"
"It is not that, Miles. I doubt if Lucy ever wrote me a line, that you
might not see--in proof of which, you shall have the package of her
letters, with full permission to read every one of them. It will be
like reading the correspondence of another _sister_!"
I fancied Grace laid an emphasis on the last word she used; and I
started at its unwelcome sound--unwelcome, as applied to Lucy
Hardinge, to a degree that I cannot express. I had observed that Lucy
never used any of these terms, as connected with me, and it was one of
the reasons why I had indulged in the folly of supposing that she was
conscious of a tenderer sentiment. But Lucy was so natural, so totally
free from exaggeration, so just and true in all her feelings, that one
could not expect from her most of the acts of girlish weakness. As for
Grace, she called Chloe, gave her the keys of her secretary, and told
her to bring me the package she described.
"Go and look them over, Miles," said my sister, as I received the
letters; "there must be more than twenty of them, and you can read
half before the dinner hour. I will meet you at table; and let me
implore you not to alarm good Mr. Hardinge. He does not believe me
seriously ill; and it cannot benefit him or me, to cause him pain."
I promised discretion, arid hastened to my own room, with the precious
bundle of Lucy's letters.
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