ment, clouded the expressive features of Mauleverer,—it passed away.
"How sweet is your rebuke!" said he. "Yes! I do not yet deserve any other sentiment than esteem: you are not to be won precipitately; a long trial,—a long course of attentions,—a long knowledge of my devoted and ardent love, alone will entitle me to hope for a warmer feeling in your breast. Fix then your own time of courtship, angelic Lucy!—a week,—nay a month!—till then, I will not even press you to appoint that day, which to me will be the whitest of my life!"
"My Lord!" said Lucy, smiling now no longer half archly, "you must pardon me for believing your proposal can be nothing but a jest; but here, I beseech you, let it rest for ever: do not mention this subject to me again."
"By Heavens!" cried Mauleverer, "this is too cruel.—Brandon, intercede for me with your niece."
Sir William started, naturally enough, from his slumber, and Mauleverer continued—
"Yes, intercede for me; you, my oldest friend, be my greatest benefactor! I sue to your niece,
