ou
must be aware that Mr. Houstoun could only have contemplated a temporary
acquaintance with this girl. I do not fear that in his most reckless
moment he could have thought of such a _mesalliance_--but this young
woman must be saved--she was a _protege_ of Sir Edward Houstoun, and for
his sake must not be allowed to come to harm--may I trouble you to send
her to me?"

The request was given very much in the style of a command. Mrs. Blakely
would not confess that she had great doubts of her power to comply with
it, but this would have been sufficiently evident to any one who had
marked the uncertain air and softened tone with which Lady Houstoun's
wishes were made known to Lucy. Indignant as she was at Mrs. Blakely's
impertinent interference, Lucy scarcely regretted Lady Houstoun's
acquaintance with her son's feelings. We do not know that far below all
those acknowledged impulses leading her to comply with the lady's
request, there did not lie some romantic hope that influences were astir
through which

"Pride might be quell'd and love be free,"

but this she did not whisper even to her own heart.

"Better that the lady should know all--she will act both wisely and
tenderly--perhaps for her son's sake, she will aid me to leave
New-York." Such was the only language into which she allowed even her
thought silently to form itself.

Arranging her simple dress with as much care as though she were about to
meet her lover himself, Lucy set out for her interview with Lady
Houstoun. She had but a short distance to traverse, but she lingered on
her way, oppressed by a tremulous anxiety. She was apprehensive of she
knew not what or wherefore--for again and again her heart acquitted her
of all blame. At length she is at the door--it opens, and, with a
courtesy which the servants of Mrs. Blakely never show to a visitor who
comes without carriage or attendants, she is ushered into the presence
of Lady Houstoun. The lady fixes her eyes upon her as she enters, bows
her head slightly in acknowledgment of her courtesy, and says coldly,
"You are the young woman, I suppose, whom Mrs. Blakely was to send to
me?"

Lucy paused for a moment, to still the throbbing of her heart, before
she attempted to reply. The thought flashed through her mind, "I am a
woman, and young, and therefore she should pity me"--but she answered in
a low, sweet, tremulous tone, "I am the Lucy Watson, madam, to whom Sir
Edward Houstoun was so kind."

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