“Certainly—­Rupert is your brother, as you say, and I do not wish you ever to regard him, otherwise.  He will marry Emily Merton, and I trust he may be happy.  Here, over my sister’s grave, Lucy, I renew the pledge already made to you, never to act on what has occurred.”

I got no answer to this declaration in words, but Lucy would actually have kissed my hand in gratitude had I permitted it.  This I could not suffer, however, but raised her own hand to my lips, where it was held until the dear girl gently withdrew it herself.

“Miles,” Lucy said, after a long and thoughtful pause, “it is not good for you to remain at Clawbonny, just at this time.  Your kinsman, John Wallingford, has been here, and I think you like him.  Why not pay him a visit?  He resides near Niagara, ’West of the Bridge,’[3] as he calls it, and you might take the opportunity of seeing the ‘Falls.’”

[Footnote 3:  In the western part of the State of New York, there are several small lakes that lie nearly parallel to each other, and not far asunder, with lengths that vary from fifteen to forty miles.  The outlet of one of these lakes—­the Cayuga—­lies in the route of the great thorough-fare to Buffalo, and a bridge of a mile in length was early thrown across it.  From this circumstance has arisen the expression of saying, “West of the Bridge;” meaning the frontier counties, which include, among-other districts, that which is also known as the “Genessee Country.”]

“I understand you, Lucy, and am truly grateful for the interest you feel in my happiness.  I do not intend to remain long at Clawbonny, which I shall leave to-morrow—­”

“To-morrow!” interrupted Lucy, and I thought like one who was alarmed.

“Does that appear too early?  I feel the necessity of occupation, as well as of a change of scene.  You will remember I have a ship and interests, of moment to myself, to care for:  I must turn my face, and move towards the east, instead of towards the west.”

“You intend then, Miles, to pursue this profession of yours!” Lucy said, as I thought, with a little like gentle regret in her manner and tones.

“Certainly—­what better can I do?  I want not wealth, I allow; am rich enough already for all my wants, but I have need of occupation.  The sea is to my liking, I am still young, and can afford a few more years on the water.  I shall never marry—­” Lucy started—­“and having now no heir nearer than John Wallingford”—­

“John Wallingford!—­you have cousins much nearer than he!”

“That is true; but not of the old line.  It was Grace’s wish that I should leave our cousin John the Clawbonny property at least, whatever I do with the rest.  You are so rich now as not to need it, Lucy; else would I leave every shilling to you.”

“I believe you would, dear Miles,” answered Lucy, with fervent warmth of manner.  “You have ever been all that is good and kind to me, and I shall never forget it.”