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LUCY

ORIGINAL.

WESTCOTT;

A DOMESTIC TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.

A fairer scene was never viewed, than was displayed from the residence of Hiram Westcott, a farmer of Pennsylvania, while it was yet the colony of Great Britain. An ample extent of fields and orchards; a lovely river winding peacefully through verdent meadows, well filled with flocks and herds; tufted here and there with lumps of trees, remnants of the native forests-were contrasted with a dark and distant back ground of hills well clothed with timber. This extensive tract he inherited from his father, who had emigrated from his native England, to enjoy unmolested his religious belief. Their family was of good parentage, and their education entitled them to be above the common sort of farmers. The mind of the present possessor of this fine and fertile district, presented a contrast to the smiling scene around him, dark, gloomy, and vindictive; the sunshine of nature could not penetrate his soul. He was a bigot in religion, and professed to follow the teachings of our divine Master; but he failed in his most essential and beautiful doctrines-charity, loving kindness, one to another. Blessings were multiplied around him, but he was not cheerful; he saw the deity manifested in wrath, and in the chastisement of sin only. He was an arbitrary and despotic ruler in his family, and governed by fear entirely. His presence never gave joy, and his absence was hailed as a relief. His wife was a meek and timid creature, who soon learnt to tremble at his frown. She had involuntarily committed a dire offence, in presenting him successively with several daughters. He despised the weaker sex, and his disappointment was extreme, as each little helpless creature came into the world. At length his ardent wishes were gratified: a male child was born unto him-and as he compared himself to Abraham of old, he called his son, Isaac. On this child was lavished all the affections of his dark and rugged soul-whilst his daughters were considered as insignificant person

ages.

Isaac's growth in strength and manly beauty, was all his father could desire. He became bold, active and fearless-the first in all athletic exercises.

When Isaac was about eighteen, he formed an acquaintance with a young British officer, who had travelled to that part of the country to view a tract of land possessed by his father-and an intimacy soon after commenced between them. Lindsay Neville's mild, gentlemanly, and highly polished bearing made him a favorite also, with the females of the family; whilst between him and Lucy, the youngest and loveliest, there arose an attach ment stronger far than friendship, which they felt would be as lasting as their lives. Lucy was one of those sweet plants which often spring up in the most unpromising soil. Her grace, her gentleness, and her softness, formed a strong contrast to her rude sire, or her common-place sisters. It was

not wonderful that Lindsay, when he gazed on her beautiful countenance, and listened to the sweet sounds of her voice, should forget the aristocratic ideas of his education, and ardently seek an union with her, as one of the greatest blessings life could afford. He thought, notwithstanding her rustic education, she would compare to the most polished ladies of his native land.

As these two fair beings wandered together, over the lovely scenes around them, and gazed in each others faces illumined with the sunshine of affection, they believed there could be neither care nor sorrow to be found in the world, and they, at least, were created to be happy. But the rumor of war soon disturbed this peaceful retreat. The oppressions of the British government were sorely felt. Loud murmurings and threatenings began to be heard. Mr. Westcott entered into the cause of his country, with all the stern determination of his character, and stood ready to attest its rights with the rancour of the bitterest partisan.

He sought all occasions to discuss the subject in the presence of Capt. Neville, and was never careful to avoid the most offensive epithets, when speaking of the mother country. Though Captain Neville's loyal blood often boiled with indignation, and his cheek reddened with ire, yet he restrained himself when he beheld the soft hazel eye of Lucy turned upon him, with an expression which made him forgive the rudeness of her father. At length it happened, they encountered each other at the village inn. Westcott was just from a public meeting, called for political purposes; his blood was in ferment, by the subjects he had heard discussed. He attacked Neville with violence, in the presence of several others. Neville's loyality and national feelings were violated-he answered warmly. They went from one thing to another, until such things were said which could not soon be forgotten; and a rupture ensued between them. Westcott ordered Neville "never to darken his door with his presence again,” and they separated, mutually exasperated with each other.

