ing it in silence for many painful minutes. In that
position I could conceal the tears which forced themselves from my eyes,
it exceeding all my powers to repress these evidences of human grief. As I
took my place, the figure of Lucy disappeared, and the door closed.

I never knew how long a time Grace and I continued in that tender
attitude. I was not in a state of mind to note such a fact, and have since
striven hard to forget most that occurred in that solemn interview. After
a lapse of so many years, however, I find memory painfully accurate on all
the leading circumstances, though it was impossible to recall a point of
which I took no heed at the moment. Such things only as made an impression
is it in my power to relate.

When Grace gently, and I might add faintly, raised herself from my bosom,
she turned on me eyes that were filled with a kind anxiety on my account
rather than on her own.

"Brother," she said, earnestly, "the will of God must be submitted to--I
am very, _very_ ill--broken in pieces--I grow weaker every hour. It is not
right to conceal such a truth from ourselves, or from each other."

I made no reply, although she evidently paused to give me an opportunity
to speak. I could not have uttered a syllable to have saved my life. The
pause was impressive, rather than long.

"I have sent for you, dearest Miles," my sister continued, "not that I
think it probable I shall be called away soon or suddenly--God will spare
me for a little while, I humbly trust, in order to temper the blow to
those I love; but he is about to call me to him, and we must all be
prepared for it; you, and dear, dear Lucy, and my beloved guardian, as
well as myself. I have not sent for you even to tell you this; for Lucy
gives me reason to believe you expect the separation; but I wish to speak
to you on a subject that is very near my heart, while I have strength and
fortitude to speak on it at all. Promise me, dearest, to be calm, and to
listen patiently."

"Your slightest wish will be a law to me, beloved, most precious sister; I
shall listen as if we were in our days of childish confidence and
happiness--though I fear those days are never to return!"

"Feel not thus, Miles, my noble-hearted, manly brother. Heaven will not
desert you, unless you desert your God; it does not desert me, but angels
beckon me to its bliss! Were it not for you and Lucy, and my dear, dear
guardian, the hour of my departure would be a moment of pure