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 countenance was calm and unmoved as that of a statue, 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, |