ed as if Lucy, smitten to the inmost heart by the generosity with which her lover had torn himself from her at the time that her wealth might have raised him, in any other country, far above the perils and the crimes of his career in this—perceiving now for the first time, and in all their force, the causes of his mysterious conduct, melted by their relationship, and forgetting herself utterly in the desolate and dark situation in which she beheld one who, whatever his crimes, had not been criminal towards her;—it seemed as if, carried away by these emotions, she had yielded altogether to the fondness and devotion of her nature,—that she had wished to leave home, and friends, and fortune, and share with him his punishment and his shame.
"Why!" she faltered,—"why, why not! we are all that is left to each other in the world! Your father and mine were brothers, let me be to you as a sister. What is there left for me here? Not one being whom I love, or who cares for me—not one!"
It was then that Clifford summoned all his courage, as he answered:—perhaps, now that he
