ful Smoothson by the side of the little vehicle, he muttered his determination of writing by the very next post to Brandon, all his anger for Lucy, and all his jealousy of her evident lover.
While this doughty resolve was animating the great soul of Mauleverer, Lucy reached her own room, bolted the door, and throwing herself on her bed, burst into a long and bitter paroxysm of tears. So unusual were such visitors to her happy and buoyant temper, that there was something almost alarming in the earnestness and obstinacy with which she now wept.
"What!" said she bitterly, "have I placed my affections upon a man of uncertain character? and is my infatuation so clear, that an acquaintance dare hint at its imprudence? And yet his manner, his tone! No, no, there can be no reason for shame in loving him!" and as she said this, her heart smote her for the coldness of her manner towards Clifford, on his taking leave of her for the evening. "Am I," she thought, weeping yet more vehemently than before: "Am I so
