anything but himself; he has never been worthy of occupying the most idle
moment of a heart true and faithful as your's."

These words escaped me under an impulse I found entirely impossible to
control. Scarcely were they uttered, ere I deeply regretted the
indiscretion. Grace looked at me imploringly, turned as pale as death, and
trembled all over, as if on the verge of dissolution. I took her in my
arms, I implored her pardon, I promised to command myself in future, and I
repeated the most solemn assurances of complying with her wishes to the
very letter. I am not certain I could have found it in my heart not to
have recalled my promise, but for the advantage my sister obtained over
me, by means of this act of weakness. There was something so exceedingly
revolting to me in the whole affair, that even Grace's holy weakness
failed to sanctify the act in my eyes; at least so far as Rupert was
concerned. I owe it to myself to add that not a selfish thought mingled
with my reluctance, which proceeded purely from the distaste I felt to
seeing Lucy's brother, and a man for whom I had once entertained a boyish
regard, making himself so thoroughly an object of contempt. As I
entertained serious doubts of even Rupert's sinking so low, I felt the
necessity of speaking to my sister on the subject of such a contingency.

"One might hesitate about accepting your money, after all, dearest
sister," I said; "and it is proper you give me directions what I am to do,
in the event of Rupert's declining the gift."

"I think that is little probable, Miles," answered Grace, who lived and
died under a species of hallucination on the subject of her early lover's
real character--"Rupert may not have been able to command his affections,
but he cannot cease to feel a sincere friendship for me; to remember our
ancient confidence and intimacy. He will receive the bequest, as you would