last hours
of her existence."

"Ah! Miles," returned a voice that was filled with sadness, "how little
did I anticipate this when you spoke of Grace in the brief interview we
had at the theatre!"

I understood my companion fully. Lucy had been educated superior to cant
and false morals. Her father drew accurate and manly distinctions between
sin and the exactions of a puritanical presumption that would set up its
own narrow notions as the law of God; and, innocent as she was, no thought
of error was associated with the indulgence of her innocent pleasures. But
Grace, suffering and in sorrow, while she herself had been listening to
the wonderful poems of Shakspeare, did present a painful picture to her
mind, which, so far from being satisfied with what she had done in my
sister's behalf, was tenderly reproachful on account of fancied omissions.

"It is the will of God, Lucy," I answered. "It must be our effort to be
resigned."

"If _you_ can think thus, Miles, how much easier ought it to be for me!
and, yet--"

"Yet, what, Lucy? I believe you loved my sister as affectionately as I did
myself, but I am sensitive on this point; and, tender, true, warm as I
know your heart to be, I cannot allow that even you loved her more."

"It is not that, Miles--it is not that. Have I no cause of particular
regret--no sense of shame--no feeling of deep humility to add to my grief
for her loss?"

"I understand you, Lucy, and at once answer, no. You are not Rupert any
more than Rupert is you. Let all others become what they may, you will
ever remain Lucy Hardinge."

"I thank you, Miles," answered my companion, gently pressing the hand that
still retained hers, "and thank you from my heart. But your generous
nature will not sae this matter as others might. We were aliens to your
blood, dwellers under your own roof, received into the bosom of your own
family, and were bound by every sacred obligation to do you no wrong. I
would not have my dear, upright father know the truth for worlds."

"He never will know it, Lucy, and it is my earnest desire that we all
forget it. Henceforth Rupert and I must be strangers, though the tie that
exists between me and the rest of your family will only be drawn the
closer for this sad event."

"Rupert is my brother--" Lucy answered, though it was in a voice so low
that her words were barely audible.

"You would not leave me quite alone in the world!" I said, with something
like reproachful ene