This was the point at which Westcott wished to arrive; for he had perceived his attentions to Lucy, and he intended to bestow her on another suitora believer in his own dark and gloomy tenets. As for Lucy's sentiments, her father thought them unworthy a moments consideration. The lovers were overwhelmed with despair; their quiet happiness, their dreams of joy, were rudely disturbed. Their intercourse was at an end, for Lucy was forbidden by her father to see Neville again. They knew the unforgiving disposition of Westcott too well to hope for any change. Neville could not bring his proud soul to sue to him, even for his Lucy-though he lingered round the scene of his past happiness, almost maddened at the intelligence that his rival was admitted to the house of Mr. Westcott, a constant visitor. At length he received orders to join

his regiment, as hostilities were on the eve of commencing. Other and sterner thoughts must now fill his mind; but before he tore himself away, he contrived to see Lucy-once more to take his final adieu. With hearts full of grief and vows of constancy, they at length separated, not knowing when to hope for another meeting.

The war soon after commenced, and the whole country was roused to action. Those who had formerly met in peace, and exchanged the courtesies of life, were now armed and opposed to each other, not as one nation meets another, but with all the rancour of civil warfare. Wanton deeds of cruelty were committed on one side, and retaliation pursued on the other, until the most hostile feelings alone prevailed, between the combatants.

who so lately, full of health and hope, had dashed merrily onwards, now stretched lifeless on the ground, in the flower of their days. It seemed otherwise, however, to their conquerers-for even after life was extinct, they indulged their barbarity in wantonly mangling their remains. A few, a very few escaped. They concealed themselves in the woods, and skulked about the neighborhood until the enemy had retired; they then sought the remains of their late companions, to give them burial. The hope of many a family-the mother's darling, and the father's pride, were hastily deposited in the ground, and left in the silence and solitude of the forest. The survivors returned to their homes, to tell the melancholy tale, and every family for miles around partook of the calamity. The blow fell with peculiar force on the Westcott family. Isaac was one of those who had been mercilessly cut down, after surrendering. The mother bewailed her only son, and the sisters their brother. The gentle Lucy, who before this had thought her sorrows almost too great to bear, nearly sunkunder this stroke. She had been the favored sister of the murdered Isaac, and felt his loss most sensibly; but she had been taught to seek support from the only true source of comfort-and she submitted with a resigned spirit.

Westcott was ready at the first call to join the army, and was sent to a distance from his home, near the frontier. Isaac, all on fire with hopes of glory, pleaded in vain to accompary his father. Westcott was inexorable, for the first time, to his indulged boy. When he beheld his fine and noble form not yet arrived at manhood, he could not consent to peril the being on whom his hopes, his happiness were placed. For himself, he could encounter any thing; but he resolved his loved boy should not be exposed to the dangers of war. Isaac was much disappointed, and sullenly re- A cold and cheerless autumnal day was drawing ceived his father's commands to remain at home; to a close-Mrs. Westcott, with her daughters, sat but when he found, after his father's departure, a mournful and desolate round their fireside, when volunteer company of youth, some not older than her husband unexpectedly arrived. As he entered, himself, were forming in the neighboring village, she cast her apron over her face, and clasping her he forgot or heeded not those commands. He had hands, sat sobbing and moaning. He gazed hastily been too long indulged to be restrained now. In around. The older girls showed by their swollen vain his mother pleaded with the self-willed youth, features and inflamed eyes, long and continued and represented his father's anger. He knew his weeping; while Lucy's pale and lovely countefather's anger was not for him, his favorite child—nance, expressed the meekness and resignation of and he had been taught by that father's example to despise the counsels of a woman. He therefore departed with his young companions, full of warlike ardor. They had "heard of battles," and they each determined to signalize themselves by deeds of daring.

her character. His eyes wandered around the apartment for the missing one-fears too mighty to be expressed, possessed him; at length he spoke.

"Isaac !-where is he?" was all that he could utter. A loud cry burst from them, and told too well the dreadful tale to the father.

Is he dead?" he demanded, in a tone which showed he would know the worst at once. "He is!—he is!" burst from the weeping mother, in tones of agony.

