When Lucy reached her own room, she found Mabel waiting there—but without taking any notice of her, she sunk down upon her bed, and remained gloomily silent.

Mabel offered no consolation, for there is a dignity in grief which calls for something like respect; she, therefore, busied herself in getting the chamber restored to something like order, that Lucy might not be disturbed; and as soon as she heard her aunt stirring, she went to her, though most reluctantly, to communicate as much as she knew of the morning's adventure. As she anticipated, she had to bear the brunt of her wrath, for Mrs. Villars, with the unreasonable temper of disappointment, was almost ready to blame her for the whole occurrence. Mabel, however, listened to her patiently, glad to shield the unhappy Lucy from the angry observations which she had herself to endure. She then returned to her cousin, and remained with her for the rest of the day—though there seemed very little to repay this patient attention to her feelings. Lucy turned with peevishness from her sisters, when they either offered their pity, or attempted to gratify their curiosity, and they soon left her to herself.

For the last few weeks, her spirits had been kept up to an unnatural pitch of excitement, and she had danced late, and walked early, without shewing the slightest fatigue; but now her nerves suffered from reaction; and sleepless nights, and fatiguing days, all seemed to oppress her then; and before that evening had closed in, her burning brow, which could scarcely find rest upon the pillow—her parched lips, and feverish pulse, frightened her companion, and she hastened to Mrs. Villars, begging her, that she might be allowed to send for a doctor.

"What!" exclaimed the latter, indignantly, when she heard this request, and speaking very loud; "what! send for Mr. Mildman, that he may carry the scandal all over Bath? No; I will do no such thing. She never took to these absurd whims, till she went to Aston, and I will not have them, and that you may tell her. Say, it is my wish that she should get up and shew herself."

"Shew herself where?" thought Mabel, as she slowly retreated; "in the Pump-room—the assembly rooms—or the crowded streets? and what chance of real comfort could they offer? callous they might indeed make her to the sufferings of life, but to its better feelings also." And she returned, with renewed diligence to the couch of her restless patient, resolved that no want of kindness at home, should make her seek it abroad; but she was soon convinced, also, that her aunt was so far right in believing that Lucy's sufferings were rather mental than bodily.

She seemed sullen and selfish in her grief; and, heedless of her cousin's presence, she would turn her face away, or, burying it in the clothes, seemed resolved to hug her disappointment, as closely as she had cherished her former infatuation. She answered, with peevish bitterness, any attempt to cheer her, and when her mother or sisters paid her a visit, she obstinately refused, either to speak or listen to them. This conduct they were little inclined to bear; and one after another, as she gave up the task, readily agreed, that, as Mabel did not mind it, it was better to leave the two alone; so that she spent her time almost entirely in the sick room, unless when she went down to the study to give some passing word to Mr. Villars, and to run away with some passage which he wished copied. As she was one day returning from him, a servant handed her a letter, which she stopped on the landing-place to read—it ran as follows:—

"Miss Lesly will, I trust, pardon the liberty I am now taking in addressing her—and will allow me, through her, to say some words in vindication of myself to Miss Lucy Villars—and to tell her, that, when I first sought an introduction to her, it was under the impression that she was the bosom friend of my wife, from whom circumstances had separated me—and with the hope that she might aid me in obtaining a quiet reconciliation. That we never spoke openly on the subject, I allow—but I frequently alluded to it—believing that she understood me. That she did not, I lament; and if in the course of our friendship, I have displayed so much of my admiration for her artless candour, and ingenuous beauty, as to place my sentiments in a doubtful light, I most sincerely repent having done so, and entreat her to forgive me. Again soliciting Miss Lesly's pardon, and begging her to convey all the apology which a delicate mind can with delicacy accept, I remain, her obedient servant,

"Alfred Beauclerc."

At this moment Hargrave ascended the stairs, and Mabel handed him the letter, saying—

"Pray read this, for you are a better judge of character than I am."

"You cannot, then," replied Hargrave, "detect the deception which prevents some people from reading themselves. Now I really do not think this man knew he was exactly flirting, for the knowledge that he was a married man made him admire the confidence and freedom which would have disgusted him had he been single."

"Why?"

"Because," replied Hargrave, smiling, "he would have suspected motives, which, being married, he knew could not exist."

"But this was still very, very wrong."

"I own it; marriage should be like the Devonshire lane of the poet's song; and he is most unhappy who looks over its high hedges to discover more beauties in the scenery beyond, which he has given up for ever. Still, I do not think Beauclerc meant any harm; at least, when I called, on the part of Captain Clair, to demand an explanation, he assured me so, in such a simple manner, that I felt it impossible to doubt him; and you must know how very imprudent Lucy has been; she was likely to bring such a thing upon herself, becoming attached to him, without enquiry as to who or what he was, and having no certainty with regard to his sentiments. So I think it would be much better to hush this foolish affair up as quietly and quickly as possible."

"Then what shall I do?" enquired Mabel, taking the letter.

"Try to make Lucy think no more than may be beneficial to her. Write to Beauclerc, absolve him, and treat his offence as trifling, and, promise that she will do as he desired—become a mediator between him and his wife."

"Thank you," said Mabel, scarcely suppressing a smile at the difficulty of her task; and she went on to Lucy's room; as she did so, she heard a step hastily retreat from the top of the stairs, and the rustling of a silk dress.

For the first time, Mabel found Lucy in a sound sleep, and, fearful of waking her, she took up a book, and seated herself by the fireplace, for fire there was none, though the day, for February, was particularly cold and cheerless.

She had been sitting thus for nearly an hour, when looking to see if Lucy still slept, she found that she was awake, and with her large light blue eyes filled with tears, was gazing at her with a gentle earnestness, which was a relief to see, after the angry flush, which had before so constantly marked her countenance.

"Will you ring the bell, if you please," said Lucy.

Mabel did as she was desired, and, when the servant entered, Lucy said—

"I wonder that Miss Lesly has been suffered to sit so long without a fire. Will you light one directly, Jemima?"

As Jemima did so, she watched the preparations with more interest than she had lately regarded any thing.

When they were again alone she said—

"Can you tell me how it was that Captain Clair happened to see me in the Park that morning?"

"Because he went out on purpose to meet you."

"And why?"

"Do you remember, that after the party, Colonel Hargrave went to bed earlier than we did?"

"Yes; I think I do."

"Well, when he went down stairs, he found Captain Clair, who had lost his hat, so he offered to lend him one, and took him into his room,—where they found the fire blazing so temptingly, that, late as it was, they sat down to talk, and in the course of conversation, Captain Clair remarked on your intimacy with Mr. Beauclerc, which he had noticed that evening, and, in return, Colonel Hargrave observed, he was supposed to be paying you attention, and that it was generally expected that he would soon come forward. But why need I tell you all this?"

"Because I wish to know—pray go on, what then?"

"Why, then, Captain Clair startled him by saying, that he knew him very well, and that he was married, though separated from his wife. Colonel Hargrave, feeling very much distressed, for he is very kindly interested in you, and had many doubts of Mr. Beauclerc, before—went on talking and planning with Captain Clair, how to break such disagreeable news to you—and, while they were doing so, you came down stairs, and went out. Now, as this appeared to them very singular—after a night of such fatigue—they suspected something wrong, and, with the hope of being able to serve you, Captain Clair followed you at a distance, keeping you in sight, though he did not like to interfere till he saw you faint."

Lucy listened with attention, but made no remark, and when Mabel left off speaking, she again buried her face in the bed-clothes, and seemed to sleep.