When the Weldons returned to the old house, which they had not visited for years, Lucy White was a lovely, innocent girl of sixteen. I have said that Mrs. White did not court the lady of the manor, wherefore she was hated by her; but living apart and alone, the humble inhabitants of the cottage were ignorant of the enmity of the haughty dame. Shortly after the arrival of the Weldons at the manor-house, their son returned from college. He soon discovered the beautiful cottager, and found means to make her acquaintance. From that time the fair girl was seldom alone, and she soon discovered that the light of loving eyes was preferable even to the holy radiance of the stars, and that the low tones of love were sweeter than the songs of birds, or the music of murmuring streams. She was guileless, unsuspecting; he was artful and persuasive—one who could easily make “the worse seem the better cause,” and the result was that her unsuspecting love became her ruin. Her idol was her betrayer! She soon awoke to the consequences of her crime, and besought her destroyer to spare her from misery—to save her from disgrace. Paul’s heart was melted; he loved her truly and would have repaired the wrong he had done her; but his mother unfortunately discovered the state of things, and by prayers and entreaties, jeers and taunts, so wrought on his pride that he determined to forsake her. Poor Lucy! how earnestly, how vainly she entreated him to save her. “O, Paul—Paul,” she exclaimed, “if you love me—if you ever loved me—spare me! Save me, I entreat you, for the sake of my poor widowed mother! For the sake of my unborn babe, if not for mine; drive me not forth an outcast—homeless, friendless. Too guilty to dwell with the pure; too innocent to consort with the vicious, where shall I go? Men will behold me with sneering pity; women will turn aside from the fallen. I am a woman and have sinned, and may not hope for pardon. In happier days, Paul, you have often told me how dear I was to you, and have you so soon learned to despise me for my sin? You turn away! Ah, yes; it is so; you—even you whom I loved so truly, and trusted so deeply, turn from me in my sorrow—in my shame. But no—no; I cannot—I will not believe it. Speak to me—give me hope, or else confirm my despair.” Paul averted his head, for love and pity struggled in his heart; but the demon pride, mastered the angels, and he determined to leave her to her wretchedness. Still his tongue refused to speak the heartless words.