once, and Lucy’s heart may be confided in for
the rest.
“Farewell, Rupert—I do
not say, farewell Emily; for I think this letter,
as well as its object, had better remain a secret between
you and me, and my brother—but I wish
your future wife all earthly happiness, and an end
as full of hope as that which attends the death-bed
of your affectionate
“Grace Wallingford.”
Oh! woman, woman, what are ye not, when duly protected
and left to the almost divine impulses of your generous
natures! What may ye not become, when rendered
mercenary and envious by too close a contact with those
worldly interests which are never admitted to an ascendancy
without destroying all your moral beauty!
“And the beautiful, whose record
Is the verse that cannot die,
They too are gone, with their glorious
bloom,
From the love of human eye.”
Mrs. Hemans.
I cannot dwell minutely on the events of the week
that succeeded. Grace sunk daily, hourly; and
the medical advice that was obtained, more as a duty
than with any hope of its benefiting the patient, failed
of assisting her. Mr. Hardinge saw the invalid
often, and I was admitted to her room each day, where
she would lie, reclining on my bosom for hours at a
time, seemingly fond of this innocent indulgence of
her affections, on the eve of her final departure.
As it was out of the question that my sister should
again visit the family room, the causeuse was
brought into her chamber, where it was made to perform
the office to which it had been several times devoted
in its proper apartment since my return from sea.
That venerable chair still exists, and I often pass
thoughtful hours in it in my old age, musing on the
past, and recalling the different scenes and conversations
of which it could tell, did it possess consciousness
and the faculty of speech.
Mr. Hardinge officiated in his own church, agreeably
to his intention, on the succeeding Sunday. Lucy
remained with her friend; and I make no doubt their
spirits devoutly communed with ours the while; for
I mastered sufficient fortitude to be present at St.
Michael’s. I could observe an earnest sympathy
in every member of the little congregation; and tears
fell from nearly every eye when the prayer for the
sick was read. Mr. Hardinge remained at the rectory
for the further duties of the day; but I rode home
immediately after morning service, too uneasy to remain
absent from the house longer than was necessary, at
such a moment. As my horse trotted slowly homeward,
he overtook Neb, who was walking towards Clawbonny,
with an air so different from his customary manner,
I could not help remarking it. Neb was a muscular,
active black, and usually walked as if his legs were
all springs; but he moved along now so heavily, that
I could not but see some weight upon the spirits had
