comfortable sensation which
checks my joy at her return mean? Is it that involuntary homage which
they say vice is compelled to pay to purity, truth, and virtue? I know
not; but I feel disturbed, humbled with an impression like that of
guilt--an impression which makes me feel as if there actually were
such a thing as conscience. As my objects, however, are for the foolish
girl's advancement, I am determined to play the game out, and for that
purpose, as I know now by experience that neither harshness nor violence
will do, I shall have recourse to tenderness and affection. I must touch
her heart, excite her sympathy, and throw myself altogether upon her
generosity. Come then--and now for the assumption of a new character."

Having concluded this train of meditation, he rang for Gibson, who
appeared.

"Gibson, let Miss Gourlay know that, ill as I am, I shall try to see
her: be precise in the message, sir; use my own words."

"Certainly, Sir Thomas," replied the footman, who immediately withdrew
to deliver it.

The baronet, when Gibson went out again, took a pair of pillows,
with which the sofa was latterly furnished, in order to maintain the
appearance of illness, whenever it might be necessary, and having placed
them under his head, laid himself down, pulled the nightcap over his
brows, and affected all the symptoms of a man who was attempting to
struggle against some serious and severe attack.

In this state he lay, when Lucy entering the room, approached, in a
flood of tears, exclaiming, as she knelt by the sofa, "Oh, papa--dear
papa, forgive me;" and as she spoke, she put her arms round his neck,
and kissed him affectionately. "Dear papa," she proceeded, "you are
ill--very ill, I fear; but will you not forgive your poor child for
having abandoned you as she did? I have returned, however, to stay with
you, to tend you, to soothe and console you as far as any and every
effort of mine can. You shall have no nurse but me, papa. All that human
hands can do to give you ease--all that the sincerest affection can do
to sustain and cheer you, your own Lucy will do. But speak to me, papa;
am I not your own Lucy still?"

Her father turned round, as if by a painful effort, and having looked
upon her for some time, replied, feebly, "Yes, you are--you are my own
Lucy still."

This admission brought a fresh gush of tears from the affectionate girl,
who again exclaimed, "Ah, papa, I fear you are very ill; but those words
are