"No!" she cried, looking up at him with a glorious smile. "Scold me! Be harsh to me! It is so delicious now to be reproved by you!" and as she spoke she felt as if she would rather endure torture from that man's hand than bliss from any other. How many strange words of Lucia's that new feeling explained to her; words at which she had once grown angry, as doting weaknesses, unjust and degrading to self-respect. Poor Lucia! She might be able to comfort her now, for she had learnt to sympathise with her by experience the very opposite to hers. Yet there must have been a time when Lucia clung to Elsley as she to Frank. How horrible to have her eyes opened thus!--To be torn and flung away from the bosom where she longed to rest! It could never happen to her. Of course her Frank was true, though all the world were false: but poor Lucia! She must go to her. This was mere selfishness at such a moment. "You will find Scoutbush, then!" "This moment. I will order the car now, if you will only eat. You must!" And he rang the bell, and then made her sit down and eat, almost feeding her with his own hand. That, too, was a new experience; and one so strangely pleasant, that when Bowie entered, and stared solemnly at the pair, she only looked up smiling, though blushing a little. "Get a car instantly," said she. "For Mrs. Vavasour, my lady? She has ordered hers already." "No; for Mr. Headley. He is going to find my lord. Frank, pour me out a cup of tea for Lucia." Bowie vanished, mystified. "It's no concern of mine; but better tak' up wi' a godly meenister than a godless pawet," said the worthy warrior to himself as he marched down stairs. "You see that I am asserting our rights already before all the world," said she, looking up. "I see you are not ashamed of me." "Ashamed of you?" "And now I must go to Lucia." "And to London." Valencia began to cry like any baby; but rose and carried away the tea in her hand. "Must I go? and before you come back, too?" "Is she determined to start instantly?" "I cannot stop her. You see she has ordered the car." "Then go, my darling! My own! my Valencia! Oh, a thousand things to ask you, and no time to ask them in! I can write?" said Frank, with an inquiring smile. "Write? Yes; every day,--twice a day. I shall live upon those letters. Good-bye!" And out she went, while Frank sat himself down at the table, and laid his head upon his hands, stupefied with delight, till Bowie entered. "The car, sir." "Which? Who?" asked Frank, looking up as from a dream. "The car, sir." Frank rose, and walked downstairs abstractedly. Bowie kept close to his side. "Ye'll pardon me, sir," said he in a low voice; "but I see how it is,-- the more blessing for you. Ye'll be pleased, I trust, to take more care of this jewel than others have of that one: or--" "Or you'll shoot me yourself, Bowie?" said Frank, half amused, half awed, too, by the stern tone of the guardsman. "I'll give you leave to do it if I deserve it"