They pursued their march for some days, intending to join the nearest post, and animating each other with their spirit and bravery. The discomfort they encountered in fatiguing marches, through forests and swamps-coarse food, and sleeping He heard no more-all strength was gone from on the cold ground, were unheeded by them. that powerful and muscular frame, by one overThey dashed on gaily and gallantly, with all the whelming blow; and he fell senseless among them. ardor of youth, until they suddenly found them-For a time, the intensity of feeling was relieved selves in the vicinity of the enemy, with a force by insensibility; but he at length recovered-and much superior to their own. They prepared for action; and with daring rashness, rushed on to the conflict. But how could beardless, inexperienced youth contend with regular troops. They were soon overpowered and cut down, without doing much injury to their opponents. Isaac now was the commander, in consequence of the death of all above him in rauk; and seeing his companions falling fast around him, to save the lives of the few who remained, he ordered them to lay down their arms. It was in vain, however; they were all ruthlessly murdered-for in the carly days of the war, the laws of honorable combat were not observed towards those whom the enemy considered as rebels and traitors to their king. It was a nelancholy sight to see the bodies of these youths,

with a calmness, like that which precedes the coming storm, he demanded the particulars of Isaac's fate. It seemed a relief to Mrs. Westcott to dwell on them, and she minutely related every circumstance. He heard her quietly, and occasionally asked for explanation of things not quite clear. When she had finished, his agony then burst forth in rage and sorrow, fearful to witness. The pride of his manhood-he, who was to have been the prop of his old age, was gone. Those features, on which he had so lately dwelt with fond admiration, defaced and lifeless. That form, which bore the promise of strength and manliness, laid in a lonely grave. Unlike the patriarch of old, Westcott could not give up his son. All night long he traversed the apartment-venting his agony in ex

clamations of sorrow and prayers for vengeance of the approach of Col. Westcott, and there was no on the slayers of his son.

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Smite them," he said, "O! Lord, smite them with the strong hand of thy power. Let me put my foot upon the neck of the destroyer of my Isaac; let my arm be the instrument of thy wrath, and deliver them to me bound hand and foot."

prospect of an immediate action.

This reunion appeared to Neville and Lucy, as one sweet draught from the bitter cup of life—one gleam of sunshine, in the midst of a long cold storm. He forgot the scenes of peril and bloodshed he had so lately witnessed, whilst they talked Soon after, he returned to his post in the army. of peace-of happier days-and hopes. She had He was brave before this, and would meet the con- the delightful task of administering to his comforts, test unshaken as a rock, when buffeted by the and soothing his sufferings. They felt their at dashing torrent-now, he was like a rushing whirl-tachment chastened and strengthened by their late wind. Where the battle was fiercest, there was he; trials, and their hearts more closely united. where blood flowed most freely, there he gave vent As Col. Westcott entered his dwelling, he gazed to his thirst for vengeance: it was the ruling pas- around on his assembled family. "They have sion of his soul. Retaliation, retaliation, was ever spared the feeble," said he, "for once. Had they his cry. None found mercy from his hand-he no wild Indians to let loose upon you, with the spared none in fight, and few even who surrender- tomahawk and scalping knife, that your locks ed themselves prisoners. "As they dealt with my should adorn their triumphs?—I thought to have Isaac," he would say, "my beautiful, my brave found my home desolate." boy-so shall they fare." Could he have shed the blood of all who wore the British uniform, or fought for King George, his passion for vengeance would hardly have been satiated. He had the command of a detachment, engaged on the frontiers; and was surrounded by a band, over whom, by his deeds of desperate daring and reckless bravery, he had acquired complete control, and who were subservient to his most unlicensed commands. He was ordered home, however, to join the forces of Washington, whose limited means obliged him, then, to act on the defensive. A few skirmishes, in which he, now Col. Westcott, was ever foremost, was all that occurred to feed the insatiable desire of his soul. His feelings burnt within him, and seemed to consume his very being.

"Oh, no indeed husband," said Mrs. Westcott, "we have been highly favored-our enemy is a generous one-our old friend, Capt. Neville-he is still in the house, disabled by wounds from proceeding.

"Still in this house," repeated Col. Westcott, whilst a glare of satisfaction lit up his featuresthey have not all escaped, then-the Lord has heard me, and one more is delivered to me, bound hand and foot."

"Surely, Colonel," Mrs. Westcott ventured to say, while her cheek was pale with fear, at the sinister expression of his countenance, surely you would not harm him,-look around, and see how nicely every thing is spared, whilst our neigh bors"

"Peace, woman!" said he, in a voice of thunder; "was our Isaac spared—our hope-our glory-our man-child?-as they showed mercy to him, so shall they be dealt with. Blood cries for blood-he shall die!"

