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. 7, 1863.] seat on the hearth-rug. Sir Henry Tempest had not seen many such faces as that: he had not met with many natures so innocent and charming. Lucy was made to be admired as well as loved.

“If there is one parti more desirable than another in the whole county, it is Lord Garle,” resumed Lady Verner. “The eldest son of the Earl of Elmsley, his position naturally renders him so: but, had he neither rank nor wealth, he would not be much less desirable. His looks are prepossessing; his qualities of head and heart admirable; he enjoys the respect of all. Not a young lady for miles round but—I will use a vulgar phrase, Sir Henry, but it is expressive of the facts—would jump at him. Lucy refused him.”

“Indeed,” replied Sir Henry, gazing at Lucy’s glowing face, at the smile that hovered round her lips. Lady Verner resumed:

“She refused him in the most decidedly positive manner that you can imagine. She has refused also one or two others. They were not so desirable in position as Lord Garle: but they were very well. And her motive I never have been able to get at. It has vexed me very much; I have pointed out to her that whenever you returned home you might think I had been neglectful of her interests.”

“No, no,” replied Sir Henry. “I could not fancy coming home to find Lucy married. I should not have liked it: she would have seemed to be gone from me.”

“But she must marry sometime, and the years are going on,” returned Lady Verner.

“Yes, I suppose she must.”

“At least, I should say she would, were it anybody but Lucy,” rejoined Lady Verner, qualifying her words. “After the refusal of Lord Garle, one does not know what to think. You will see him and judge for yourself.”

“What was the motive of the refusal, Lucy?” inquired Sir Henry.

He spoke with a smile, in a gay, careless tone: but Lucy appeared to take the question in a serious light. Her eyelids drooped, her whole face became scarlet, her demeanour almost agitated.

“I did not care to marry, papa,” she answered, in a low tone. “I did not care for Lord Garle.”

“One grievous fear has been upon me ever since, haunting my rest at night, disturbing my peace by day,” resumed Lady Verner. “I must speak of it to you, Sir Henry. Absurd as the notion really is, and as at times it appears to me that it must be, still it does intrude, and I should scarcely be acting an honourable part by you to conceal it, sad as the calamity would be.”

Lucy looked up in surprise. Sir Henry in a sort of puzzled wonder.

“When she refused Lord Garle, whom she acknowledged she liked, and forbade him to entertain any future hope whatever, I naturally began to look about me for the cause. I could only come to one conclusion, I am sorry to say—that she cared too much for another.”

Lucy sat in an agony: the scarlet of her face changing to whiteness.

“I arrived at the conclusion, I say,” continued Lady Verner, “and I began to consider who the object could be. I called over in my mind all the gentlemen she was in the habit of seeing; and unfortunately there was only one—only one upon whom my suspicions could fix. I recalled phrases of affection openly lavished upon him by Lucy; I remembered that there was no society she seemed to enjoy and to be so much at ease with, as his. I have done what I could since, to keep him at arm’s length: and I shall never forgive myself for having been so blind. But you see I no more thought she, or any other girl, could fall in love with him, than that she could with one of my servant men.”

“Lady Verner, you should not say it!” burst forth Lucy, with vehemence, as she turned her white face, her trembling lips, to Lady Verner. “Surely I might refuse to marry Lord Garle without caring unduly for another!”

Lady Verner looked quite aghast at the outburst. “My dear, does not this prove that I am right?”

“But who is it?” interrupted Sir Henry Tempest.

“Alas!—Who! I could almost faint in telling it to you,” groaned Lady Verner. “My unfortunate son, Jan.”

The relief was so great to Lucy; the revulsion of feeling so sudden; the idea called up altogether so comical, that she clasped her hands one within the other, and laughed out in glee.

“Oh, Lady Verner! Poor Jan! I never thought you meant him. Papa,” she added, turning eagerly to Sir Henry, “Jan is downright worthy and good, but I should not like to marry him.”

“Jan may be worthy; but he is not handsome,” gravely remarked Sir Henry.

“He is better than handsome,” returned Lucy. “I shall love Jan all my life, papa. But not in that way.”

Her perfect openness, her ease of manner, gave an earnest of the truth with which she spoke: and Lady Verner was summarily relieved of the fear which had haunted her rest.

“Why could you not have told me this before, Lucy?”

“Dear Lady Verner, how could I tell it you? How was I to know anything about it?”

“True,” said Lady Verner. “I was simple; to suppose any young lady could ever give a thought to that unfortunate Jan! You saw him, Sir Henry? Only fancy his being my son and his father’s!”

“He is certainly not like either of you,” was Sir Henry’s reply. “Your other son was like both. Very like his father.”

“Ah! he is a son!” spoke Lady Verner, in her enthusiasm. “A son worth having; a son that his father would be proud of, were he alive. Handsome; good; noble;—there are few like Lionel Verner. I spoke in praise of Lord Garle, but he is not like Lionel. A good husband, a good son, a good man. His conduct under his misfortunes was admirable.”

“His misfortunes have been like a romance,” remarked Sir Henry.

“More like that than reality. You will see him presently. I asked him to dine with me,