the prisoner would himself take every precaution against the detection of
that fact. Clifford answered the earl's note, and promised, in a letter
couched in so affecting yet so manly a tone of gratitude that even
Brandon was touched when he read it. And since his confinement and
partial recovery of health, the prisoner had kept himself closely
secluded, and refused all visitors. Encouraged by this reflection, and
the belief in the safety of his precautions, Brandon took leave of Lucy.
"Farewell!" said he, as he embraced her affectionately. "Be sure that
you write to me, and forgive me if I do not answer you punctually. Take
care of yourself, my sweet niece, and let me see a fresher colour on that
soft cheek when I return!"

"Take care of yourself rather, my dear, dear uncle," said Lucy, clinging
to him and weeping, as of late her weakened nerves caused her to do at
the least agitation. "Why may I not go with you? You have seemed to me
paler than usual the last three or four days, and you complained
yesterday. Do let me go with you. I will be no trouble, none at all;
but I am sure you require a nurse."

"You want to frighten me, my pretty Lucy," said Brandon, shaking his head
with a smile. "I am well, very well. I felt a strange rush of blood
towards the head yesterday, it is true; but I feel to-day stronger and
lighter than I have done for years. Once more, God bless you, my child!"

And Brandon tore himself away, and commenced his journey.

The wandering and dramatic course of our story now conducts us to an
obscure lane in the metropolis, leading to the Thames, and makes us
spectators of an affecting farewell between two persons, whom the
injustice of fate and the persecutions of men were about perhaps forever