At length, news was brought of a party of British troops, stationed in that part of the country where Col. Westcott's home was situated. A detachment was sent to cut them off, and Westcott found no difficulty in obtaining the command. He approached his home with feelings impossible to describe, Mrs. Westcott dared not speak again; and Lucy, when he thought of the defenceless females of his whose blood had curdled to her heart, at the dreadfamily, surrounded by the enemy. He never felt ful looks and words of her father, stood for a motheir value before, and now trembled for their fate.ment like a marble statue; her brain whirled-her He knew that all, from beardless youth to gray headed old men, had joined the army; therefore, none remained to protect the weak. As he drew he saw the traces of an unlicensed soldiery; fences destroyed-houses dilapidated, and fruit trees cut down-consecrated buildings used for "Ha!" said the Colonel, fixing his eyes upon stables or barracks, and plunderings and burnings her with a sneer, and a look which made her heart freely allowed. He grew exasperated and infuria-sink within her with dread, "do you plead for the ted as he went on. He longed to meet them in oppressor of your country-the murderer of your battle, and avenge alike his own, and his country's brother?" wrongs. Owing, however, to the information of a

nearer,

head grew dizzy-all senses seemed leaving her, but a feeling of horror. However, an impulse, stronger even than her habitual fear of him, inspired her. She started forward, and wildly exclaimed, "Spare him-oh, spare him! father."

spy, the enemy obtained intelligence of his move-mother and sisters trembled at her daring to ad"He is no murderer," Lucy uttered, whilst her ments in time to escape, and he halted at his house, dress the Colonel, in one of his most terrible moods, Isaac, by the sacrifice of his own life." "he is good, he is kind-he would have saved our

soured and mortified that he was baffled of his ven

geance, He did not observe that, whilst the work of ruin had been going on, his home was preserved, and his farm in perfect order. Not a tree, or floweCol. Westcott, who became infuriated, as every shrub had been touched. Capt. Neville accom-ry thing around recalled more forcibly the recolpanied the detachment of British troops, and had lection of his lost idol, appeared like a raving taken up his quarters with Mrs. Westcott, in order maniac, as his long indulged passion for vengeance to protect them. He had been severely wounded, had almost bereft him of reason. and was not yet recovered; he therefore lingered for a few days to recruit his strength-for when the troops removed from that place, they had not heard

"The words of an artful and too acccomplished villain," said he to Lucy, "have seduced you from the duty you owe to your parents—to your cour.

try-to the memory of your brother,-out of my "Fear not for me, dear Lucy," said Neville, "for sight," he added, raising his voice to the highest well I know each secret path, and lonely hiding pitch; "leave me, quickly-erase from your heart place, through this range of hills. I shall soon all recollection of one who is given up for retribu- join our troops, and the day will come when we tion-who suffers justly by the laws of retalia- can meet under happier circumstances." One tion." hurried embrace-one burst of hope and sorrow, of fear and love-and he was gone.

Lucy staid not a moment, but quickly obeyed the first part of his commands-whilst, for the latter, she thought it would be easier to give up life. Col. Westcott went out to summon his officers to him. Lucy flew up the staircase, and immediately sought the room which Neville occupied. It was in a wing, and remote from the part usually occupied by the family, which prevented him from hearing the voices below. He had thrown himself on the bed-Lucy found him in a quiet and refreshing slumber. A flush was on his handsome features, as he lay dreaming of his home in England; when he imagined himself presenting Lucy to his beloved mother. Lucy gazed on him for a moment, as he looked so quiet, so peaceful, and so handsome-while she said to herself, "could any one have the heart to harm him—and is it my father who would do the deed." There was no time to be lost.

"Lindsay," said she, in low tone. At the sound of that loved voice, he opened his eyes. Her wild and agitated manner at once startled all slumber from his senses. 46 You must fly, Lindsay," said she, "you must fly-there is not a moment to be lost,—my father has returned, and if you do not escape now, I know not what will become of you." "Be not too much alarmed, my dear Lucy," said Neville, endeavoring to quiet her fears, your father will not harm me."

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"You know him not-you know him not," she replied; "since the death of Isaac, he is mad-he is desperate; and is surrounded by men, who, because he is a true patriot, and brave as a lion, will stand by him through every thing. He thinks he is right-he thinks he pursues the only method, to prevent such scenes as proved so fatal to Isaac."

