“Yes,” murmured Lucy softly, trying to disarm the fatal word. “Forget me--and--forgive me!” and, with this last word scarce audible, she averted her face, and held out her hand with angelic dignity, modesty and pity. The kind words and the gentle action brought down the stout heart that had looked death in the face so often without flinching. “Forgive you, sweet angel!” he cried; “I pray Heaven to bless you, and to make you as happy as I am desolate for your sake. Oh, you show me more and more what I lose this day. God bless you! God bless--” and David's heart filled to choking, and he burst out sobbing despairingly, and the hot tears ran suddenly from his eyes over her hand as he kissed and kissed it. Then, with an almost savage feeling of shame (for these were not eyes that were wont to weep), he uttered one cry of despair and ran away, leaving her pale and panting heavily. She looked piteously at her hand, wet with a hero's tears, and for the second time to-day her own began to gush. She felt a need of being alone. She wanted to think on what she had done. She would hide in the garden. She ran down the steps; lo! there was Mr. Hardie coming up the gravel-walk. She uttered a little cry of impatience, and dashed impetuously into the hot-house, driving the half-open door before her with her person as well as her arm. A scream of terror and pain issued from behind it, with a crash of pottery. Lucy wheeled round at the sound, and there was her aunt, flattened against the flower-frame. Lucy stood transfixed. But soon her look of surprise gave way to a frown; ay! and a somber one. CHAPTER XVI. THAT ready-minded lady extricated herself from the pots, and wriggled out of the moral situation. “I was a listener, dear! an unwilling listener; but now I do not regret it. How nobly you behaved!” and with this she came at her with open arms, crying, “My own dear niece.” Her own dear niece recoiled with a shiver, and put up both her hands as a shield. “Oh, don't touch me, please. I never heard of a lady listening!!!!” She then turned her back on her aunt in a somewhat uncourtier-like manner, and darted out of the place, every fiber of her frame strung up tight with excitement. She felt she was not the calm, dispassionate being of yesterday, and hurried to her own room and locked herself in. Mrs. Bazalgette remained behind in a state of bitter mortification, and breathing fury on her small scale. But what could she do? David would be out of her reach in a few minutes, and Lucy was scarce vulnerable.