THE YOUTH AND MANHOOD OF CYRIL THORNTON. CHAPTER I. Take heed you steer your vessel right, my son : DRYDEN. On the following morning, Lucy and myself bade farewell to our excellent and kind friends, and set out for Staunton Court. There were wet eyes at our departure, and young and bright countenances were darkened with sorrow; yet there was no tear on the cheek of Laura Willoughby, no outward sign of inward agitation, when the words of parting kindness were exchanged between us. Her VOL. III. A countenance was calm and unmoved, and, but for one long and convulsive heave of her bosom, as she quickly turned from me to cast herself into the arms of Lucy, her figure, too, might, at that moment, have been taken for one wrought into the semblance of life, by the Promethean art of the sculptor. Then, however, and not till then, came the burst of grief; and never, I believe, were purer tears shed from angel-eyes, than bedimmed the cheeks of these innocent and lovely girls. But, delay it as we may, the moment of parting comes at last. The weeping Lucy was assisted to the carriage by Frank Willoughby and myself; and, after one kind pressure of the hand,-one lingering look of sorrowful attachment, poor Lucy's effort was over, and we were rapidly moving onward to our destination. For the first mile or two, she leant her head upon my shoulder, and was silent. But the change of scene and object, which every moment was presenting to her view, and the excitement of rapid locomotion to one little accustomed to travelling, wrought their usual effect, and, before the conclusion of the first stage, all traces of grief had vanished from her countenance. There is a pleasure in travelling with a young and happy creature, smiling in the exuberance of her own innocent delight-to whom all that she beholds, comes clad in the charm of novelty. Lucy had a thousand questions to ask, and I to answer; till at length fatigued by her long-continued task of observation, she would warble for me a sweet and lively song, often stopping with a note half modulated on her lips, when any new object appeared to excite her curiosity or interest. We slept that night on the road, and the next day found us rapidly approaching the termination of our journey. It was about three o'clock when we drove through the splendid gateway into the large outer park, which stretched for miles on every side of the mansion. During the latter part of the journey, Lucy was engaged in thought, and silent. External objects had no longer their former power in swaying the mood of her mind. All her anxiety and inquiries, were now connected with the Lady Melicent; and the impression which she, a simple and inexperienced girl, could expect to make on one so imposingly arrayed in all beauty and accomplishment. Poor Lucy knew not the charm she bore about 4 her, in her own fair countenance and guileless heart. I endeavoured to calm her fears, but my efforts were in vain. Her spirit was damped by apprehension of the new scene on which she was about to enter,-with dread of mingling for the first time with strangers, to all of whom she was unknown, and by all of whom, of course, unloved. As we approached the house her anxiety increased; and in crossing the bridge, through the superb portal which I have already described, she clasped her arm in mine, as if clinging to me for support and protection, and her breathing was hurried and irregular. We descended from the carriage, and were ushered into the library. We found there the Lady Melicent, and a very starched and dignified old lady, who was introduced to us as her aunt, Lady Greystoke. The dowager rose from her chair as stiff as a poker, and, scrutinizing poor Lucy with her keen, spectacled eyes, dropped such a courtesy as might be in vogue in the reign of Queen Anne, and resumed her work. I felt gratified by Lady Melicent's reception of Lucy. She seemed charmed by her appearance; and seating herself beside her on the sofa, spoke |