That they approached him with exulting hearts—­that he joined their hands, and blessed them—­is all that is necessary to be mentioned now.

In the course of that evening, a reverend dignitary of the church, Dean Palmer, whom we have mentioned occasionally in this narrative, and a very different man indeed from our friend Dr. Sombre, called at Sir Thomas Goulray’s to inquire after his health, and to see Miss Gourlay.  He was shown up to the drawing room, where Lucy, very weak, but still relieved from the great evil which she had dreaded so much, soon joined him.

“Miss Gourlay,” said he, “I trust your father is better?”

“He is better, sir, in mere bodily health.  The cupping, and blistering, and loss of blood from the arms, have relieved him, and his delirium has nearly passed away; but, then, he is silent and gloomy, and depressed, it would seem, beyond the reach of hope or consolation.”

“Do you think he would see me?”

“No, sir, he would not,” she replied.  “Two or three clergymen have called for that purpose; but the very mention of them threw him into a state almost bordering on frenzy.”

“Under these circumstances,” replied the good Dean, “it would be wrong to press him.  When he has somewhat recovered, I hope he may be prevailed on to raise his thoughts to a better life than this.  And now, my dear young lady, I have a favor to request at your hands.”

“At mine, sir!  If there is any thing within my power—­”

“This is, I assure you.”

“Pray, what is it, sir?”

“Would you so far oblige me as to receive a visit from Lord Dunroe?”

“In any other thing within the limits of my power, sir—­in anything that ought to be asked of me—­I would feel great pleasure in obliging you; but in this you must excuse me.”

“I saw Lord Cullamore in the early part of the day,” replied Dean Palmer, “and he told me to say, that it was his wish you should see him; he added, that he felt it was a last request.”

“I shall see him,” replied the generous girl, “instantly; for his lordship’s sake I shall see him, although I cannot conceive for what purpose Lord Dunroe can wish it.”

“It is sufficient, Miss Gourlay, that you consent to see him.  He is below in my carriage; shall I bring him up?”

“Do so, sir.  I am going to prevail, if I can, on papa, to take a composing draught, which the doctors have ordered him.  I shall return again in a few minutes.”

Sir Thomas Gourlay had got up some hours before, and was seated in an armchair as she entered.

“How do you feel now, papa?” she asked, with the utmost affection and tenderness; “oh, do not be depressed; through all changes of life your Lucy’s affections will be with you.”

“Lucy,” said he, “come and kiss me.”

In a moment her arms were about his neck, and she whispered encouragingly, whilst caressing him, “Papa, now that I have not been thrust down that fearful abyss, believe me, we shall be very happy yet.”