"Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me. “You look nice today, Lucy. It isn’t illusions—for us. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. Anna watched her with curious eyes. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. I knew it was in vain to cry 'murder!' in the Mint, so I had recourse to stratagem. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. No! I do not even know that he cares for me.
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