“The knowledge of these sterling qualities, sir, only makes me regret my having come too late, so much the more.”

“It was not to be;—­at one time, I did think Rupert and Grace had a preference for each other; but I must have been deceived.  God had ordered it otherwise, and wisely no doubt; as his omniscience foresaw the early drooping of this lovely flower.  I suppose their having been educated together, so much like brother and sister, has been the reason there was so much indifference to each other’s merits.  You have been an exception on account of your long absences, Miles, and you must look to those absences for the consolation and relief you will doubtless require.  Alas! alas! that I could not now fold Grace to my heart, as a daughter and a bride, instead of standing over her grave!  Nothing but Rupert’s diffidence of his own claims, during our days of poverty, could have prevented him from submitting himself to so much loveliness and virtue.  I acquit the ad of insensibility; for nothing but the sense of poverty and the pride of a poor gentleman, added perhaps to the brotherly regard he has always felt for Grace, could have kept him from seeking her hand.  Grace, properly enough, would have requited his affection.”

Such is a specimen of the delusion under which we live, daily.  Here was my sister dying of blighted affections, under my own roof; and the upright, conscientious father of the wretch who had produced this withering evil, utterly unconscious of the wrong that had been done; still regarding his son with the partiality and indulgence of a fond parent.  To me, it seemed incredible at the time, that unsuspecting integrity could carry its simplicity so far; but I have since lived long enough to know that mistakes like these are constantly occurring around us; effects being hourly attributed to causes with which they have no connection; and causes being followed down to effects, that are as imaginary as human sagacity is faulty.  As for myself, I can safely say, that in scarce a circumstance of my life, that has brought me the least under the cognizance of the public, have I ever been judged justly.  In various instances have I been praised for acts that were either totally without any merit, or, at least, the particular merit imputed to them; while I have been even persecuted for deeds that deserved praise.  An instance or two of the latter of these cases of the false judgment of the world will be laid before the reader as I proceed.

Mr. Hardinge continued for some time to expatiate on the loveliness of Grace’s character, and to betray the weight of the blow he had received, in gaining this sudden knowledge of her danger.  He seemed to pass all at once from a state of inconsiderate security to one of total hopelessness, and found the shock so much harder to endure.  At length he sent for Lucy, with whom he continued closeted for near an hour.  I ascertained, afterwards, that he questioned