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stoop of the cottage, in the mild summer's evening, and Lucy walking, to and fro, on the short grass of the willow bottom, with an impatience and restlessness of manner it was very unusual for her to exhibit. No sooner was Kitty alighted, than she ran to her grandmother, Marble following, while I hastened to the point where was to be found the great object of my interest. Lucy's face was full of feeling and concern, and she received me with an extended hand, that, gracious as was the act itself, and most grateful as it would have proved to me under other circumstances, I now feared boded no good.

"Miles, you have been absent an age!" Lucy commenced. 'I should be disposed to reproach you, had not the extraor dinary story of this good old woman explained it all. I feel the want of air and exercise; give me your arm, and we will walk a short distance up the road. My dear father will not be inclined to quit that happy family, so long as any light is left."

I gave Lucy my arm, and we did walk up the road together, actually ascending the hill I had just descended; but all this did not induce me to overlook the fact that Lucy's manner was hurried and excited. The whole seemed so inexplicable, that I thought I would wait her own pleasure in the matter.

"Your friend, Marble," she continued- "I do not know why I ought not to say our friend, Marble, must be a very happy man at having, at length, discovered who his parents are, and to have discovered them to be so respectable and worthy of his affection."

"As yet, he seems to be more bewildered than happy, as, indeed, does the whole family. The thing has come on them so unexpectedly, that there has not been time to bring their feelings in harmony with the facts."

"Family affection is a blessed thing, Miles," Lucy resumed, after a short pause, speaking in her thoughtful manner; "there is little in this world that can compensate for its loss. It must have been sad, sad, to the poor fellow to have lived so long without father, mother, sister, brother, or any other known relative."

"I believe Marble found it so; yet, I think, he felt the supposed disgrace of his birth more than his solitary condi

tion. The man has warrn affections at the bottom, though he has a most uncouth manner of making it known."

"I am surprised one so circumstanced never thought of marrying; he might, at least, have lived in the bosom of his own family, though he never knew that of a father."

"These are the suggestions of a tender and devoted female heart, dear Lucy; but, what has a sailor to do with a wife? I have heard it said Sir John Jervis - the present Lord St. Vincent always declared a married seaman, a seaman spoiled; and I believe Marble loves a ship so well he would hardly know how to love a woman.'

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Lucy made no answer to this indiscreet and foolish speech. Why it was made, I scarce knew myself; but the heart has its bitter moods, when it prompts sentiments and declarations that are very little in accordance with its real impulses. I was so much ashamed of what I had just said, and, in truth, so much frightened, that, instead of attempting to laugh it off, as a silly, unmeaning opinion, or endeavouring to explain that this was not my own way of thinking, I walked on some distance in silence, myself, and suffered my companion to imitate me in this particular. I have since had reason to think that Lucy was not pleased at my manner of treating the subject, though, blessed creature! she had another matter to communicate, that lay too heavy on her heart, to allow one of her generous, disinterested nature to think much of anything else.

"Miles," Lucy, at length, broke the silence, by saying"I wish, I do wish we had not met that other sloop this morning."

I stopped short in the highway, dropped my beautiful companion's arm, and stood gazing intently in her face, as if I would read her most inmost thoughts through those windows of the soul, her serene, mild, tender, blue eyes. I saw that the face was colourless, and that the beautiful lips, out of which the words that had alarmed me more by their arcents than their direct signification, were quivering in a wy that their lovely mistress could not control. Tears, as la ge as heavy drops of rain, too, were trembling on the log silken eye-lashes, while the very attitude of the precius girl denoted hopelessness and grief!

"This relates to Grace!" I exclaimed, though my throat was so parched, as almost to choke my utterance.

"Whom, or what else, can now occupy our minds, Miles; I can scarce think of anything but Grace; when I do, it is to remember that my own brother has killed her!"

What answer could I have made to such a speech, had my mind been sufficiently at ease as respects my sister to think of anything else? As it was, I did not even attempt the vain office of saying anything in the way of alleviating my companion's keen sense of the misconduct of Rupert. "Grace is then worse in consequence of this unhappy rencontre ?" I observed, rather than asked.

"Oh! Miles; what a conversation I have had with her, this afternoon! She speaks, already, more like a being that belongs to the regions of the blessed, than like one of earth! There is no longer any secret between us. She would gladly have avoided telling me her precise situation with Rupert, but we had already gone so far, I would know more. I thought it might relieve her mind; and there was the chance, however slight, of its enabling us to suggest some expedient to produce still further good. I think it has had some of the first effect, for she is now sleeping."

