. She
would infinitely prefer any intermediate hardship. How, then, should
she know? As soon as she was able to escape from the countess, she
went up to her own room, and wrote the following letter. She studied
the words with great care as she wrote them,--sitting and thinking
before she allowed her pen to run on the paper.

MY DEAR FRANK,

It is a long time since we met;--is it not? I do not write
this as a reproach; but because my friends tell me that I
should not continue to think myself engaged to you. They
say that, situated as you are, you cannot afford to marry
a penniless girl, and that I ought not to wish you to
sacrifice yourself. I do understand enough of your affairs
to know that an imprudent marriage may ruin you, and I
certainly do not wish to be the cause of injury to you.
All I ask is that you should tell me the truth. It is not
that I am