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294 when the chambermaid of the hostelry knocked at her door, and delivered a message from the Squire, begging her to come down to him in the parlour. With a heart that beat so violently it almost seemed to wear away its very life, Lucy slowly, and with tremulous steps, descended to the parlour. On opening the door, she saw Clifford standing: in the recess of the window his face was partly turned from her, and his eyes downcast. The good old Squire sat in an elbow-chair, and a sort of puzzled and half-satisfied complacency gave expression to his features.

"Come hither, child," said he, clearing his throat; "Captain Clifford—a-hem!—has done you the honour—to—and I dare say you will be very much surprised—not that, for my own part, I think there is much to wonder at in it—but such may be my partial opinion—(and it is certainly very natural in me)—to make you a declaration of love. He declares, moreover, that he is the most miserable of men, and that he would die sooner than have the presumption to hope. Therefore