answered, "or so cruel? I have some honour,
at least—some faith."

"No, it is not that. You think this some
light matter, as girls do one of those wretched
little flirting triumphs. You would be pleased
to see him coming here day after day, and
would be proud to show your friends that
you have one like him interested in you,
while you amuse yourself. Vanity enters into
these things, as I know, in this wretched place,
where a true heart is as rare as a real diamond
on the necks of the creatures here."

Lucy, as we have seen, was quick and
impetuous. "What have I done?" said she,
warmly, "or what am I going to do? What
are those dangers? He would smile if I were
to tell him this. I know his indulgent friendship."

"Friendship!" repeated the other, with infinite
scorn. "Is this innocence or artfulness?
But you are not dull. I don't know how to
reach your heart. I know I am blunt; but
leave me out of the matter. Think of him.
Once he sets his mind on a thing, he casts his
whole life and destiny with it. Only a day
or two ago he comes to me in the most abject
misery, and says he will leave this place and
go back to the world. I was in such joy, for I
knew that would be the saving of him. Well,
a letter comes, and all is changed. He will
stay here, and is in spirits again. And you talk
of friendship! Do you take me for a child? I
know I am an old maid, as they call it—always
will be; and have only that one object to love
or look to—only him!"

She looked so wistfully, that Lucy—who, Mr.
Dacres said, enthusiastically, "had the fiery
Dacres' blood boiling through her little veins,
sir"—restrained that little impetuosity which
was strong in her, and was quite softened, when
a minute before she was inclined to do battle.
She took the other's hands, and said, eagerly:

"Dear Miss West, now don't trouble your
heart any longer, for I can tell you how it all
stands. I would not see you so distressed for
the whole world; and I can tell you in two
words. That is——" and she started, stopped,
and remained silent, for she recollected the
engagement she had made with Gilbert.

"Well?" said the other, her hard brow
contracting.

"No," said Lucy, impetuously. "I cannot
now. All I can say is, I will behave with
honour and true faith."

"Ah!" said Miss West, rising, "just what I
expected; just what I warned him of. Let
him boast to me of his wisdom and experience,
who would place all his safety and happiness in
the hands of a child! God help us, indeed!
Ah, miss, I see your game. Take care what you
are going to do, or what you attempt. I warn
you. Be cautious. I shall watch you from
day to day, and if any ill or anything wrong comes
of this business, you will repent it, child as you
are, as sure as my name is Margaret West.
"You don't know me. Twenty years ago there
was an adventuress who tried the same experiment
with his trusting and generous nature;
but I saved him. God gave me strength to
save him and to punish her. So take care!"

She spoke with an extraordinary fierceness
and determination; the colour, even, had come
into her pale dry cheek. But Lucy had plenty
of spirit, "the old Dacres' spirit," if we like
to call it so.

"What do you mean?" said Lucy, looking at
her with astonishment and quivering lip. "You
may warn me and watch me as much as you
please. I invite it. I am not in the least
afraid. I am honest, and will look you in the
face straight at any time. If I am a child, as
you are so fond of repeating, I have no child's
heart. I have not sought you, nor your family;
they have sought me. I could say who is childish
to-day. Mr. West is above these unworthy
suspicions and threats—yes, threats," added
Lucy, very calmly; "if he were aware of what
you have said to me to-day——"

"He knows nothing—not a word, as I live."

"If I were to tell him, you know perfectly
the effect it would have on him. But I would
disdain such a thing. Yet I do not know if
it be my duty. You—a lady—to come here and
threaten!"

"I—I mean it all for his sake. You cannot
blind me. I know what is going on, and your
father's schemes. We have friends in England."

"I will not listen to you," said Lucy, the
tears almost forcing themselves to her eyes.
"How dare you speak thus about him? But I
despise it all. I court your watchings and
warning, and shall behave exactly as suits my
own dignity and honour. I shall make no
terms. What if things do turn out so dreadfully
as you suppose? I dare say they will. I
cannot help it. Your brother will understand
it all. I shall not be afraid to meet you, if
you are bold enough to venture to bring me
to account. There's a challenge, Miss West,
for yours; and I must tell you I think it
ungenerous of you to come in this way to our
house, and speak so to a poor girl."

"I told you I did not mean to offend or to
hurt you, and, if I have done so, I am sorry for
it; but I must warn you again that I am in
earnest."

Again the old flash of the Dacres was in
Lucy's eyes. Miss Pringle had seen it often,
and though she announced that she "would
eradicate the seeds of temper," she had failed,
and had been clearly worsted in some contests
whose incidents were rather unseemly. The
girl all but struck her own dress impatiently
with her hand.

The other stood irresolute, her face working.

"I love my brother," she said, "more than
one should do in this miserable world, though
he, perhaps, does not think it; and would not
wish to see him suffer. But," she continued,
half sorrowfully, "things may take their course
until his eyes are opened, miserably—which
assuredly they will be, one day."

Our Lucy walked up and down a long time
after that little scene—her first dramatic scene in