In reflecting on what then passed months afterwards, it appeared to me that Lucy had entirely forgotten herself, her own causes of sorrow, her own feelings as respected Grace, in the single wish to solace me.  But this was ever her character; this was her very nature; to live out of herself, as it might be, and in the existences of those whom she esteemed or loved.  During this scene, Lucy lost most of the restraints which womanhood and more matured habits had placed on her deportment; and she behaved towards me with the innocent familiarity that marked our intercourse down to the time I sailed in the Crisis.  It is true, I was too dreadfully agitated at first to take heed of all that passed; but, I well remember, that, before leaving me in obedience to a summons from Grace, she laid her head affectionately on mine, and kissed the curls with which nature had so profusely covered the last.  I thought, at the time, notwithstanding, that the salute would have been on the forehead, or cheek, three years before, or previously to her acquaintance with Drewett.

I was a long time in regaining entire self-command; but, when I did, I opened my sister’s letter to Rupert, agreeably to her request, and perused it thrice without a pause, even to reflect.  It was conceived in these words:—­

  “My Dearest Rupert—­

“God, in his infinite and inscrutable wisdom, when you read this letter, will have seen fit to call me to himself.  Let not this seeming loss, in any manner, afflict you, my friend; for I feel the humble assurance that I shall reap the full benefit of the Saviour’s great sacrifice.  I could not have been happy in this life, Rupert; and it is a mercy that I am taken, thus early, to a better.  It grieves me to part from your excellent father, from yourself, from our precious and rightfully beloved Lucy, and from dear, dear Miles.  This is the last tribute I pay to nature, and I hope it will be pardoned for its character.  There is a strong hope within me, that my death will be sanctified to the benefit of my friends.  With this view, and this view only, beloved Rupert, I wish you to remember it.  In all other respects let it be forgotten.  You have found it impossible to command your affections, and worlds would not have tempted me to become your wife without possessing all your heart.  I pray daily, almost hourly”—­tears had evidently blotted this portion of the letter—­“for you and Emily.  Live together, and make each other happy.  She is a sweet girl; has enjoyed advantages that Clawbonny could not bestow, and which will contribute to your gratification.  In order that you may sometimes think of me”—­poor Grace was not aware of this contradiction in her requests—­“Miles will send you a legacy that I leave you.  Accept it as a little fortune with Emily.  I wish sincerely, it were much larger; but you will not overlook the intention, and forget the insufficiency of the sum.  Small as it is, I trust it will enable you to marry at