“Forever—­long as life lasts, beloved Grace,” I murmured, almost in her ear.

Exhaustion kept my sister quiet for a quarter of an hour, though I felt an occasional pressure of her hands, both of which held one of mine; and I could hear words asking blessings and consolation for me, whispered, from time to time, in heartfelt petitions to heaven.  As she gained strength by repose, my sister felt the desire to continue the discourse revive.  I begged her not to incur the risk of further fatigue but she answered, smiling affectionately in my face—­

“Rest!—­There will be no permanent rest for me, until laid by the side of my parents.  Miles, do your thoughts ever recur to that picture of the future that is so precious to the believer, and which leads us to hope, if not absolutely to confide in it as a matter of faith, that we may recognise each other in the next state of being, and that in a communion still sweeter than any of this life, since it will be a communion free from all sin, and governed by holiness?”

“We sailors give little heed to these matters, Grace; but I feel that, in future, the idea you have just mentioned will be full of consolation to me.”

“Remember, my best-beloved brother, it is only the blessed that can enjoy such a recognition—­to the accursed it must add an additional weight to the burthen of their woe.”

“Felix trembled!” The thought that even this chance of again meeting my sister, and of communing with her in the form in which I had ever seen and loved her might be lost, came in aid of other good resolutions that the state of the family had quickened in my heart.  I thought, however, it might be well not to let Grace lead the conversation to such subjects, after all that had just passed, repose becoming necessary to her again.  I therefore proposed calling Lucy, in order that she might be carried to her own room.  I say carried; for, by a remark that fell from Chloe, I had ascertained that this was the mode in which she had been brought to the place of meeting.  Grace acquiesced; but while we waited for Chloe to answer the bell, she continued to converse.

“I have not exacted of you, Miles,” my sister continued, “any promise to keep my bequest a secret from the world; your own sense of delicacy would do that; but, I will make it a condition that you do not speak of it to either Mr. Hardinge or Lucy.  They may possibly raise weak objections, particularly the last, who has, and ever has had, some exaggerated opinions about receiving money.  Even in heydays of poverty, and poor as she was, you know, notwithstanding our true love for each other, and close intimacy, I never could induce Lucy to receive a cent.  Nay, so scrupulous has she been that the little presents which friends constantly give and receive, she would decline, because she had not the means of offering them in return.”

I remembered the gold the dear girl had forced on me, when I first went to sea, and could have kneeled at her feet and called her “blessed.”