Lucy’s eyes glistened with delight, and, stooping down, she imprinted a kiss upon the forehead of her considerate and kind friend.

“Thank you, my dear Mrs. Mainwaring,” she exclaimed:  “a thousand thanks for that admirable suggestion.  Many a time has my heart yearned to know that extraordinary woman, of whose virtues the world talks so much, and whose great and trusting spirit even sorrow and calamity cannot prostrate.  Yes, I will follow your advice; I will call upon her; for, even setting aside all selfish considerations, I should wish to know her for her own worth.”

“Very well, then; I am going in to see your father to-morrow—­had you not better come with me?  I shall leave you at her house, and can call for you after my interview with him shall have been concluded.  I shall order a chaise from the hotel to be with us in the morning, so that you may run little or no risk of being seen or known.”

“That will be delightful,” replied Lucy; “for I am sure Lady Gourlay will be a kind and affectionate friend to me.  In seeking her acquaintance—­may I hope, her friendship—­I am not conscious of violating any command or duty.  Ever since I recollect, it was a well-known fact, that the families, that is to say, my father and uncle, never met, nor visited—­mamma knew, of course, that to keep up an intimacy, under such circumstances, would occasion much domestic disquietude.  This is all I know about it; but I never remember having heard any injunction not to visit.”

“No,” replied Mrs. Mainwaring; “such an injunction would resemble that of a man who should desire his child not to forget to rise next morning, or, to be sure to breathe through his lungs.  I can very well understand why such a prohibition was never given in that case.  Well, then, we shall start pretty early in the morning, please God; but remember that you must give me a full detail of your reception and interview.”

The next day, about the hour of two o’clock, a chaise drew up at the residence of Lady Gourlay, and on the hall-door being opened, a steady, respectable-looking old footman made his appearance at the chaise door, and, in reply to their inquiries, stated, “that her ladyship had been out for some time, but was then expected every moment.”

“What is to be done?” said Lucy, in some perplexity; “or how am I to bestow myself if she does not return soon?”

“We expect her ladyship every moment, madam,” replied the man; “and if you will have the goodness to allow me to conduct you to the drawing-room, you will not have to wait long—­I may assure you of that.”

“You had better go in, my dear,” said Mrs. Mainwaring, “and I shall call for you in about an hour, or, perhaps, a little better.”

It was so arranged, and Lucy went in accordingly.

We must now follow Mrs. Mainwaring, who, on inquiring if she could see Sir Thomas Gourlay, was informed by Gibson, who had got his cue, that he was not in a condition to see any one at present.