Neville, anxious to join his company, listened to her entreaties to hasten his departure, and follow her instructions. She selected from the family depot of clothes-the collection of several generations-a thick overcoat, and large slouched hat. With these, Neville concealed his undress uniform, and disguised his slender form; Lucy then conducted him down the back stairs to a cellar kitchen, which was only used on grand occasions-such as soap making, etc. As they passed the door of the sitting room, they heard the deep toned voice of Col. Westcott, addressing his officers; he seemed urging them to his wishes, whilst they demurred. They paused not to listen to the result; but passing through the lower kitchen, they reached a doorway, seldom used. It opened outwardly, and was surrounded by high shrubbery, which almost concealed it. Screened by these from the view of the sentry, they soon arrived at an orchard of large and thickly planted apple trees. They passed through this, and one open field; then the woods, pathless forests lay before him-where many a time, in happier days, he had explored its wild recesses, and followed the windings of a brawling brook, as it dashed down the neighboring hills. Here we must part, Lindsay."

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The night was closing in-a heavy dew was falling; and the whipperwill's cry through the lonely forest, seemed to sound to poor Lucy ominous of disaster. She sank down in the high damp grass, overcome by fear for Neville's safety—sorrow for her departure, and dread of her terrible father's anger. It soon occurred to her that she might be missed; and if found there, it would serve as a clue to discover the route of Neville. She quickly returned to the house by a circuitous way. As she passed through the barn yard, she found her sister assisting the domestic to milk the cows. She joined them; and taking one of the pails, entered the house before her absence had been discovered. Col. Westcott and his officers were still engaged in discussing the best way to dispose of their prisoner. Some were for exchanging him for our valuable officers, who were lingering out a wretched existence in loathsome prisons; but Col. Westcott, and a few, who like him had been exasperated, and frenzied by murderings and massacreings, wished to make him an example, which would teach those who sanctioned such deeds, that their most valuable officers would suffer. Col. Westcott never imagined a daughter of his, however her feelings might be interested, would dare to thwart him in his plans. He knew not what the young, the timid, the gentle could do, when inspired by the power of love. At length they dis covered the bird had flown. Col. Westcott's rage was terrible. Lucy's agency in his escape was not known, though she feared by the dark and threatening looks of her father, he suspected her, and her heart sunk within her; but greater alarm was felt for the safety of Neville, as a large party were sent in pursuit of him. They returned, however, disappointed and gloomy, with the intelligence that Neville had joined his company, which had marched on to a strong fortified place.

Col. Westcott's orders obliged him to march towards the north. He sent his family to reside in the town of —, farther south, where he supposed they would be secure, and protected from the enemy. They remained there for a long time, quiet and unmolested, whilst the war was pursued in other parts of the country. They could seldom hear from Col. Westcott, and Lucy never obtained any intelligence of Neville. At length this quiet, though tedious interval was interrupted--the tide of war rolled towards them. A party of British and Hessians soon took possession of the town; but the war was now carried on without so many of those deeds of wanton destruction as were perpetrated at first. The property of the inhabitants was respected, and Mrs. Westcott and her daughters remained unmolested in their dwelling.

Mrs. Westcott's health had suffered extremely, from her late alarms and trials; and it devolved, therefore, on her daughters to obtain their necessary supplies. Lucy, and one of her sisters, were returning from procuring some medicine required

usual routine of occupation, and rejoiced once more to possess the comforts of home?-Alas! her heart was not with thein, and it seemed no longer a home to her. Each well remembered object only served vividly to recall past happiness, to remind her of her embarrassing situation-an unacknowledged wife; and told of a perhaps long separation from him to whom her heart clung with undimi nished attachment.

