should say; but
I ought to add, that it is altogether for your sake, dear papa, that
I make it. Now let your mind feel tranquillity and ease; dismiss every
anxiety that distresses you, papa; for you may believe your daughter,
that there is no earthly sacrifice compatible with her duties as a
Christian which she would not make for your recovery. This interview is
now, perhaps, as much as your state of health can bear. Think, then, of
what I have said, papa; let it console and strengthen; and then it will,
I trust, help at least to bring about your recovery. Now, permit me to
withdraw."

"Wait a moment, my child. It is right that you should know the effect
of your goodness before you go. I feel already as if a mountain were
removed from my heart--even now I am better. God bless you, my own
dearest Lucy; you have saved your father. Let this consideration comfort
you and sustain you. Now you may go, my love."

When Lucy withdrew, which she did with a tottering step, she proceeded
to her own chamber, which, now that the energy necessary for the
struggle had abandoned her, she entered almost unconsciously, and with a
feeling of rapidly-increasing weakness. She approached the bell to ring
for her maid, which she was able to do with difficulty; and having
done so, she attempted to reach the sofa; but exhausted and overwrought
nature gave way, and she fell just sufficiently near it to have her
fall broken and her head supported by it, as she lay there apparently
lifeless. In this state Alley Mahon found her; but instead of ringing
an alarm, or attempting to collect a crowd of the servants to witness
a scene, and being besides a stout as well as a discreet and sensible
girl, she was able to raise her up, place her on a sofa, until, by the
assistance of cold water and some patience, she succeeded in restoring
her to life and consciousness.

"On opening her eyes she looked about, and Alley observed that her lips
were parched and dry.

"Here, my darling mistress," said the affectionate girl, who now wept
bitterly, "here, swallow a little cold water; it will moisten your lips,
and do you good."

She attempted to do so, but Ally saw that her hand trembled too much to
bring the water to her own lips. On swallowing it, it seemed to relieve
her a little; she then looked up into Alley's face, with a smile of
thanks so unutterably sweet and sorrowful, that the poor girl's tears
gushed out afresh.

"Take courage, my darling mistres