Her father approached her, and whispered to her, and caressed her, and seemed playful and even light-hearted, as if the day were a day of joy; but out strongly against his mirth stood the solemn spirit of her sorrow; and when he went to bring over Dunroe, and when he took her passive hand, in order to place it in his—­the agony, the horror, with which she submitted to the act, were expressed in a manner that made her appear, as that which she actually was, the lovely but pitiable victim of ambition.  Alley Mahon’s grief was loud; Lady Gourlay, Mrs. Mainwaring, Lady Emily, all were in tears.

“I am proud to see this,” said Sir Thomas, bowing, as if he were bound to thank them, and attempting, with his usual tact, to turn their very sympathy into a hollow and untruthful compliment; “I am proud to see this manifestation of strong attachment to my daughter; it is a proof of how she is loved.”

Lucy had not once opened her lips.  She had not strength to do so; her very voice had abandoned her.

Two or three persons besides the baronet and the bridegroom felt a deep interest in what was going forward, or about to go forward.  Thomas Gourlay now absolutely hated her; so did his mother; so did his uncle, Thomas Corbet.  Each and all of them felt anxious to have her married, in order that she might be out of Tom’s way, and that he might enjoy a wider sphere of action.  Old Anthony Corbet stood looking on, with his thin lips compressed closely together, his keen eyes riveted on the baronet, and an expression legible on every trace of his countenance, such as might well have constituted him some fearful incarnation of hatred and vengeance.  Lady Gourlay was so completely engrossed by Lucy that she did not notice Fenton, and the latter, from his position, could see nothing of either the bride or the baronet, but their backs.

Lord Dunroe felt that his best course was to follow the advice of Sir Thomas, which was, not to avail himself of his position with Lucy, but to observe a respectful manner, and to avoid entering into any conversation whatsoever with her, at least until after the ceremony should be performed.  He consequently kept his distance, with the exception of receiving her passive hand, as we have shown, and maintained a low and subdued conversation with Mr. Roberts.  The only person likely to interrupt the solemn feeling which prevailed was old Sam, who had his handkerchief several times alternately to his nose and eyes, and who looked about him with an indignant expression, that seemed to say, “There’s something wrong here—­some one ought to speak; I wish my boy would step forward.  This, surely, is not the heart of man.”

At length the baronet approached Lucy, and seemed, by his action, as well as his words, to ask her consent to something.  Lucy looked at him, but neither by her word nor gesture appeared to accede to or refuse his request; and her father, after complacently bowing, as if to thank her for her acquiescence, said,