My sister spoke quick, and was compelled to pause for breath.  As for myself, the reader can better imagine than I can describe my sensations, which were of a character almost to overwhelm me.  The circumstance that I felt precluded from making any serious objections, added to the intensity of my suffering, left me in a state of grief, regret, indignation, wonder, pity and tenderness, that it is wholly out of my power to delineate.  Here, then, was the tenderness of the woman enduring to the last; caring for the heartless wretch who had destroyed the very springs of life in her physical being, while it crushed the moral like a worm beneath the foot; yet bequeathing, with her dying breath, as it might be, all the worldly goods in her possession, to administer to his selfishness and vanity!

“I know you must think this strange, brother;” resumed Grace, who doubtless saw how utterly unable I was to reply; “but, I shall not die at peace with myself without it.  Unless he possess some marked assurance of my forgiveness, my death will render Rupert miserable; with such a marked assurance, he will be confident of possessing my pardon and my prayers.  Then, both he and Emily are pennyless, I fear, and their lives may be rendered blanks for the want of the little money it is in my power to bestow.  At the proper time, Lucy, I feel confident, will add her part; and you, who remain behind me, can all look on my grave, and bless its humble tenant!”

“Angel!” I murmured—­“this is too much!  Can you suppose Rupert will accept this money?”

Ill as I thought of Rupert Hardinge, I could not bring my mind to believe he was so base as to receive money coming from such a source, and with such a motive.  Grace, however, viewed the matter differently; not that she attached anything discreditable to Rupert’s compliance, for her own womanly tenderness, long and deeply rooted attachment, made it appear to her eyes more as an act of compliance with her own last behest, than as the act of degrading meanness it would unquestionably appear to be, to all the rest of the world.

“How can he refuse this to me, coming to him, as the request will, from my grave?” rejoined the lovely enthusiast.  “He will owe it to me; he will owe it to our former affection—­for he once loved me, Miles; nay, he loved me even more than you ever did, or could, dearest—­much as I know you love me.”

“By heavens, Grace,” I exclaimed, unable to control myself any longer, “that is a fearful mistake.  Rupert Hardinge is incapable of loving anything but himself; he has never been worthy of occupying the most idle moment of a heart true and faithful as your’s.”