“By Grace—­by Miss Wallingford!” exclaimed Rupert, actually recoiling a step in surprise, if not absolutely in alarm—­“I shall feel honoured—­that is, shall have a melancholy gratification in endeavouring to execute any of her wishes.  No person commanded more of my respect, Mr. Wallingford, and I shall always consider her one of the most amiable and admirable women with whom it was ever my happy fortune to be acquainted.”

I had no difficulty now in commanding myself, for it was easy to see Rupert scarce knew what he said.  With such a man I saw no great necessity for using extraordinary delicacy or much reserve.

“You are doubtless aware of two things in our family history,” I continued, therefore, without circumlocution:  “one that my sister would have been mistress of a small fortune, had she reached the term of twenty-one years, and the other that she died at twenty.”

Rupert’s surprise was now more natural, and I could see that his interest—­shame on our propensities for it!—­was very natural, too.

“I am aware of both, and deeply deplore the last,” he answered.

“Being a minor, she had it not in her power to make a will, but her requests are legal legacies in my eyes, and I stand pledged to her to see them executed.  She has left rather less than $22,000 in all; with $500 of this money I am to present Lucy with some suitable memorial of her departed friend; some small charitable dispositions are also to be made, and the balance, or the round sum of $20,000, is to be given to you.”

“To me, Mr. Wallingford!—­Miles!—­Did you really say to me?”

“To you, Mr. Hardinge,—­such is my sister’s earnest request—­and this letter will declare it, as from herself.  I was to hand you this letter, when acquainting you with the bequest.”  I put Grace’s letter into Rupert’s hand, as I concluded, and I sat down to write, while he was reading it.  Though employed at a desk for a minute or two, I could not avoid glancing at Rupert, in order to ascertain the effect of the last words of her he had once professed to love.  I would wish not to be unjust even to Rupert Hardinge.  He was dreadfully agitated, and he walked the room, for some little time, without speaking.  I even fancied I overheard a half-suppressed groan.  I had the compassion to affect to be engaged, in order to allow him to recover his self-possession.  This was soon done, as good impressions were not lasting in Rupert; and I knew him so well, as soon to read in his countenance, gleanings of satisfaction at the prospect of being master of so large a sum.  At the proper moment, I arose and resumed the subject.

“My sister’s wishes would be sacred with me,” I said, even had she not received my promise to see them executed.  “When a thing of this character is to be done the sooner it is done the better.  I have drawn a note at ten days, payable at the Bank of New York, and in your favour, for $20,000:  it will not inconvenience me to pay it when due, and that will close the transaction.”