"If _you_ can think thus, Miles, how much easier ought it to be for me!
and, yet--"

"Yet, what, Lucy? I believe you loved my sister as affectionately as I did
myself, but I am sensitive on this point; and, tender, true, warm as I
know your heart to be, I cannot allow that even you loved her more."

"It is not that, Miles--it is not that. Have I no cause of particular
regret--no sense of shame--no feeling of deep humility to add to my grief
for her loss?"

"I understand you, Lucy, and at once answer, no. You are not Rupert any
more than Rupert is you. Let all others become what they may, you will
ever remain Lucy Hardinge."

"I thank you, Miles," answered my companion, gently pressing the hand that
still retained hers, "and thank you from my heart. But your generous
nature will not sae this matter as others might. We were aliens to your
blood, dwellers under your own roof, received into the bosom of your own
family, and were bound by every sacred obligation to do you no wrong. I
would not have my dear, upright father know the truth for worlds."

"He never will know it, Lucy, and it is my earnest desire that we all
forget it. Henceforth Rupert and I must be strangers, though the tie that
exists between me and the rest of your family will only be drawn the
closer for this sad event."

"Rupert is my brother--" Lucy answered, though it was in a voice so low
that her words were barely audible.