that bitter moment to have been well assured of Lucy's love.

"See," my sister resumed, though she now spoke merely in a whisper--"how
brown his cheek is, though his forehead is white. I doubt if mother would
know him, Lucy. Is Rupert's cheek as brown as this, dear?"

"Rupert has not been as much exposed of late as Miles," Lucy answered
huskily, Grace's arm still clinging to her neck.

The well-known voice appeared to awaken a new train of thought.

"Lucy," my sister asked, "are you as fond of Miles as we both used to be,
when children?"

"I have always had, and shall ever retain, a deep affection for Miles
Wallingford," Lucy answered, steadily.

Grace now turned towards me, releasing her hold of Lucy's neck, from pure
inability to sustain it; and she fastened her serene blue eyes on my
countenance, whence they never deviated while she breathed. My tears were
uncontrollable, and they seemed to perplex rather that distress her. Of a
sudden, we heard her voice aloud, speaking gently, but with a fervour that
rendered it distinct. The words she uttered were full of the undying
affection of a heart that never turned away from me for a single instant;
no, not even in the petulance of childhood. "Almighty Father," she said,
"look down from thy mercy-seat on this dear brother--keep him for thyself;
and, in thy good time, call him, through the Saviour's love, to thy
mansions of bliss."

These were the last words that Grace Wallingford ever spoke. She lived ten