believed her an English lady, with no private interest in the questions she asked, therefore told her all he knew most minutely: her attentions had conciliated him; and, in return, he trusted that his confidence might entertain her. He described how he had informed Lord Nevil of his parent's wishes, and repeated an extract from the late Lord's letter, often exclaiming: "_He_ expressly forbade Oswald's marriage with this Italian--and they cannot brave his will without insulting his memory." Mr. Dickson added, that Oswald loved Lucy, was beloved by her; that her mother strongly desired their union, but that this foreign engagement prevented it. "How!" said Corinne, striving to disguise her agitation: "do you think _that_the sole barrier to his happiness with Miss Edgarmond?"--"I am sure of it," he answered, delighted with her inquiries. "It is but three days since Lord Nevil said to me: 'If I were free, I would marry Lucy.'"--"If he were free!" sighed Corinne. At that moment, the carriage stopped at the hotel to which she had promised Mr. Dickson her escort. He thanked her, and begged to know where he might see her again. She wrung his hand, without power to speak, and left him. Late as it was, she resolved that evening to visit the grave of her father. The disorder of her mind rendered this sacred pilgrimage more necessary than ever. CHAPTER IX. Lady Edgarmond had been two days on her estate, where, that night, she had invited all her neighbors and tenants; and there was Oswald with Lucy, when Corinne arrived. She saw many carriages in the avenue; and alighted on the spot where her father had once treated her with such tenderness. What a contrast between those days, when she had thought herself so unfortunate, and her present situation! Thus are we punished for our fancied woes, by real calamities, which but too well teach us what true sorrow means. Corinne bade her servant ask the cause of all this light and bustle. A domestic replied: "Lady Edgarmond gives a ball to-night; which my master, Lord Nevil, has opened with the heiress." Corinne shuddered; but a painful curiosity prompted her to approach the place where so much misery threatened her: and motioning for her people to withdraw, she entered the open gates alone; the obscurity permitted her to walk the park unseen. It was ten o'clock. Oswald had been Lucy's partner in those English country dances, which they recommence five or six times in the evening--the same gentleman always dancing with the same lady, and the greatest gravity sometimes reigning over this party of pleasure. Lucy danced nobly, but without vivacity. The feeling which absorbed her added to her natural seriousness. As the whole country was inquisitive to know whether she loved Oswald, the unusually observant looks she met, prevented her ever raising her eyes to his; and her embarrassment was such, that she could scarcely hear or see anything. This deeply affected him at first; but as it never varied, he