We had just taken our seats, when the door slowly opened, and Lucy entered the room.

“Good morning, dearest father,” said the sweet girl, passing an arm round Mr. Hardinge’s neck, with more than her usual tenderness of manner, and imprinting a long kiss on his bald head.  “Good morning, Miles,” stretching towards me a hand, but averting her face, as afraid it might reveal too much, when exposed fully to my anxious and inquiring gaze.  “Grace passed a pretty quiet night, and is, I think, a little less disturbed this morning than she was yesterday.”

Neither of us answered or questioned the dear nurse.  What a breakfast was that, compared to so many hundreds in which I had shared at that very table, and in that same room!  Three of the accustomed faces were there, it is true; all the appliances were familiar, some dating as far back as the time of the first Miles; Romeo, now a grey-headed and wrinkled negro, was in his usual place; but Chloe, who was accustomed to pass often between her young mistress and a certain closet, at that meal, which never seemed to have all we wanted arranged on the table at first, was absent, as was that precious “young mistress” herself.  “Gracious Providence!” I mentally ejaculated, “is it thy will it should ever be thus?  Am I never again to see those dove-like eyes turned on me in sisterly affection from the head of my table, as I have so often seen them, on hundreds and hundreds of occasions?” Lucy’s spirits had sometimes caused her to laugh merrily; and her musical voice once used to mingle with Rupert’s and my own more manly and deeper notes, in something like audible mirth; not that Lucy was ever boisterous or loud; but, in early girlhood, she had been gay and animated, to a degree that often blended with the noisier clamour of us boys.  With Grace, this had never happened.  She seldom spoke, except in moments when the rest were still; and her laugh was rarely audible, though so often heartfelt and joyous.  It may seem strange to those who have never suffered the pang of feeling that such a customary circle was broken up forever; but, that morning, the first in which I keenly felt that my sister was lost to me, I actually missed her graceful, eloquent, silence!

“Miles,” said Lucy, as she rose from the table, tears trembling on her eyelids as she spoke, “half an hour hence come to the family room.  Grace wishes to see you there this morning, and I have not been able to deny her request.  She is weak, but thinks the visit will do her good.  Do not fail to be punctual, as waiting might distress her.  Good morning, dearest papa; when I want you, I will send for you.”