I remember, one morning, when Glumdalclitch had set me in a box upon a window, as she usually did in fair days to give me air (for I durst not venture to let the box be hung on a nail out of the window, as we do with cages in England), after I had lifted up one of my sashes, and sat down at my table to eat a piece of sweet cake for my breakfast, above twenty wasps, allured by the smell, came flying into the room, humming louder than the drones of as many bagpipes.
There are no more uses of "allure" in the book.
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Against her better judgement, she let herself be allured.
There was nothing to allure her now; duty would be easy, and all the old calm purposes would reign peacefully once more.