the thoughts which rolled through the teeming brain of Joseph Brandon, and before he had turned on his left side—which he always did preparatory to surrendering himself to slumber—the Squire had fully come to a determination most fatal to the schemes of the Lawyer and the hopes of the Earl.
The next morning, as Lucy was knitting
"The loose train of her amber-dropping hair"
before the little mirror of her chamber, which even through its dimmed and darkened glass gave back a face which might have shamed a Grecian vision of Aurora, a gentle tap at her door announced her father. There was in his rosy and comely countenance, that expression generally characteristic of a man pleased with himself, and persuaded that he is about to give pleasure.
"My dear child," said the Squire, fondly stroking down the luxuriance of his Lucy's hair, and kissing her damask check, "I am come to have some little conversation with you, sit down now, and—(for my part, I love to talk at my ease,
