In the first instance she resolved, although she could never again find pleasure in the performance of her duty, that she would rigidly adhere to it, that she would command all outward expression of her emotions, and that she would continue to nurse Lord Montreville, if possible, with the same devotion as before. She made up her mind that when she had succeeded in finding the papers for which the lawyer had written, she would lock up all the letters together, and when Lord Montreville was well enough to attend to his own affairs again, she would explain the circumstances under which she had been obliged to search for these papers, and give him the key of the escrutoire without any farther remark. When she had despatched the papers, and safely deposited the letters according to her intention, she felt somewhat relieved, and was enabled to return once more to the sick room, and take her station there as usual. Fortunately he spoke but little, and she was spared any fresh ebullitions of tenderness on his part. In the evening she repaired to the nursery, where Milly was rapturous in her congratulations upon his lordship’s wonderful improvement. “Well, my lady, your good nursing has its reward at last! La! when first he called you by your name, and spoke so kind and tender like, Mrs. Gauzelee told me she never saw such a moving sight. And to see you, my lady, take his hand and kiss it, and my lord calling you ‘his own Lucy.’ Well! it does my old heart good to think you have known such a blessed moment; for I remember, as I pushed open the bed-room door of our log-hut, when my poor John said, ‘Why, Milly, t’an’t you,’ I thought the joy of hearing my husband’s voice speak my name again would have quite got the better of me.” Few people like to be told they felt this or that, on such or such an occasion; still more disagreeable is it when, although they cannot disclaim the emotions attributed to them, they are conscious of experiencing those the most diametrically opposite. Lucy held her child in her arms. She contrived to bury her face in its little bosom, and to remain bending over it, till her voice and her countenance were sufficiently under control to venture an answer: “The doctor seems to think that, with perfect quiet, Lord Montreville may soon be quite himself again.” Milly was surprised at the cool and measured reply. Lucy’s devotion had been such, that she could not doubt the love she bore to her husband. Her lady looked ill. She thought, perhaps, she had harassed herself too much, and she entreated her to go to bed early. But no! she was resolved to watch as before. “My actions,” she said to herself, “shall be under command, though my feelings may not be so. I will do the same I did before,” and she took her station in his darkened room, where, by the glimmer of one shaded candle, she usually passed a great part of the night in reading.