Whilst he spoke, Lucy kept her eyes fixed upon his noble features, now wrought up into an earnest but melancholy animation, and when he had concluded, she exclaimed, “And this is the man of whose love they would deprive me, whose very acknowledgment of it comes upon my spirit like an anthem of the heart; and I know not what I have done to be so tried; yet, as it is the will of God, I receive it for the best.  Dear Charles, you must go; but you spoke of remonstrating with my father.  Do not so; an interview would only aggravate him.  And as you admit that certain documents are wanted to produce a change in his opinions, you may see clearly that until you produce them an expostulation would be worse than useless.  On the contrary, it might precipitate matters and ruin all.  Now go.”

“Perhaps you are right,” he replied, “as you always are; how can I go?  How can I tear myself from you?  Dearest, dearest Lucy, what a love is mine!  But that is not surprising—­who could love you with an ordinary passion?”

Apprehensive that her father might return, she rose up, but so completely had she been exhausted by the excitement of this interview that he was obliged to assist her.

“I hear the carriage,” said she; “it is at the door:  will you ring for my maid?  And now, Charles, as it is possible that we must meet no more, say, before you go, that you forgive me.”

“There is everything in your conduct to be admired and loyed, my dearest Lucy; but nothing to be forgiven.”

“Is it possible,” she said, as if in communion with herself, “that we shall never meet, never speak, never, probably, look upon each other more?”

Her lover observed that her face became suddenly pale, and she staggered a little, after which she sank and would have fallen had he not supported her in his arms.  He had already rung for Alley Mahon, and there was nothing for it but to place Lucy once more upon the sofa, whither he was obliged to carry her, for she had fainted.  Having placed her there, it became necessary to support her head upon his bosom, and in doing so—­is it in human nature to be severe upon him?—­he rapturously kissed her lips, and pressed her to his heart in a long, tender, and melancholy embrace.  The appearance of her maid, however, who always accompanied her in the carriage, terminated this pardonable theft, and after a few words of ordinary conversation they separated.

CHAPTER XXXVII.  Dandy’s Visit to Summerfield Cottage

—­Where he Makes a most Ungallant Mistake—­Returns with Tidings of both Mrs. Norton and Fenton—­and Generously Patronizes his Master

On the morning after this interview the stranger was waited on by Birney, who had returned from France late on the preceding night.

“Well, my friend,” said he, after they had shaken hands, “I hope you are the bearer of welcome intelligence!”

The gloom and disappointment that were legible in this man’s round, rosy, and generally good-humored countenance were observed, however, by the stranger at a second glance.