Mrs. Bazalgette tapped him on the shoulder and said archly, but with a tone that carried conviction, “She will take no poison. She will hate us for an hour; then she will have a good cry: to-morrow she will come to our terms; and this day next year she will be very much obliged to us for doing what all women like, forcing her to her good with a little harshness.” CHAPTER XXV. SAID Lucy as she went from the door, “Thank Heaven, they have insulted me!” This does not sound logical, but that is only because the logic is so subtle and swift. She meant something of this kind: “I am of a yielding nature; I might have sacrificed myself to retain their affection; but they have roused a vice of mine, my pride, against them, so now I shall be immovable in right, thanks to my wicked pride. Thank Heaven, they have insulted me!” She then laid her head upon her bed and moaned, for she was stricken to the heart. Then she rose and wrote a hasty note, and, putting it in her bosom, came downstairs and looked for Captain Kenealy. He proved to be in the billiard-room, playing the spotted ball against the plain one. “Oh, Captain Kenealy, I am come to try your friendship; you said I might command you.” “Yaas!” “Then _will_ you mount my pony, and ride with this to Mrs. Wilson, to that farm where I kept you waiting so long, and you were not angry as anyone else would have been?” “Yaas!” “But not a soul must see it, or know where you are gone.” “All raight, Miss Fountain. Don't you be fraightened; I'm close as the grave, and I'll be there in less than haelf an hour.” “Yes; but don't hurt my dear pony either; don't beat him; and, above all, don't come back without an answer.” “I'll bring you an answer in an hour and twenty minutes.” The captain looked at his watch, and went out with a smartness that contrasted happily with his slowness of speech. Lucy went back to her own room and locked herself in, and with trembling hands began to pack up her jewels and some of her clothes. But when it came to this, wounded pride was sorely taxed by a host of reminiscences and tender regrets, and every now and then the tears suddenly gushed and fell upon her poor hands as she put things out, or patted them flat, to wander on the world. While she is thus sorrowfully employed, let me try and give an outline of the feelings that had now for some time been secretly growing in her, since without their co-operation she would never have been driven to the strange step she now meditated. Lucy was a very unselfish and very intelligent girl. The first trait had long blinded her to something; the second had lately helped to open her eyes.