to indulge her wish to converse with
me, so long as she dwelt on subjects that did not agitate her. Speaking of
her hopes of heaven had a contrary effect, and I made no further
opposition.

"Lucy's hesitation to be under the obligations you mention did not lessen
her in your esteem?" I repeated.

"You know it could not, Miles. Lucy is a dear, good girl; and the more
intimately one knows her, the more certain is one to esteem her. I have
every reason to bless and pray for Lucy; still, I desire you not to make
either her or her father acquainted with my bequest."

"Rupert would hardly conceal such a thing from so near and dear friends."

"Let Rupert judge of the propriety of that for himself. Kiss me, brother;
do not ask to see me again to-day, for I have much to arrange with Lucy;
to-morrow I shall expect a long visit. God bless you, my own, dear,--my
_only_ brother, and ever have you in his holy keeping!"

I left the room as Chloe entered; and, in threading the long passage that
led to the apartment which was appropriated to my own particular purposes,
as an office, cabinet, or study, I met Lucy near the door of the latter. I
could see she had been weeping, and she followed me into the room.

"What do you think of her, Miles?" the dear girl asked, uttering the words
in a tone so low and plaintive as to say all that she anticipated herself.

"We shall lose her, Lucy; yes, 'tis God's pleasure to call her to
himself."

Had worlds depended on the effort, I could not have got out another
syllable. The feelings which had been so long pent up in Grace's presence
broke out, and I am not ashamed to say that I wept and sobbed like
an infant.

How kind, how woman-like, how affectionate did Lucy show herself at that
bitter moment. She said but little, though I think I overheard her
murmuring "poor Miles!"--"poor, _dear_ Miles!"--"what a blow it must be
to a brother!"--"God will temper this loss to him!" and other similar
expressions. She took one of my hands and pressed it warmly between both
her own; held it there for two or three minutes; hovered round me, as the
mother keeps near its slumbering infant when illness renders rest
necessary; and seemed more like a spirit sympathizing with my grief than a
mere observer of its violence. In reflecting on what then passed months
afterwards, it appeared to me that Lucy had entirely forgotten herself,
her own causes of sorrow, her own feelings as respected Grace, in the
single w