Grace received me with an angelic smile; but, I almost gasped for breath as I noticed the prodigious change that had come over her in so brief a space.  She now looked more like a being of another world than ever; and this, too, immediately after coming from the refreshment of a night’s rest.  I kissed her forehead, which had an unnatural chill on it, I thought; and I felt the feeble pressure of an arm that was thrown affectionately round my neck.  I then sat down on the transom, still holding my sister’s hand.  Grace looked anxiously at me for half a minute, ere she spoke, as if to ascertain how far I was conscious of her situation.

“Lucy tells me, brother,” she at length said, “that you think of carrying me down the river, as far as town, in order to get further advice.  I hope this is a mistake of our dear Lucy’s, however?”

“It is not, Grace.  If the wind stand here at the westward, I hope to have you in Lucy’s own house in Wall street, by to-morrow evening.  I know she will receive you hospitably, and have ventured to form the plan without consulting you on the subject.”

“Better that I should be at Clawbonny—­if anything can now do me good, brother, it will be native air, and pure country air.  Hearken to my request, and stop at the creek.”

“Your serious request, Grace, will be a law to me, if made on due reflection.  This growing feebleness, however, alarms me; and I cannot justify it to myself not to send for advice.”

“Remember, Miles, it is not yet twenty-four hours since one of the ablest men of the country saw me.  We have his written instructions; and, all that man can do for me, they will do for me.  No, brother; listen to my entreaties, and go into the creek.  I pine, I pine to be again at dear Clawbonny, where alone I can enjoy anything like peace of body or mind.  This vessel is unsuited to me; I cannot think of a future, or pray in it.  Brother, dearest brother, carry me home, if you love me!”

There was no resisting such an appeal.  I went on deck with a heavy heart, and gave the necessary orders to the pilot; and, in about eight-and-forty hours after we emerged into the Hudson, we left that noble stream again, to shoot beneath the shaded, leafy banks of our own inlet.  Grace was so feeble as to be carried to the chaise, in which she was supported by Lucy, during the short drive to the house.  When I reached my own dwelling, I found Mr. Hardinge pacing the little portico, or piazza, waiting for my arrival, with an uneasiness of manner that at once proclaimed his anxiety to see me.  He had driven the horse of the chaise, and had imbibed a first impression of Grace’s danger.

“Miles, my dear boy—­my second son”—­the simple-hearted, excellent old man commenced; “Miles, my dear boy, the hand of God has been laid heavily on us—­your beloved sister, my own precious Grace, is far more ill than I had any idea of, before this morning.”