Lady Edgarmond detected his distress. The fatal malady beneath which she labored increased her ardent interest in her daughter. She knew the poor child's heart, and feared that she had compromised her happiness forever; therefore, she seldom lost sight of Nevil, but read his secrets with that discernment which is deemed peculiar to our sex, but which belongs solely to the continual observance which a real interest teaches us. On the pretext of transferring Corinne's inheritance, she besought Lord Nevil's company next morning, and shortly guessed that he was much dissatisfied; she flattered his resentment by the prospect of a noble vengeance, offering to recognize her husband's daughter. This sudden change amazed him; yet though its condition was unexplained, he comprehended it; and, in one of those moments in which we act more quickly than we can think, demanded Lucy's hand. Her mother, scarcely able to restrain her joy, so as not to say _yes_ too hastily, consented; and he left her presence, bound by an engagement, which, when he made it, he had not dreamed of undertaking. While Lady Edgarmond prepared Lucy to receive him, he paced the garden in violent agitation, telling himself that she had merely pleased him, because he knew little of her, and that it was madness to found the happiness of his life on the charm of a mystery that must inevitably be dissipated. He then retraced his letters to Corinne, too plainly showing his internal struggles. "She's right!" he sighed: "I have not the courage fit to make her blest; but yet it should have cost her more to lose me--that cold brief line--yet who knows but her tears might have fallen on it!" His own burst forth in spite of him. These reveries hurried him on unconsciously so far, that he was long sought in vain by the servant, sent to tell him that Lady Edgarmond desired his return. Astonished at his own lack of eagerness, he obeyed. On re-entering the drawing-room, he found Lucy kneeling, her head reclined on the bosom of her parent, with a most touching grace. As she heard his footsteps, she raised her flowing eyes, and, extending her hand to him, said simply: "My Lord, I know you will not separate me from my mother." This innocent manner of announcing her consent much interested Oswald, who, sinking on his knees, besought Lady Edgarmond's permission to imprint on that blushing forehead the first kiss which had ever awakened more than childlike emotions in the breast whose beauty less enchanted him than did its celestial modesty. The days which preceded that chosen for their marriage were spent in the needful arrangements. Lucy spoke more than usual; but all she said was so nobly natural, that Oswald loved and approved her every word, and yet he felt a void beside her. Their conversation consisted but of questions and answers; she neither started nor prolonged any subject: all went well: but without that exhaustless animation with which it is so difficult