He went home whistling and singing,
       "There's a light in her eye
        That mirrors the sky,
   And she is the loveliest girl of them all"—
an amatory song, which he gave with great feelng
and rollicking affection at the bar dinners.
Strange to say, no one ever reckoned on strains
of a comic sort from the capital boon companion;
and it does somehow seem appropriate that
creatures like the delightful barrister should
contribute strains rather of sentiment.

CHAPTER VIII. "POOR PAPA."

Miss LULU was in their little but bright
drawing-room, which by her long residence
had gained all its brightness and daintiness.
She was looking after her flowers, trimming
up, giving a touch here, a touch there, when
her parent came in.  "Oh, papa," she cried, "how
happy I am! so delighted to have you here
again; and we'll take our first walk together
down to the port to-day.  Shan't we, papa?"

Mr. Dacres, who had with difficulty checked
himself from bursting into the most cheerful
troll about
       The light in her eye
       That mirrors the sky,
as he came up-stairs, now became intensely
suddenly gloomy and desponding.

"My poor Lulu, I have been thinking of you
all day: taking you about with me On my lonely
round—my lonely round."

Another of the songs was near intruding—
the ever-popular "All's well."  Lucy laid down
her sewing hastily, and ran to kiss him.  She
became conscious of very recent "cherry
B," but it did not for a moment weaken
her faith in his grief.

"Well, dear," he went on, "you love poor
old papsey, don't you, in spite of all his
shortcomings, which are enough, Heaven knows?"

"My dear old Harco, I shall always be your
little Lulu, no matter what you are, no matter
what little troubles come.  You must make up
your mind to have me always with you."

"No, dear, no," he said, hastily.  "Oh, not for
the world, my child.  That's what's been in my
mind all this long time away in England, when
you and your poor mamma thought, naturally,
I was amusing myself getting made into an
M.P., and all that.  I didn't like to distress
your poor little heart last night, by talking of
my own selfish troubles; but I assure you I
was busy with a very different set of electors.
Ah! it's weary, weary work."

Lucy understood perfectly, and stood looking
at him with the deepest grief and mortification.

"The worst, my child, yes, the worst your
little heart can conjure up.  Only nothing to
mamma about it.  Hush!  Nothing to poor
mamma.  I'll get used to it in time, I dare
say.  It's only a little humiliating at, first.  But
I believe it can be managed privately and
delicately.  Oh dear, yes!  And in the end you
come rather to like it."

She was listening as if something was piercing
her slowly, her eyes distending, her chest
heaving.

"Indeed, my poor child," he went on, "I
never thought it would have come to that;
never indeed.  I suppose their unclean touch
will cleave to me for many a long day; and I
suppose more of it's before me.  So I had best
accustom myself in time.  People think, because
I keep up a show of fun and jollity, that
Harcourt Dacres is case-hardened; but the iron
has now entered my soul—the iron has entered
my soul."  He seemed to dwell with satisfaction
on the intrusion of this foreign body, and
repeated the phrase over several times.  But
what he hinted at completely overwhelmed his
daughter.  She remained gazing at him with such
a look of hopeless misery, that he was distressed.

"And what's to become of the poor hunted
papa," he went on, "I'm sure I can't say.
Once this has set in, I'm sure it'll go on.
Once the ice is broken, you know, pet——
Well, I'll tell you what was coming home
to me all that time.  I was thinking what
was to become of my poor little Lulu.
Was I to have you sinking—sinking before
my eyes, with a shabby struggling going on,
and a mouldiness spreading over you?  Would
to Heaven, I'd say to myself, I could see her
well married to a sound, faithful, sensible,
well-to-do man, and then she'd be saved from all this
profanation, as I call it, and perhaps save her
poor broken father too.  Give him a start like
a gentleman.  My goodness, Lulu," he went
on, rising suddenly, and walking about, "that
is only what I want—a start—a start. All these
men say to me—great swells, too—'Dacres,
my boy, if you had your arms free, you'd have
the game in your hands.'  There it is.  I know
I have.  I don't want those fools to tell me so.
Which of them can touch me at a speech, I'd
like to know?  Not a man of 'em could humbug
a jury as I can.  Why, I'd go ahead like a
comet with a fiery tail, and have them all
staring after me, and saying 'Who the devil's
that fellow?'  But the next thing is, where's
the start to come from?  Instead of that, it will
get worse and worse, and every day worse and
worse decay."

That word seemed to make her shrink again.
What he had said about "unclean touch"
came on her like a weight.  Answering her own
thoughts more than him, she said, hurriedly:
"Let us escape from that.  Oh yes, at all
risks.  I would do anything in the world——"

"Tell me now, dear," said he, suddenly, "do
you like him—our friend, that ——"

"Mr. West?" she said.

"That's it!" said he, "that is what I have
set my old broken heart on.  There's a man,
sensible, clever, wise, that any girl in the United
Kingdom might be proud to get.  That's what
would be the making of you, and of us all;
that's what would rejoice papa's poor hunted
heart!  Then adieu to the persecutions, and
we'd all live happily together for ever and ever
after, without a care,"in secula seculorum!"

"Ah! papa," said she hastily, " I would