and feelings on all others, on this one she was a complete coward, and preferred remaining in ignorance to risking the result of an investigation. It was true that from what Norman had said that morning, it was evident no actual engagement yet existed, but as it was equally evident that it was a thing he desired, she was determined to use whatever influence she had in forwarding his wishes, though she at the same time felt ashamed of the strange sensations that the probability of being called upon to perform such an office, excited in her mind. She was, however, routed from these interesting though painful reveries by the voice of her father. On going to his bed-side she was exceedingly alarmed at the expression of his countenance, and the blueness round his mouth, which always preceded one of his severe attacks. “Go, Lucy,” said he, in a feeble voice, “and look in the private drawer in my writing-desk. I had my desk open to write a receipt, and I may perhaps have put the notes in that drawer.” “But, papa, you will be left alone,” objected the daughter. “Send your aunt to me,” returned the invalid, “and look well, for I am exceedingly anxious on poor Norman’s account.” Lucy did as desired, but with a faint and trembling heart; first, however, dispatching one of her brothers to summon the doctor, for there was a something about her father’s look that seemed to say, they would soon be an orphan family. The writing-desk was diligently searched, and every paper it contained carefully examined, but in vain, and she was just turning the key to lock it again, when she was hastily called by her aunt, who said her father had made two or three attempts to speak, but she could not understand him. Lucy ran with all the speed of which she was capable to the bed-side of the invalid, but could scarcely restrain a scream of horror at sight of the frightful change that had taken place in the few minutes she had been absent. The blueness that she had before observed around his mouth had extended to his lips, and his whole face wore that expression that all who have attended the bed of death know as the indications of approaching dissolution. The moment she appeared he motioned to her to put her head close to his mouth, when he said, in a voice scarcely audible, “I know now, they are in the—” but the last word, though evidently spoken, could not be heard. “Never mind the notes, dear papa,” cried Lucy, in an agony of distress, “only keep yourself composed and let them take their chance.”