“The world is surely not so unjust as all this,” sighed Lucy. “You don't know the world as I do,” was the reply. “And those who live in it cannot defy it. I tell you plainly, Lucy, neither your uncle nor I can keep you any longer, except as an engaged person. And even that engagement ought to be a very short one.” “What, aunt? what, uncle? your house is no longer mine?” and she buried her head upon the table. “Well, Lucy,” said Mr. Fountain, “of course we would not have told you this yesterday. It would have been ungenerous. But you are now your own mistress; you are independent. Young persons in your situation can generally forget in a day or two a few years of kindness. You have now an opportunity of showing us whether you are one of that sort.” Here Mrs. Bazalgette put in her word. “You will not lack people to encourage you in ingratitude--perhaps my husband himself; but if he does, it will make a lasting breach between him and me, of which you will have been the cause.” “Heaven forbid!” said Lucy, with a shudder. “Why should dear Mr. Bazalgette be drawn into my troubles? He is no relation of mine, only a loyal friend, whom may God bless and reward for his kindness to a poor fatherless, motherless girl. Aunt, uncle, if you will let me stay with you, I will be more kind, more attentive to you than I have been. Be persuaded; be advised. If you succeeded in getting rid of me, you might miss me, indeed you might. I know all your little ways so well.” “Lucy, we are not to be tempted to do wrong,” said Mrs. Bazalgette, sternly. “Choose which of these two offers you will accept. Choose which you please. If you refuse both, you must pack up your things, and go and live by yourself, or with Mr. Dodd.” “Mr. Dodd? why is his name introduced? Was it necessary to insult me?” and her eyes flashed. “Nobody wishes to insult you, Lucy. And I propose, madam, we give her a day to consider.” “Thank you, uncle.” “With all my heart; only, until she decides, she must excuse me if I do not treat her with the same affection as I used, and as I hope to do again. I am deeply wounded, and I am one that cannot feign.” “You need not fear me, aunt; my heart is turned to ice. I shall never intrude that love on which you set no value. May I retire?” Mrs. Bazalgette looked to Mr. Fountain, and both bowed acquiescence. Lucy went out pale, but dry-eyed; despair never looked so lovely, or carried its head more proudly. “I don't like it,” said Mr. Fountain. “I am afraid we have driven the poor girl too hard.” “What are you afraid of, pray?” “She looked to me just like a woman who would go and take an ounce of laudanum. Poor Lucy! she has been a good niece to me, after all;” and the water stood in the old bachelor's eyes.