“Ha!” exclaimed Lord Dunroe, “here is evil.  Goodness me!—­it is Miss Gourlay’s voice; I know it.  Let us go up; I fear something is wrong with her father.”

They accordingly sought the baronet’s apartment, attended by the servants, whom Lucy’s wild scream had alarmed, and brought also toward the same direction.  On entering the room, the body of Lucy was found lying beside, or rather across that of her father, whom, on removing her, they found to be dead.  Beside him lay a little phial, on which there was no label, but the small portion of liquid that was found in it was clear and colorless as water.  It was prussic acid.  Lucy was immediately removed, and committed to the care of Alley Mahon and some of the other females, and the body of the baronet was raised and placed upon his own bed.  The Dean and Lord Dunroe looked upon his lifeless but stern features with a feeling of awe.

“Alas!” exclaimed the good Dean, “and is it thus he has gone to his great account?  We shall not follow his spirit into another life; but it is miserable to reflect that one hour’s patience might have saved him to the world and to God, and showed him, after all, that the great object of his life had been accomplished.  Blind and impatient reasoner!—­what has he done?”

“Yes,” replied Dunroe, looking on him with a feeling of profound melancholy; “there he lies—­quiet enough now—­the tumults of his strong spirit are over forever.  That terrible heart is still at last—­that fiery pulse will beat no more!”

We have now very little to state which our readers may not anticipate.  Lucy and Lady Emily, each made happy in the great object of woman’s heart—­love, only exchanged residences.

Lucy’s life was a long and bountiful blessing to her fellow-creatures.  Her feelings were never contracted within the narrow circle of her own class, but embraced the great one of general humanity.  She acted upon the noble principle of receiving from God the ample gifts of wealth and position, not for the purpose of wasting them in expensive and selfish enjoyments, but for that of causing them to diffuse among her fellow-creatures the greatest possible portion of happiness.  This she considered her high destination, and well and nobly she fulfilled it in this, the great and true purpose of life, her husband and she went heart-in-heart, hand-in-hand; nor were Sir Edward Gourlay, and his kind and gentle Emily, far behind them in all their good-will and good works.

Lord Dunroe, having no strength of character to check his profligate impulses, was, in the course of some years, thrown off by all his high connections, and reduced to great indigence.  Norton’s notion of his character was correct.  The society of that treacherous sharper was necessary to him, and in some time after they were reconciled.  Norton ultimately became driver of a celebrated mail-coach on the great York road, and the other, its guard; thus resolving, as it would seem, to keep the whip-hand of the weak and foolish nobleman in every position of life.  Several of our English readers may remember them, for they were both remarkable characters, and great favorites with the public.