“Think of the danger of what you ask,” she replied; “think of the deep iniquity—­the horrible guilt, and the infamy of the crime into which you wish to plunge me.  Reflect that you are breaking down the restraints of honor and conscience in iny heart; that you are defiling my soul with falsehood; and that if I yield to you in this, every subsequent temptation will beset me with more success, until my faith, truth, honor, integrity, are gone forever—­until I shall be lost.  Is there no sense of religion, father?  Is there no future life?  Is there no God—­no judgment?  Father, in asking me to abet your falsehood, and sustain you in your deceit, you transgress the limits of parental authority, and the first principles of natural affection.  You pervert them, you abuse them; and, I must say, once and for all, that be the weight of your vengeance what it may, I prefer bearing it to enduring the weight of a guilty conscience.”

The baronet rose, and rushing at her, raised his open hand and struck her rather severely on the side of the head.  She felt, as it were, stunned for a little, but at length she rose up, and said:  “Father, this is the insanity of a bad ambition, or perhaps of affection, and you know not what you have done.”  She then approached him, and throwing her arms about his neck, exclaimed:  “Papa, kiss me; and I shall never think of it, nor allude to it;” as she spoke the tears fell in showers from her eyes.

“No, madam,” he replied, “I repulse you; I throw you off from me now and forever.”

“Be calm, papa; compose yourself, my dear papa.  I shall not see Lord Cullamore; it would be now impossible; I could not sustain an interview with him.  You, consequently, can have nothing to fear; you can say I am ill, and that will be truth indeed.”

“I shall never relax one moment,” he replied, “until I either subdue you, or break your obstinate heart.  Come, madam,” said he, “I will conduct you to your apartment.”

She submissively preceded him, until he committed her once more to the surveillance of the maid whom he had engaged and bribed to be her sentinel.

It is unnecessary to say that the visit of the honorable old nobleman ended in nothing.  Lucy was not in a condition to see him; and as her father at all risks reiterated his assertions as to her free and hearty consent to the match, Lord Cullamore went away, now perfectly satisfied that if his son had any chance of being reclaimed by the influence of a virtuous wife, it must be by his union with Lucy.  The noble qualities and amiable disposition of this excellent young lady were so well known that only one opinion prevailed with respect to her.

Some wondered, indeed, how such a man could be father to such a daughter; but, on the other hand, the virtues of the mother were remembered, and the wonder was one no longer.

CHAPTER XIII.  The Stranger’s Second Visit to Father M’Mahon