f that name?"

We now understood that the mind of the dear patient was losing its powers;
of course no efforts were made to give a truer direction to her thoughts.
We could only listen, and weep. Presently, Grace passed an arm round the
neck of Lucy, and drew her towards her, with a childish earnestness.

"Lucy, love," she continued--"we will persuade these foolish boys from
this notion of going to sea. What if Miles's father, and Rupert's
great-grand-father _were_ sailors; it is no reason _they_ should be
sailors too!"

She paused, appeared to meditate, and turned towards me. Her head was
still inclining on my bosom, and she gazed upwards at my face, as fondly
as she did in that tender meeting we held just after my return home, in
the family room. There was sufficient strength to enable her to raise her
pallid but not emaciated hand to my face, even while she passed it over my
cheeks, once more parting the curls on my temples, and playing with my
hair, with infantile fondness.

"Miles," the dear angel whispered, utterance beginning to fail her--"do
you remember what mother told us about always speaking the truth? You are
a manly boy, brother, and have too much pride to say anything but the
truth; I wish Rupert were as frank."

This was the first, the last, the only intimation I had ever heard from
Grace, of her being conscious of any defect in Rupert's character. Would
to God she had seen this important deficiency earlier! though this is
wishing a child to possess the discernment and intelligence of a woman.
The hand was still on my cheek, and I would not have had it removed at
that bitter moment to have been well assured of Lucy's love.

"See," my sister resumed, though she now spoke merely in a whisper--"how
brown his cheek is, though his forehead is white. I doubt if mother would
know him, Lucy. Is Rupert's cheek as brown as this, dear?"

"Rupert has not been as much exposed of late as Miles," Lucy answered
huskily, Grace's arm still clinging to her neck.

The well-known voice appeared to awaken a new train of thought.

"Lucy," my sister asked, "are you as fond of Miles as we both used to be,
when children?"

"I have always had, and shall ever retain, a deep affection for Miles
Wallingford," Lucy answered, steadily.

Grace now turned towards me, releasing her hold of Lucy's neck, from pure
inability to sustain it; and she fastened her serene blue eyes on my
countenance, whence they never deviated while s