But
if I tell you more of these things, Douglas will nto get me the pair of
colours they have promised me, and so good-morrow to you."
This dialogue plunged Lucy in still deeper dejection, as it tended to
show her plainly what she had for some time suspected, that she was
little better than a prisoner at large in her father's house. We have
described her in the outset of our story as of a romantic disposition,
delighting in tales of love and wonder, and readily identifying herself
with the situation of those legendary heroines with whose adventures,
for want of better reading, her memory had become stocked. The fairy
wand, with which in her solitude she had delighted to raise visions of
enchantment, became now the rod of a magician, the bond slave of evil
genii, serving only to invoke spectres at which the exorcist trembled.
She felt herself the object of suspicion, of scorn, of dislike at least,
if not of hatred, to her own family; and it seemed to her that she was
abandoned by the very person on whose account she was exposed to
the enmity of all around her.
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