shut herself up in her apartment, and consumed the time in tears
and struggles with her own heart. Sometimes what she conceived to be her
duty conquered, and she resolved to forswear her lover; but the night
undid the labour of the day,--for at night, every night, the sound of
her lover's voice, accompanied by music, melted away her resolution, and
made her once more all tenderness and trust. The words, too, sung
under her window were especially suited to affect her; they breathed
a melancholy which touched her the more from its harmony with her own
thoughts. One while they complained of absence, at another they hinted
at neglect; but there was always in them a tone of humiliation, not
reproach; they bespoke a sense of unworthiness in the lover, and
confessed that even the love was a crime: and in proportion as they
owned the want of desert did Lucy more firmly cling to the belief that
her lover was deserving.

The old squire was greatly disconcerted by his brother's letter. Though
impressed with the idea of self-consequence, and the love of tolerably
pure blood, common to most country squires, he was by no means ambitious
for his daughter. On the contrary, the same feeling which at Warlock had
made him choose his companions among the inferior gentry made him
averse to the thought of a son-in-law from the peerage. In spite of
Mauleverer's good-nature, the very ease of the earl annoyed him, and he
never felt at home in his society. To Clifford he had a great liking;
and having convinced himself that there was nothing to suspect in the
young gentleman, he saw no earthly reason why so agreeable a companion
should not be an agreeable son-in-law. "If he be poor," thought the
squire, "though he does not seem so, Lucy is rich!" And this truism
appeared to him to answer every objection. Nevertheless, William Brandon
possessed a remarkable influence over the weaker mind of his brother;
and the squire, though with great reluctance, resolved to adopt his
advice. He shut his doors against Clifford, and when he met him in the
streets, instead of greeting him with his wonted cordiality, he passed
him with a hasty "Good day, Captain!" which, after the first day or two,
merged into a distant bow. Whenever very good-hearted people are rude,
and unjustly so, the rudeness is in the extreme. The squire felt it so
irksome to be less familiar than heretofore with Clifford, that his
only remaining desire was now to drop him altogether; and to