Neither did Mrs. Heckfield fail to tell Milly of the lofty station to which her nurseling would be raised. “Sure, ma’am! and so Miss Lucy is going to leave us,” said Milly, with a calm and stoical manner, very unlike that she usually had when any thing most remotely affecting one of the “dear children” was in question. “Yes, nurse; and I do think I am the most fortunate of mothers.” “La! ma’am, to have all your children leave you so soon? Sure, you will be very lonesome when they are all married and gone?” “Oh, nurse, we mothers are never selfish. We wish for nothing but our children’s advantage.” How many parents sacrifice the happiness, under the firm conviction they are promoting the welfare of the children, for whom they would themselves be ready to endure every privation. Lucy had received her father’s cordial blessing, Mademoiselle’s Frenchified embrace, her sister’s thoughtless, merry congratulations, and Milly’s thoughtful, serious, good wishes. She came down to dinner with a cheek flushed by vague emotions, and conscious eyes, which durst not rest on any one. She looked really lovely. Lord Montreville was received by Mrs. Heckfield with unfeigned joy, by Colonel Heckfield with heartiness, by Lucy with a pleased tremor which was perfectly satisfactory. A look from Mrs. Heckfield, and he seated himself by Lucy’s side. “You will, then, allow me to prove by my future life, as I did this morning, when I sacrificed my own wishes to yours, that I prefer your gratification to my own.” “Indeed you are very good. I hope always——” Dinner was announced. Lord Montreville offered his arm to Lucy as the accepted lover, instead of to Mrs. Heckfield, as merely the visitor of highest rank. There was no retreating after this, even supposing she had wished to do so, for the Denbys and several others were present. He was more than usually amiable. His attentions were not too marked; his manners were so frank, and so polite to every one, there was nothing that could make her shy or uncomfortable, so that she felt quite grateful to him for putting her so much more at her ease than, under the circumstances, she could have thought possible. In the course of the evening, Mrs. Heckfield communicated the great event of the day to her friend Mrs. Denby, under a strict promise of secrecy, to which Mrs. Denby rigidly adhered; notwithstanding which, the small town of Lyneton, and the adjoining village of Purley, and half the country houses in the neighbourhood, were apprised of the fact before the next sun sank into the Western Ocean. The propagation of a secret is a mystery; every body promises, and nobody breaks their promise; and yet the propagation of the secret is rapid in proportion to the strictness of the promise; I cannot, and therefore will not attempt to explain this paradox.