These words escaped me under an impulse I found entirely impossible to control.  Scarcely were they uttered, ere I deeply regretted the indiscretion.  Grace looked at me imploringly, turned as pale as death, and trembled all over, as if on the verge of dissolution.  I took her in my arms, I implored her pardon, I promised to command myself in future, and I repeated the most solemn assurances of complying with her wishes to the very letter.  I am not certain I could have found it in my heart not to have recalled my promise, but for the advantage my sister obtained over me, by means of this act of weakness.  There was something so exceedingly revolting to me in the whole affair, that even Grace’s holy weakness failed to sanctify the act in my eyes; at least so far as Rupert was concerned.  I owe it to myself to add that not a selfish thought mingled with my reluctance, which proceeded purely from the distaste I felt to seeing Lucy’s brother, and a man for whom I had once entertained a boyish regard, making himself so thoroughly an object of contempt.  As I entertained serious doubts of even Rupert’s sinking so low, I felt the necessity of speaking to my sister on the subject of such a contingency.

“One might hesitate about accepting your money, after all, dearest sister,” I said; “and it is proper you give me directions what I am to do, in the event of Rupert’s declining the gift.”

“I think that is little probable, Miles,” answered Grace, who lived and died under a species of hallucination on the subject of her early lover’s real character—­“Rupert may not have been able to command his affections, but he cannot cease to feel a sincere friendship for me; to remember our ancient confidence and intimacy.  He will receive the bequest, as you would take one from dear Lucy,” added my sister, a painful-looking smile illuminating that angelic expression of countenance to which I have so often alluded; “or, as that of a sister. You would not refuse such a thing to Lucy’s dying request, and why should Rupert to mine?”

Poor Grace!  Little did she see the immense difference there was in my relation to Lucy and that which Rupert bore to her.  I could not explain this difference, however, but merely assented to her wishes, renewing, for the fourth or fifth time, my pledges of performing with fidelity all she asked at my hands.  Grace then put into my hands an unsealed letter addressed to Rupert, which she desired me to read when alone, and which I was to have delivered with the legacy or donation of money.

“Let me rest once more on your bosom, Miles,” said Grace, reclining her head in my arms, quite exhausted under the reaction of the excitement she had felt while urging her request.  “I feel happier, at this moment, than I have been for a long time; yet, my increasing weakness admonishes me it cannot last long.  Miles, darling, you must remember all our sainted mother taught you in childhood, and you will not mourn over my loss.  Could I leave you united to one who understood and appreciated your worth, I should die contented.  But you will be left alone, poor Miles; for a time, at least, you will mourn for me.”