broke out, and I am not ashamed to say that I wept and sobbed like
an infant.

How kind, how woman-like, how affectionate did Lucy show herself at that
bitter moment. She said but little, though I think I overheard her
murmuring "poor Miles!"--"poor, _dear_ Miles!"--"what a blow it must be
to a brother!"--"God will temper this loss to him!" and other similar
expressions. She took one of my hands and pressed it warmly between both
her own; held it there for two or three minutes; hovered round me, as the
mother keeps near its slumbering infant when illness renders rest
necessary; and seemed more like a spirit sympathizing with my grief than a
mere observer of its violence. 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