Lucy (Chapter_20)

It was a long way, tho' they took as Hannah said the shortest cut across the commons--at length they reached the house where the orphans lived--(for the asylum was not then built) Lucy did not venture near, but hid herself behind some bushes, and Hannah knocked loudly--as the child was still asleep, she thought she might venture on a scheme she had been reveling in her head. The governess, slowly and carefully undid the door, and Hannah presenting the basket, said "there was a present her mistress had sent." Donations being very common, the good lady took the basket, and before she could light a candle to examine her present, Hannah and Lucy were far beyond her search, had she attempted one--But there was not a man in the house, and the governess could not even if she had wished it, have dared venture out at night. Oh ye, who doubt the power of faith, come and look upon the sleeping , the no longer half distracted mother. Draw aside the curtains of her humble couch, and translate for me, the smile which is diffused

ever her serene and lovely countenance,--a tear indeed still {stands, rests?} upon her dark eyelash. That tear is her child's--but that smile is Heaven's. Could you as easily draw aside the veil from her heart, you would see all its agonies hushed to peace; calm as the ocean when the storm has subsided, as the troubled son of Tiberias, when Jesus said to the waves, "be still." She believed in the promise, "that God, was the father of the fatherless; that he could bring good out of evil, and that never could she do for her son, what, under providence, these pious christians would do for him. Faith in the wisdom, and the mercy of God, inspired such undoubting confidence, that her anxieties gave place to hope, and she was more than resigned, she was contented! The next morning when Mrs Fairely came to console, she was surprised by the cheerfulness of Lucy, and could not comprehend how the violent sorrow she had beheld, could be so suddenly assuaged and expressed her surprise. ["Ah Madam," she replied, "yesterday I was blinded by my grief--But God has been pleased to open my eyes and to show me, he is able and he is willing to do more and better for my child, than I could ever have done--and so Madam, now I

have given my little William to God--I feel no further concern for my loss, will be his gain." ["Poor fanatic," said Mrs Fairely to herself, "but I must take care she does not give herself to God too." [She concluded however, from this conversation, that it would not yet do to unveil her plans," some of the prejudices of her education still remain. I must be patient a while longer," reasoned Mrs Fairley and therefore in reply to Lucy's earnest recitation to be employed in her service, she told her, for the present she only required her assistance for a few hours a day, in needle work--the rest of the time, as she found her so fond of her books, might be devoted to reading. And she took care to give her books, which would effectively correct the prejudices of Education. ["As henceforward I shall consider you as my daughter, I ask you, said Mrs Fairley, to dress as such, and to gain in the society which occasionaly are here." Lucy could only gratefuly acquiesce in every requisition of her benefactoress. She devour'd with avidity the books that were lent to her,--the deep interest, they excited-

the pleasure and amusement they afforded, soon banished all her sad and tender recollections of her child.

Chapter 24

Mrs Fairley, with whom Lucy now, rode and walked and to whom she read, watched each development of feeling, and found from her artless expressions, she could not yet venture to unfold her plans. Lucy still looked forward to her parents forgiveness, her restoration to home, and her union with William, as possible if not probable events, and while these hopes were cherished, { ?} still remained to feed the expiring flame of virtue, and she became convinced, that unless she could destroy these hopes, she never could make her submit to a life of Infamy. She made enquiries of some country people who came from that neighborhood to market, and hearing that the mother was dead, and the family removed, she no longer refused Lucy's often repeated request to be permitted to try to obtain the forgiveness of her parents. Deprived of her child, she long'd more than ever to be restored to the early objects of her love. One fine day in June, when they were riding out, Mrs Fairley told Lucy if she would direct the driver, she should go and see her parents--that she herself would accompany her, and

discover if they would be prevailed on to recuse her--and pardon her error.

They were then near the race-ground, and Lucy knew that the same road which led to Purie's Mill, would lead them { ?} her father's habitation, as they could get in a carriage. The road led at first through a thick wood, over very broken groundwhere their view was entirely bounded by the thickly interwoven branches--at last they reach'd Rock-Creek, along whose high and rocky banks, lay the rugged road they had to pass. Alarm'd by the steepness of the hills, which they had to ascend and descend, they got out of the carriage, and resolved to walk the rest of the way--never was scenery more wild and beautiful! the stream murmured as it flowed over its rocky bed, and was darkened by the shadows of its high and wooded banks; these banks were covered with a variety of trees, and shrubs, but none so beautiful as the laurel (or kalmia) which grew in profusion, and was now in full flower; the wild-rose and the honey suckle, and acacia, mingled their perfumes, while a thousand wild flowers { ?} the ground. The road was cut out of the side of the hill, which rose high