ded to friendship.
I cannot forget how often, and how successfully, we have combined. I
should grieve to see our ancient and glorious alliance annulled. I am
yet in hopes that we may both obtain our objects through its medium.'

'I am not aware,' said Sir Lucius, with more feeling, 'that I have given
you any cause to complain of my want of candour. We are in a difficult
position. I have nothing to suggest, but I am ready to listen. You know
how ready I am to adopt all your suggestions; and I know how seldom you
have wanted an expedient.'

'The little Dacre, then, must not marry her cousin; but we cannot
flatter ourselves that such a girl will not want to marry some one;
I have a conviction that this is her decisive season. She must be
occupied. In a word, Lucy, some one must be found.'

The Baronet started from his chair, and nearly knocked down a table.

'Confound your tables, Bertha,' said he, in a pettish tone; 'I can never
consult in a room full of tables.' He walked into the conservatory, and
she followed him. He seemed plunged in thought. They were again silent.
Suddenly he seized her hand and led her back to the sofa, on which they
both sat down.

'My dear friend,' he said, in a tone of agitated solemnity. 'I will
conceal no longer from you what I have sometimes endeavoured to conceal
from myself: I love that girl to distraction.' 'You!'

'Yes; to distraction. Ever since we first met her image has haunted me.
I endeavoured to crush a feeling which promised only to plunge me into
anxiety, and to distract my attention from my important objects; but
in vain, in vain. Her unexpected appearance yesterday has revived my
passion with triple fervour. I have passed a sleepless night, and rise
with the determination to obtain her.'

'You know your own power, Lucius, better perhaps than I do, or the
world. We rank it high; none higher; yet, nevertheless, I look upon this
declaration as insanity.'

He raised her hand to his lips, and pressed it with delicate warmth, and
summoned his most insinuating tone. 'With your aid, Bertha, I should not
despair!'

'Lucy, I am your friend; perhaps your best friend: but these Dacres!
Would it were anyone but a Dacre! No, no, this cannot be.'

'Bertha, you know me better than the world: I am a roue, and you are
my friend; but, believe me, I am not quite so vain as to indulge for
a moment in the idea that May Dacre should be aught to me but what all
might approve and all might h