forever.  What would Dunroe say if he heard it? as it is certain he will.  Then, again, here is the visit from this conscientious old blockhead, Lord Cullamore, who won’t allow me to manage my daughter after my own manner.  He must hear from her own lips, forsooth, how she relishes this union.  He must see her, he says; but, if she betrays me now and continues restive, I shall make her feel what it is to provoke me.  This interview will ruin me with old Cullamore; but in the meantime I must see the girl, and let her know what the consequences will be if she peaches against me.”

All this, of course, passed through his mind briefly, as he walked to and fro, according to his usual habit.  After a few minutes he rang, and with a lowering brow, and in a stern voice, ordered Miss Gourlay to be conducted to him.  This was accordingly done, her maid having escorted her to the library door, for it is necessary to say here, that she had been under confinement since the day of her father’s visit to Lord Cullamore.

She appeared pale and dejected, but at the same time evidently sustained by serious composure and firmness.  On entering the room, her father gazed at her with a long, searching look, that seemed as if he wished to ascertain, from her manner, whether imprisonment had in any degree tamed her down to his purposes.  He saw, indeed, that she was somewhat paler than usual, but he perceived at once that not one jot of her resolution had abated.  After an effort, he endeavored to imitate her composure, and in some remote degree the calm and serene dignity of her manner.  Lucy, who considered herself a prisoner, stood after having entered the room, as if in obedience to her father’s wishes.

“Lucy, be seated,” said he; and whilst speaking, he placed himself in an arm-chair, near the fire, but turned toward her, and kept his eyes steadily fixed upon her countenance.  “Lucy,” he proceeded, “you are to receive a visit from Lord Cullamore, by and by, and it rests with you this day whether I shall stand in his estimation a dishonored man or not.”

“I do not understand you, papa.”

“You soon shall.  I paid him a visit, as you are aware, at his own request, a few days ago.  The object of that visit was to discuss the approaching union between you and his son.  He said he would not have you pressed against your inclinations, and expressed an apprehension that the match was not exactly in accordance with your wishes.  Now, mark me, Lucy, I undertook, upon my own responsibility, as well as upon yours, to assure him that it had your fullest concurrence, and I expect that you shall bear me out and sustain me in this assertion.”

“I who am engaged to another?”

“Yes, but clandestinely, without your father’s knowledge or approbation.”

“I admit my error, papa; I fully and freely acknowledge it, and the only atonement I can make to you for it is, to assure you that although I am not likely ever to marry according to your wishes, yet I shall never marry against them.”