Col. Westcott, notwithstanding his gloomy abstraction, noticed the bright bloom had faded from the cheek of Lucy. Her step was slow and listless; at his sudden approach, she would nervously start, and a deep crimson suffused her pale countenance as she endeavored to escape from his presence. He also noticed, after a while, his wife and elder daughters often in close consultation, whilst their evident consternation and troubled counte

by their mother, when, turning a corner, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by several Hessian soldiers--creatures whose well known deeds are still remembered by those who existed at that time. Their wild shouts and hurrahs caused the frightened girls to cling to each other, whilst they I screamed for succor, though they hardly knew from whence to hope for it. A British officer advanced to their assistance, dispersed the soldiers, Be and offered to escort them home. The quick eye of Lucy had immediately recognized him--it was Neville!--while her large bonnet, and closely drawn cloak concealed her from him. After they se had escaped the soldiers, she pronounced his name, and his joy may be better imagined than described, when he found the trembling creature clinging to es him for protection, was her who was never absent from his mind. He was received with much joy by Mrs. Westcott, for his amiable manners and un-nances, excited his curiosity. A prying neighbor failing goodness made him a favorite with them all. He had now the power to procure them many comforts, and afford these trembling females the delightful feeling of security and protection. Negotiations for peace had already commenced. Neville and Lucy began to look forward with hope to the future. He feared, however, he should be ordered away on other service, and Lucy would be left to his rival, who had been the constant companion in arms of Col. Westcott, and shared his bitter feelings. He wished to secure her to himself, and prevailed on the too indulgent Mrs. Westcott to sanction their union. She could not resist the pleadings of the lover, though fear of her husband made her require, their union should be a secret until peace was proclaimed; then, she hoped, his angry feelings would subside, and his prejudices die away with the horrors of war. They were united, and soon after, peace was declared. Neville was ordered home with the regiment, and he parted, after promising a speedy reunion, when he should return and claim Lucy for his wife, to be separated no more.

Rejoicing filled the land. The object of so hard struggle, and for which the best blood of the country had been shed, was obtained. The husbandman returned to his fields-rich crops once more promised plenty. His long deserted orchards gain bloomed for him, and his flocks once more wandered unmolested over his fields. The traces of war began to disappear, and all forgot their late hardships and dangers. The dark and gloomy soul of Col. Westcott, however, did not partake of he general rejoicings; he saw no ray of light in is existence. When he returned to the lands inerited from his father, and which, in the pride of is heart, he once thought to transmit to his son; is loss seemed to be felt as acute as ever. Now e could not find a vent to his feelings in dealing engeance on his enemies, his agony seemed to rey on him with tenfold violence. The desire revenge, like all evil passions, when not inlged, became his master, his torment, an evil emon which haunted him night and day-made m insensible to the blessings he still possessed, d filled him with a devouring thirst, whose cry as ever, give—give.

And Lucy-could she partake the pleasures of - mother and sister, when they returned to their

at length hinted to him the cause-Lucy was about to become a mother! He answered not a word at this communication, but with shame and rage concentrated in his heart, he sought his daughter. He suddenly stood before her, as she was seated with her basket, sadly preparing for the coming event. She started with guilty consciousness, at one glance of his terrible countenance.

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Lucy," thundered he, "you have brought shame upon our house."

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Father, father," said she, sinking on her knees before him, "I am a wedded wife!—indeed I am." "To whom?" said he, imperatively.

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To-to-Capt. Neville," answered she, timid

"To that weak minion of a tyrant-to one of the murderers of your brother!-worse than all: rather had I have seen you a child of shame-better would it have been, had he plunged the knife in your heart, than call you wife."

"Oh, father!" said Lucy, "you wrong him-you know not his goodness, his❞—

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Peace-I will hear no more; degenerate, unnatural girl! However, it is no union which is not sanctioned by a father's consent-and be assured, you never shall be his, even should he return to claim you, which is very doubtful; too many-too many weak girls, like you, have been deceived, and have been abandoned. Oh! that ever," he added, his wrath increasing" that ever a child of mine should be the momentary plaything of such as he; and you-you, who were the chosen of one so worthy."

He rushed out, leaving Lucy prostrate on the floor-while tears, bitter tears burst from her. He had uttered that, which had often been hinted to her by others-that, which in the gloomy moments of weak health, sometimes occurred; but she had chased the vile suspicion from her, as the suggestion of an evil spirit, that she was deserted. Many, as her father had asserted, had been placed in like circumstances; many had fallen a prey to the designing, or been the victims of inconstancy; and nothing remained to them, through the remainder, of perhaps a long life, but to repent the weakness of a too confiding nature. When Lucy thought of Neville-his love, his noble and honorable feelings, she repelled with indignation such hints from her mother and sisters, and chid herself for unworthy

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