My lady had taken Mrs. Philippa's apartment for her own, and had fitted it up much in the style of the room in Newcastle, that I remembered so well; with painted jars and china monsters, and all kinds of decorations in painting, and shell-work, and flower-work, and all the other ornamental works that ever were invented. The air was heavy with the same scents I so well recollected, and warm with a fire burning on the hearth. My lady threw herself into a great chair and I stood before her, noticing as I did so, how worn she looked, and how her wonderful beauty—for it was something wonderful even yet—seemed like a mask put on to hide the real woman underneath. She always gave me the odd idea of a spirit of some kind, inhabiting a body that was never made for it. "Lucy Corbet, sit down!" were her first words. I obeyed, wondering more and more as she added— "Child, how pretty you are! Ah, if my poor little Magdalene had lived, she would have been like you. She was dark, too; but I only had her five years, and then lost her forever. Ah me." "Your ladyship may have her again!" I could not help saying. "She is in the hand of the Lord where no evil can touch her." "So much the better if she is!" was the abrupt reply. "There, child, don't talk Methodism to me. I am too old for that sort of thing." "Surely, no one is too old for the comforts of religion, madam!" I persisted, impelled by I know not what impulse, but I trust a good one. "It seems as if such a treasure in Heaven should be a strong magnet to draw one thitherward." "Tush!" said my lady sharply and bitterly. "What do I know of Heaven or care to know? I tell you child, this world is all that we can grasp or hold. What do we know of the other? This alone is ours." "For how long, madam?" She winced at the question. "There, that will do. You have discharged your conscience, and I wish to hear no more. Listen to me. I like your spirit, child, and if you will be obedient to me and help me, I will advance your fortunes and perhaps protect you from some dangers." "I trust not to fail in my duty, madam!" I began, but she snapped me up. "Duty! Nonsense—listen to me. Lucy Corbet, Amabel must marry Lord Bulmer; she must; there is no help for it. If she or you struggle or oppose, you will but make matters worse for her. If she gives up with a good grace, he may be kind to her, for he is greatly in love with her, though she angers him by her coldness. If she continues her present conduct, he will revenge it on her, when she is in his power, for marry him she must." She paused a moment, and then went on in a lighter tone.