"Of this latter part Lucy was aware; but her father's illness rapidly increased, and his death soon followed, so that she had sufficient matter of a painful kind to occupy all her thoughts. The young man was absent from the neighbourhood at the time, afraid, in fact, of being arrested for a debt. His father has since paid it, and he returned about a month ago. He has since been seen hovering round the house, and one time even left a card and inquired for the family. Lucy has never mentioned his name to me since; but I was at all events, very glad to quit that part of the country. When, however, my dear Lady Tyrrell, I came here and found your son so much older than I had thought, I felt instantly that it would not be just to you to remain without letting you know exactly how we are circumstanced. Even making deduction for a mother's fondness, it cannot be denied that Lucy is very beautiful, and it seems to me that she is very engaging also. It by no means follows, indeed, that any evil consequences should result; but I have but done what is right in laying the facts exactly before you." Lady Tyrrell thanked her a thousand times: she saw that Mrs. Effingham had acted a generous and honourable part towards her; that she was one of those in whom she might repose the fullest confidence, and that all her preconceived opinions regarding her were wrong. She was most happy now that Mrs. Effingham had come to their neighbourhood. She felt that there was a person near of whom she could make a friend; who could give her solace, consolation, and advice; but yet, in the present instance, she could not immediately respond to the frank and candid statement of her guest in the way she would have wished; for, to say the truth, she was in doubt as to what her own conduct ought to be, and she plunged into a train of thought without making any reply; a habit which very naturally grows upon persons accustomed to seclusion, and frequently cast back upon their own reflections for guidance and support. Her conviction, from the conversation which had taken place, was, that Mrs. Effingham felt perfectly sure that Lucy's heart had been engaged by this young man of whom she had spoken, and there was something in her maternal pride and love for her son--the only object of her pride and affection for many years--which made her unwilling that her Charles should be the second in any one's affection, even supposing that Lucy's first love for this young man could be utterly obliterated. From what she knew of her son also, from the character and appearance of Lucy Effingham, and from the near proximity in which they were placed, she believed that that young lady was the person, of all others she had ever seen, to whom Charles was most likely to become attached; and after pondering for several minutes in silence, all that she could say to Mrs. Effingham was, that, if it were possible, she should much like to give her son intimation of the fact which she had just learned.