Lucy clasped her hands together, exclaiming, "Good God, has he succeeded?" "He has, Miss Effingham," replied Everard Morrison, lowering his voice; "he has made his way out of the prison, and is now within a hundred yards of this house." Lucy sunk back in her chair and grasped the edge of the table, as if to prevent her from falling to the ground so greatly was she agitated by contending feelings, fear, apprehension, anxiety, and joy. "I beg pardon," continued Morrison, "at being obliged to agitate you in this manner. But Sir Charles cannot, without seeing you once more, quit this country, which it is necessary for him to do for a time, till the other two persons whom I have spoken of are placed in safety. He dare not come into the house, as any one of your servants seeing him, would lead to his being traced, and the road he has taken discovered, which I have used every precaution to conceal. But if you would venture to pass through the conservatory into the shrubbery walk beyond, you will find him there waiting for you. He has two or three times tried to make you hear through the conservatory, but finding it vain, I ventured to come in myself." "I will go directly," cried Lucy, starting up, "I will go directly," and she turned toward the conservatory door without the slightest hesitation. "I will remain here," said Morrison, "in case of any of the servants coming in; but pray, Miss Effingham, beseech Sir Charles to be quick, and to remember that the boat is waiting." Lucy paused for a moment, to say, "I expect my mother to return every minute. But you may tell her all, Mr. Morrison." Thus saying, she left him, and entering the conservatory, unlocked the door that led out into the shrubbery, and walked on. Ere she had taken ten steps, however, she heard the laurels rustle a little before her, and her heart beat so dreadfully, that she feared she would have fallen to the ground. In another moment, however, the arms of Charles Tyrrell were round her, and while she wept profusely with the tears of many mingled emotions, he pressed her again and again to his heart, with feelings of unmixed joy. "My Lucy, my dear, my beloved," he cried, "do I--do I see you once more?" Lucy dried her eyes, and gazed up in his face by the moonlight. "You are very pale, and very haggard, Charles," she said. "Oh, what you must have suffered." "Suffered, indeed, dear Lucy," he said; "I had not known that the heart of man could endure so much, without breaking." "But you are innocent, Charles," she said, "oh, yes, I am sure you are innocent. Yet tell me so. Oh, yes, tell me so, and set my heart quite at rest!" "Have you doubted it, Lucy?" exclaimed Charles, in a reproachful tone; "do you doubt it, Lucy?"