"I can answer no question before it is asked," was at length her
answer.
"Have you thought so little of my presents as to have thrown away the
locket I gave you, before I sailed for the North-West coast?"
"No, Miles; I have kept the locket, and shall keep it as long as I
live. It was a memorial of our childish regard for each other; and, in
that sense, is very dear to me. You will let me keep the locket, I am
sure!"
"If it were not you, Lucy Hardinge, whom I know to be truth itself, I
might be disposed to doubt you, so many strange things exist, and so
much caprice, especially in attachments, is manifested here, ashore!"
"You need doubt nothing I tell you, Miles--on no account would I
deceive you."
"That I believe--nay, I see, it is your present object to
_undeceive_ me. I do not doubt anything you tell me, Lucy. I
wish I could see that locket, however; show it to me, if you have it
on your person."
Lucy made an eager movement, as if about to produce the locket; then
she arrested the impetuous indication, while her cheeks fairly burned
with the blushes that suffused them.
"I see how it is, Lucy--the thing is not to be found. It is mislaid,
the Lord knows where, and you do not like to avow it."
The locket, at that moment, lay as near the blessed creature's heart
as it could be placed; and her confusion proceeded from the shame of
letting that fact be known.
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