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PAUL CLIFFORD.
97
CHAPTER VI.
Before he came, every thing loved me, and I had more things to love than I could reckon by the hairs of my head. Now, I feel I can love but one, and that one has deserted me.********Well, be it so—let her perish, let her be any thing but mine.
Melmoth.
Early the next morning, Sir William Brandon was closeted for a long time with his niece, previous to his departure to the duties of his office. Anxious, and alarmed for the success of one of the darling projects of his ambition, he spared no art in his conversation with Lucy, that his great ingenuity of eloquence and wonderful insight into human nature could suggest, in order to gain at least a foundation for the raising of his scheme. Among other resources of his worldly tact, he
