Lucy's voice was like a wailing cry of agony, as, covering her white
face with her hands, she went on:

"I held the cup toward Robbie, and said: 'Is it this you want?' and when
in his ignorance he answered: 'Yes, div me some,' I dropped it into his
hands, saying to myself, 'it is not my fault if he gets it in his eyes.'

"You know the rest, how from that moment he never looked on me or any
one again; but you do not, cannot know the anguish and remorse which
filled my soul, when I realized what I had done. From that day to the
hour of Robbie's death there has never been a moment when I would not
have given my sight--yes, my life for his. And that is why I have been
the devoted sister, as you have called me. I was trying to atone, and I
did a little. Robbie told me so, for I confessed it all to him before he
died; I told him just how vile I was, and he forgave me, and loved me
just the same and went to sleep with my name on his lips. I can see it
there now, the formation of the word Lucy, and it will be the first he
utters when he welcomes me to heaven, if I am permitted to enter there.

"I have made this confession because I thought I ought, that you might
not think me better than I am, I know you will despise me, but it does
not matter; Robbie forgave and loved me to the last, and that alone will
keep me from going mad."

She ceased speaking, and with a low, gasping sob fell forward into the
arms of her father, who had stepped to her side in time to receive her.

It was a blustering March day when they buried Robert Grey in the
cemetery at Allington, while his sister, who had been taken directly
from the church to her home, lay unconscious in her room, only moaning