“Out once more came the cudgel, and on they laid; but now I wasn’t common stone but whitestone.  Lay on, say I; I see, or rather I feel, that the crown is before me.  If I must die a marthyr to a dacent spirit, why I must; and so God’s blessing be with you all.  I’ll shine in heaven for this yet.

“I think now, Miss, you’ll grant that I know something about life.”

“Alice,” replied Lucy, “I have often heard it said, that the humblest weeds which grow contain virtues that are valuable, if they were only known.  Your experience is not without a moral, and your last lover was the worst, because he was mean; but when I think of him—­the delicate, the generous, the disinterested, the faithful, the noble-hearted—­alas, Alice!” she exclaimed, throwing herself in a fresh paroxysm of grief upon the bosom of her maid, “you know not the incredible pain—­the hopeless agony—­of the sacrifice I am about to make.  My father, however, is the author of my being, and as his very life depends upon my strength of mind now, I shall, rather than see him die whilst I selfishly gratify my own will—­yes, Alice, I shall—­I shall—­and may heaven give me strength for it!—­I shall sacrifice love to duty, and save him; that is, if it be not already too late.”

“And if he does recover,” replied Alice, whose tears flowed along with those of her mistress, but whose pretty eye began to brighten with indignant energy as she spoke, “if he does recover, and if ever he turns a cold look, or uses a harsh word to you, may I die for heaven if he oughtn’t to be put in the public stocks and made an example of to the world.”

“The scene, however, will be changed then, Alice; for the subject matter of all our misunderstandings will have been removed.  Yet, Alice, amidst all the darkness and suffering that lie before me, there is one consolation”—­and as she uttered these words, there breathed throughout her beautiful features a spirit of sorrow, so deep, so mournful, so resigned, and so touching, that Alley in turn laid her head on her bosom, exclaiming, as she looked up into her eyes, “Oh, may the God of mercy have pity on you, my darling mistress! what wouldn’t your faithful Alley do to give you relief? and she can’t;” and then the affectionate creature wept bitterly.  “But what is the consolation?” she asked, hoping to extract from the melancholy girl some thought or view of her position that might inspire them with hope or comfort.

“The consolation I allude to, Alice, is the well-known fact that a broken heart cannot long be the subject of sorrow; and, besides, my farewell of life will not be painful; for then I shall be able to reflect with peace that, difficult as was the duty imposed upon me, I shall have performed it.  Now, dear Alice, withdraw; I wish to be alone for some time, that I may reflect as I ought, and endeavor to gain strength for the sacrifice that is before me.”

Her eye as she looked upon Alley was, though filled with a melancholy lustre, expressive at the same time of a spirit so lofty, calm, and determined, that its whole character partook of absolute sublimity.  Alley, in obedience to her words, withdrew; but not without an anxious and earnest effort at imparting comfort.