“It amounts to antipathy, Mrs. Mainwaring—to hatred, to abhorrence.”
“Well, my dear child, in confirmation of them all, I implore, I entreat, I conjure, and if I had authority, I would say, I command you not to unite your fate with that young profligate.”
“Do not fear me, Mrs. Mainwaring; but at present I can think of nothing but poor papa and his illness; I tremble, indeed, to think how I shall find him; and, my God, to reflect that I am the guilty cause of all this!”
They then separated, and Lucy, accompanied by Alley, proceeded to town at a pace as rapid as the animals that bore them could possibly accomplish.
On arriving in town, she was about rushing upstairs to throw herself in her father's arms, when Gibson, who observed her, approached respectfully, and said:
“This haste to see your father, Miss Gourlay, is very natural; but perhaps you will be good enough to wait a few moments, until he is prepared to receive you. The doctor has left strict orders that he shall not see any person; but, above all things, without being announced.”
“But, Gibson—first, how is he? Is he very ill?”
Gibson assumed a melancholy and very solemn look, as he replied, “He is, indeed, ill, Miss Gourlay; but it would not become me to distress you—especially as I hope your presence will comfort him; he is perpetually calling for you.”
“Go, Gibson, go,” she exclaimed, whilst tears, which she could not restrain, gushed to her eyes. “Go, be quick; tell him I am here.”
“I will break it to him, madam, as gently as possible,” replied this sedate and oily gentleman; “for, if made acquainted with it too suddenly, the unexpected joy might injure him.”