I assured my kinsman he should come before them, and changed the discourse; for, to own the truth, the manner in which he spoke began to displease me.  Making my apologies, I retired to my own room, while John Wallingford went out, professedly with the intention of riding over the place of his ancestors, with a view to give it a more critical exanimation than it had hitherto been in his power to do.

It was quite dark, when I heard the arrival of the Hardinges, as the carriage of Lucy drove up to the door.  In a few minutes Mr. Hardinge entered the study.  He first inquired after my health, and manifested the kind interest he had ever taken in my feelings; after which, he proceeded: 

“Rupert is here,” he said, “and I have brought him over to see you.  Both he and Lucy appeared to think it might be well not to disturb you to-night; but I knew you better.  Who should be at your side at this bitter moment, my dear Miles, if it be not Rupert, your old friend and play-mate; your fellow truant, as one might say, and almost your brother?”

Almost my brother!  Still I commanded myself.  Grace had received my solemn assurances, and so had Lucy, and Rupert had nothing to apprehend.  I even asked to see him, desiring, at the same time, that it might be alone.  I waited several minutes for Rupert’s appearance, in vain.  At length the door of my room opened, and Chloe brought me a note.  It was from Lucy, and contained only these words—­“Miles, for her sake, for mine, command yourself.”  Dear creature!  She had no reason to be alarmed.  The spirit of my sister seemed to me to be present; and I could recall every expression of her angel-countenance as it had passed before my eyes in the different interviews that preceded her death.

At length Rupert appeared.  He had been detained by Lucy until certain her note was received, when she permitted him to quit her side.  His manner was full of the consciousness of undeserving, and its humility aided my good resolutions.  Had he advanced to take my hand; had he attempted consolation; had he, in short, behaved differently in the main from what he actually did, I cannot say what might have been the consequences.  But his deportment, at first, was quiet, respectful, distant rather than familiar, and he had the tact, or grace, or caution, not to make the smallest allusion to the sad occasion which had brought him to Clawbonny.  When I asked him to be seated, he declined the chair I offered, a sign he intended the visit to be short.  I was not sorry, and determined, at once, to make the interview as much one of business as possible.  I had a sacred duty confided to me, and this might be as fit an occasion as could offer in which to acquit myself of the trust.

“I am glad so early an opportunity has offered, Mr. Hardinge,” I said, as soon as the opening civilities were over, “to acquaint you with an affair that has been entrusted to me by Grace, and which I am anxious to dispose of as soon as possible.”