I passed a most uncomfortable hour alone, after Neb was gone.  Then a turnkey came to inform me that a gentleman and lady—­a clergyman, he believed—­were in the private parlour, and wished to see me.  It was doubtless Mr. Hardinge—­could his companion be Lucy?  I was too anxious, too eager, to lose any time, and, rushing toward the room, was at once admitted.  There they were—­Lucy and her father.  Neb had seen Chloe, in calling at Rupert’s door—­had heard much and told much.  Mr. Hardinge was on the point of going in quest of me; but, learning where I was, he had barely given his daughter time to put on a hat and shawl, and conducting her across the Park, brought her himself to visit me in prison.  I saw, at a glance, that Lucy was dreadfully agitated; that she was pale, though still handsomer than ever; and that she was Lucy herself, in character, as in person.

“Miles, my dear, dear boy!” cried the good old divine, folding me in his arms, “for this mercy, may God alone receive the praise!  Everybody gave you up, but Lucy and myself, and we could not, would not believe you, too, were lost to us for ever!”

As my former guardian still clasped me to his bosom, as if I still remained a child, I could perceive that dear Lucy was weeping as if ready to break her heart.  Then she looked up, and tried to smile; though I could see the effort was made solely on my account.  I caught her extended hand, and kissed it over and over again.  The dear, dear girl trembled in every fibre of her body.

“All my misfortunes are forgotten,” I cried, “in finding you thus, in finding you unchanged, in finding you still Lucy Hardinge!”

I scarce knew what I was uttering, though I saw Lucy’s face was covered with blushes, and that a smile, which I found of inexplicable signification, now rose readily enough to her beautiful mouth.  On the whole, I think there must have been some eight or ten minutes, during which neither of the three knew particularly well what was said or done.  Lucy was both smiles and tears; though keen anxiety to know what had occurred, and how I came to be in gaol, was strongly expressed in her countenance, as well as in some of her words.  As for myself, I was beside myself, and acted like a fool.

After a time, we were all seated, when I narrated the manner in which I had lost my ship, and the reason why Clawbonny had been sold, and why I supposed I was thus arrested.

“I am glad my cousin, John Wallingford, had no concern with these transactions; though I deeply regret the reason why my bond has passed into other hands.  It would have rendered my misfortunes still harder to be borne, could I suppose that a kinsman had laid so deep a plot to ruin me, under the semblance of kindness.  His death, however, sets that point at rest.”

“I do not like his talking of making you his heir, and neglecting to do it,” rejoined Mr. Hardinge.  “Men should never promise, and forget to redeem their words.  It has a suspicious look.”