"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.
"You would not leave me quite alone in the world!" I said, with something like reproachful energy.
"No, Miles, no--_that_ tie, as you have said, must and should last for life. Nor do I wish you to regard Rupert as of old. It is impossible--improper even--but you can concede to us some of that same indulgence which I am so willing to concede to you."
"Certainly--Rupert is your brother, as you say, and I do not wish you ever to regard him, otherwise. He will marry Emily Merton, and I trust he may be happy. Here, over my sister's grave, Lucy, I renew the pledge already made to you, never to act on what has occurred."
I got no answer to this declaration in words, but Lucy would actually have kissed my hand in gratitude had I permitted it. This I could not suffer, however, but raised her own hand to my lips, where it was held until the dear girl gently withdrew it herself.
"Miles," Lucy said, after a long and thoughtful pause, "it is not good for you to remain at Clawbonny, just at this time. Your kinsman, John Wallingford, has been here, and I think you like him. Why not pay him a visit? He resides near Niagara, 'West of the Bridge,'[3] as he calls it, and you might take the opportunity of seeing the 'Falls.'"
[Footnote 3: In the western part of the State of New York, there are several small lakes that lie nearly parallel to each other, and not far asunder, with lengths that vary from fifteen to forty miles. The outlet of one of these lakes--the Cayuga--lies in the route of the great thorough-fare to Buffalo, and a bridge of a mile in length was early thrown across it. From this circumstance has arisen the expression of saying, "West of the Bridge;" meaning the frontier counties, which include, among-other districts, that which is also known as the "Genessee Country."]