Now, I solemnly affirm that this was the nearest
approach to anything like a love-scene that had ever passed between
Lucy Hardinge and myself.
I would gladly pass over the leave-taking, and shall say but little
about it. Mr. Hardinge called me into his room, when we got back to
the house. He spoke earnestly and solemnly to me, recalling to my mind
many of his early and most useful precepts. He then kissed me, gave me
his blessing, and promised to remember me in his prayers. As I left
him, and I believe he went on his knees as soon as my back was turned,
Lucy was waiting for me in the passage. She was in tears, and paler
than common, but her mind seemed made up to sustain a great sacrifice
like a woman. She put a small, but exceedingly neat copy of the Bible
into my hand, and uttered, as well as emotion would permit--"There,
Miles; _that_ is _my_ keepsake. I do not ask you to think of
_me_ when you read; but think of _God_." She then snatched a
kiss, and flew into her room and locked the door. Grace was below,
and she wept on my neck like a child, kissing me again and again, and
calling me "her brother--her dear, her _only_ brother." I was
obliged actually to tear myself away from Grace. Rupert went with me
to the ship, and passed an hour or two on board. As we crossed the
threshold, I heard a window open above my head, and, looking up, I saw
Lucy, with streaming eyes, leaning forward to say, "Write,
Miles--write as often as you possibly can.
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