"Did Grace say anything of your communicating the miserable tale to me?"

"It is, indeed, a miserable tale! Miles, they were engaged from the time Grace was fifteen! Engaged distinctly, and in terms, I mean; not by any of the implied understandings, by which those who were so intimate, generally, might believe themselves bound to each other."

"And in what manner did so early and long-continued an engagement cease?"

"It came from Rupert, who should have died first, before he was so untrue to himself, to my poor father, to me, to all of us, Miles, as well as to his own manhood. It has been as we supposed; he has been deluded by the éclât that attaches to these Mertons in our provincial society; and Emily is rather a showy girl, you know,—at least for those who are accustomed only to our simple habits."

Alas! little did Lucy then know-she has learned better since that "showy" girls belong much more to our “simple" state of society, than to the state of those which are

commonly conceived to be more advanced. But EmilyMerton was, in a slight degree, more artificial in manner, than it was usual for a Manhattanese female of that day, to be, and this was what Lucy meant; Lucy, who always thought so humbly of herself, and was ever so ready to concede to her rivals all that could plausibly be asked in their behalf.

"I am well aware how much importance the leading set among ourselves attaches to English connection, and English rank," I answered; "but, it does not strike me Emily Merton is of a class so elevated, that Rupert Hardinge need break his faith, in order to reap the advantage of belonging to her, or her family."

"It cannot be altogether that. Miles," Lucy added, in an appealing, but touchingly confidential manner, "you and I have known each other from children, and, whatever may be the weaknesses of one who is so dear to me, and who, I hope, has not altogether lost his hold on your own affections, we can still rely on each other. I shall speak to you with the utmost dependence on your friendship, and a reliance on your heart that is not second to that which I place on my dear father's; for this is a subject on which there ought to be no concealment between us. It is impossible that one as manly, as upright, as honest I will say, as yourself, can have lived so long in close intimacy with Rupert, and not be aware that he has marked defects of character."

"I have long known that he is capricious," I answered, unwilling to be severe on the faults of Lucy's brother, to Lucy's own ear; "perhaps I might add, that I have known he pays too much attention to fashion, and the opinions of fashionable people."

"Nay, as we cannot deceive ourselves, let us not attempt the ungrateful task of endeavouring to deceive each other," that true-hearted girl replied, though she said this with so great an effort, that I was compelled to listen attentively to catch all she uttered. 66 Rupert has failings worse than these. He is mercenary; nor is he always a man of truth. Heaven knows, how I have wept over these defects of character, and the pain they have given me from childho! But, my dear, dear father overlooks them all—or, rather,

seeing them, he hopes all things; it is hard for a parent tc believe a child irreclaimable."

I was unwilling to let Lucy say any more on this subject, for her voice, her countenance, I might almost say her whole figure showed how much it cost her to say even this much of Rupert. I had long known that Lucy did not respect her brother as much as she could wish; but this was never before betrayed to me in words, nor in any other manner, indeed, that would not have eluded the observation of one who knew the parties less thoroughly than myself. I could perceive that she felt the awful consequences she foresaw from her brother's conduct gave me a claim on her sincerity, and that she was suffering martyrdom, in order to do all that lay in her own power to lessen the force of the blow that unworthy relative had inflicted. It would have been ungenerous in me to suffer such a sacrifice to continue a moment longer than was necessary.

"Spare yourself, and me, dearest Lucy," I eagerly said, "all explanations but those which are necessary to let me know the exact state of my sister's case. I confess, I could wish to understand, however, the manner in which Rupert has contrived to explain away an engagement that has lasted four years, and which must have been the source of so much innocent confidence between Grace and himself."

"I was coming to that, Miles; and when you know it, you will know all. Grace has felt his attentions to Emily Merton, for a long time; but there never was a verbal explanation between them until just before she left town. Then she felt it due to herself to know the truth; and, after a conversation which was not very particular, your sister offered to release Rupert from his engagement, did he in the least desire it."

"And what answer did he make to a proposal that was as generous as it was frank?"

"I must do Grace the justice to say, Miles, that, in all she said, she used the utmost tenderness towards my bro ther. Still, I could not but gather the substance of what passed. Rupert, at first, affected to believe that Grace, herself, wished to break the engagement; but, in this, you well know, her ingenuous simplicity would not permit him

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