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Rh she feared to lose that most beloved face, nor did she turn for one moment away. Scarcely could she believe in the reality.

"You are lovelier than ever, my Lucy," said Francis.

He was about to have added, that he had come forth on purpose to seek her, but the flattering falsehood died on his lips—for his life he could not at that moment have deceived her even in a trifle.

"Ah, Francis! your mother!" exclaimed she, turning pale; "I must leave you."

This was easy to say; but where the heart is reluctant, the steps linger. What needs it to repeat that gentle discourse which all can either imagine or remember? Their interview was, however, brief; for Francis was little desirous of a discovery, and he knew he was expected by both father and brother. It was long before Lucy left that little lonely dell; and when she did, it was with a sensation of passionate happiness beating at her heart which no fear for the future, no consciousness of disparity, could restrain. Ah, how little suffices to make earth a paradise in the young and eager eyes of early and unsuspicious love!

Francis was met by his brother just at the entrance of the wood; for Robert was too full of