"Be comforted, my dear, dear child!" said the squire, almost affected to tears himself; and his emotion, arousing him from his usual mental confusion, rendered his words less involved and equivocal than they were wont to be. "And now I do hope that you won't vex yourself; the young man is indeed— and, I do assure you, I always thought so — a very charming gentleman, there's no denying it. But what can we do? You see what they all say of him, and it really was — we must allow that — very improper in him to come without being asked. Moreover, my dearest child, it is very wrong, very wrong, indeed, to love any one, and not know who he is: and — and — but don't cry, my dear love, don't cry so; all will be very well, I am sure — quite sure!"

As he said this, the kind old man drew his daughter nearer him, and feeling his hand hurt by something she wore unseen, which pressed against it, he inquired, with some suspicion that the love might have proceeded to love-gifts, what it was.
"It is my mother's picture," said Lucy, simply, and putting it aside. 