She was suddenly awakened by the sound of several voices upon the stairs. She distinguished Anne's, and then Hannah's, and then a stern, manly voice, which said,— "If you do not open the door without delay, I will break it in. I will not be kept from my child." Then the door was unlocked, and she saw Anne and Margery, Hannah, looking frightened and angry, and a tall, richly-dressed gentleman, whom she seemed directly to remember, and who caught her in his arms, calling her his darling, his poor, motherless, abused child. "Are you really my father,—my own father who was dead?" she asked, at last, and leaning back to look at him. "I am your own father, child, counted dead for so many years." "And is mamma come alive again too?" Lucy felt herself drawn into a closer embrace as her father whispered,— "No, dear child: your precious mother cannot come again; but we shall go to her." "And will you take me away and let me live with you?" asked Lucy. "Oh, papa, I will try to be so very good, if you will!" "Yes, Lucy: you shall go with me this very night. Mistress Burgess will receive you." "The child must not be removed till my mistress returns," said Hannah, tartly. "Her guardian put her in my mistress's care; and to him she is answerable,—not to a stranger." Lord Stanton rose. "She shall be removed without one moment's delay," said he, firmly. "I am her father. Let some one—you, my girl—" as he saw Anne—"bring something in which to wrap her. I will answer to my sister for what I do. Whether she can answer to me, is another matter." Mrs. Bernard, returning from her walk, saw the servants and horses standing at Dr. Burgess's door; but she thought nothing of it, except to wonder what grand visitor had come to the parson's. Her meditations had not been very pleasant. She was beginning to get over her fit of anger, and to listen to two counsellors,—conscience and interest; and from neither of them did she obtain a great deal of comfort. Conscience told her that she had given way to passion; that she had been harsh and cruel to a helpless child; that she had failed in her trust, and had roused, in the usually timid and yielding girl, pride and obstinacy equal to her own. Interest told her that she had made an enemy of Lucy; that she had failed to win the child's affection or confidence; that she had no hold upon her but sheer physical force. Sir James Warden, Lucy's cousin and guardian, might see fit to remove her at any time; and no doubt Lucy would look upon change as for the better. The child herself would be no great loss; but with her would go the three hundred pounds a year allowed for her guardianship, and with that the carriage, the extra servants, perhaps the very house in which she lived and which belonged to the Stanton-Corbet estate.