"And if you are not worthy to match with any earl, or duke, or prince in the wide world, my lady, I do not know who is--good, sweet, gentle, beautiful, and noble as you are!" exclaimed Amy, with a burst of enthusiasm which almost resembled indignation at her lady for undervaluing herself. "Oh, no! Amy, not beautiful! I never thought before how much more beautiful my dear sister Lucy is than I am!" "Nay, my dear, dear lady, I have often heard my mother say the Lady Lucy may be taller, and may have more colour in her cheeks, but that for real beauty her features are not near equal to yours; and as for the Lady Carrington, or the Lady Mary, or----" "Stop, stop, Amy! I must not listen to such flatteries! What would Father Albert say, if he knew I was listening to such sinful vanities as praises of personal beauty, and that I was listening to hear myself preferred before my sisters? Oh, no! It is not thus I may make myself worthy of him who is to be my lord, if indeed he can condescend to such as I am." "Oh, my sweet mistress! you are only too good. Bear with me, my lady, and I hope in time I may learn to be something like you. But indeed it hurts me to hear you speak so humbly and so sadly: I am sure that every time you dropped behind, I saw the earl slacken his pace, and steal a look to see if you were there." "Did he, indeed?" said the young Winifred; but, checking herself, she added, "but now I will to my prayers. Alas! I wish Father Albert were here! I feel as if I had much need of confession, and of ghostly counsel; and yet I do not know what sin I have committed which seems to weigh so heavily upon me. My mind is bewildered. It is so very long since I have confessed! I wonder what Father Albert would say!" CHAPTER VI. His affection was of a very extraordinary alloy,--a composition of conscience, and love, and generosity, and gratitude, and all those noble affections that raise the passion to its greatest height. _Clarendon's Life._ On the following morning, after some private conversation between the duchess, her son, and the Earl of Nithsdale, the Lady Winifred was summoned to the oak-chamber, where her mother formally taking her hand, placed it in that of the earl. They both knelt before her to receive her blessing; and though as yet they had never addressed one word to each other, they rose from their knees, their faiths mutually plighted. Such marriages have often been contracted, and sometimes they may have proved as well assorted as those in which the choice of the individuals has been more consulted; but it has seldom occurred that hearts have so sincerely acquiesced in the vows dictated by others as on this occasion.