“She is in the hands of her merciful Creator,” I said, struggling to command myself, “who, I greatly fear, is about to call her from a world that is not good enough for one so innocent and pure, to take her to himself.  I have foreseen this from the hour I first met her, after my return; though a single ray of hope dawned on me, when Post advised the change of scene.  So far from producing good, this excursion has produced evil; and she is much worse than when we left home.”

“Such short-sighted mortals are we!—­But what can we do, my boy?—­I confess my judgment, my faculties themselves, are nearly annihilated by the suddenness of this shock.  I had supposed her illness some trifling complaint that youth and care would certainly remove; and here we stand, as it might be, at the call of the trumpet’s blast, almost around her grave!”

“I am most anxious to lean on your wisdom and experience, my dear sir, at this critical moment; if you will advise, I shall be happy to follow your instructions.”

“We must lean on God, Miles,” answered my worthy guardian, still pacing the piazza, the tears running down his cheeks in streams, and speaking so huskily as barely to be intelligible; “yes, we will have the prayers of the congregation next Sunday morning; and most devout and heartfelt prayers they will be; for her own sainted mother was not more deservedly loved!  To be called away so young—­to die in the first bloom of youth and loveliness, as it were—­but, it is to go to her God!  We must endeavour to think of her gain—­to rejoice over, rather than mourn her loss.”

“I grieve to perceive that you regard my sister’s case as so entirely hopeless, sir.”

“Hopeless!—­It is full of the brightest promise; and when I come to look calmly at it, my reason tells me I ought not to grieve.  Still, Miles, the loss of Lucy, herself, would scarce be a more severe blow to me.  I have loved her from childhood, cared for her as for one of my own, and feel the same love for her that I should feel for a second daughter.  Your parents were dear to me, and their children have always appeared to me to belong to my own blood.  Had I not been your guardian, boy, and you and Grace been comparatively so rich, while I and mine were so poor, it would have been the first wish of my heart to have seen Rupert and Grace, you and Lucy, united, which would have made you all my beloved children alike.  I often thought of this, until I found it necessary to repress the hope, lest I should prove unfaithful to my trust.  Now, indeed, Mrs. Bradfort’s bequest might have smoothed over every difficulty; but it came too late!  It was not to be; Providence had ordered otherwise.”

“You had an ardent supporter of your scheme in one of your children, at least, sir.”

“So you have given me to understand, Miles, and I regret that I was informed of the fact so late, or I might have contrived to keep off other young men while you were at sea, or until an opportunity offered to enable you to secure my daughter’s affections.  That done, neither time nor distance could have displaced you; the needle not being more true than Lucy, or the laws of nature more certain.”