et countenance, and saw it was full of
concern--I had almost said of alarm.

"I believe I understand you, Lucy," I answered, though a sensation at the
throat nearly choked me--"Rupert is here?"

"He is, Miles; I implore you to remember what would be the wishes of her
who is now a saint in heaven--what her entreaties, her tears would
implore of you, had not God placed a barrier between us."

"I understand you, Lucy"--was the husky reply--"I do remember all you
wish, though that recollection is unnecessary. I would rather not see him;
but never can! forget that he is your brother!"

"You will see as little of him as possible, Miles--bless you, bless you,
for this forbearance!"

I felt Lucy's hasty but warm kiss on my forehead as she quitted the room.
It seemed to me a seal of a compact between us that was far too sacred
ever to allow me to dream of violating it.

I pass over the details of the funeral procession. This last was ordered
as is usual in the country, the friends following the body in vehicles or
on horseback, according to circumstances. John Wallingford went with me
agreeably to my own arrangement, and the rest took their places in the
order of consanguinity and age. I did not see Rupert in the procession at
all, though I saw little beside the hearse that bore the body of my only
sister. When we reached the church-yard, the blacks of the family pressed
forward to bear the coffin into the building. Mr. Hardinge met us there,
and then commenced those beautiful and solemn rites which seldom fail to
touch the hardest heart. The rector of St. Michael's had the great
excellence of reading all the offices of the church as if he felt them;
and, on this occasion, the deepest feelings of the heart seemed to be
thrown into his accents. I wondered how he could get on; but Mr. Hardinge
felt himself a servant of the altar, standing in his master's house, and
ready to submit to his will. Under such circumstances it was not a trifle
that could unman him. The spirit of the divine communicated itself to me.
I did not shed a tear during the whole of the ceremony, but felt myself
sustained by the thoughts and holy hopes that ceremony was adapted to
inspire. I believe Lucy, who sat in a far corner of the church, was
sustained in a similar manner; for I heard her low sweet voice mingling in
the responses. Lip service! Let those who would substitute their own crude
impulses for the sublime rites of our liturgy, making ill diges