“This from me, dear Miles,” returned the precious girl, tears glistening in her eyes, though she endeavoured to smile. “Now, take the box, and we will be just as good friends as ever.”
“Will you answer me one question, as frankly and as honestly as you used to answer all my questions?”
Lucy turned pale and she stood reflecting an instant before she spoke.
“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.