'Can it be possible Lucy is alluding to Andrew Drewett!'—I thought to myself. 'Has she discovered my attachment, and does she, will she, can she regret her own engagement?' A lover who thought thus, would not be apt to leave the question long in doubt.
“Deal plainly with me, I implore of you, Lucy,” I said solemnly. “One word uttered with your old sincerity and frankness may close a chasm that has now been widening between us for the last year or two. What is the obstacle you mean?”
“I have seen and felt the alienation to which you allude quite as sensibly as you can have done so yourself, Miles,” the dear girl answered in her natural, simple manner, “and I will trust all to your generosity. Need I say more, to explain what I mean, than mention the name of Rupert?”
“What of him, Lucy!—be explicit; vague allusions may be worse than nothing.”
Lucy's little hand was on my arm, and she had drawn its glove on account of the heat. I felt it press me, almost convulsively, as she added—“I do, I must think you have too much affection and gratitude for my dear father, too much regard for me, ever to forget that you and Rupert once lived together as brothers?”
“Grace has my promise already, on that subject. I shall never take the world's course with Rupert, in this affair.”
I heard Lucy's involuntary sob, as if she gasped for breath; and, turning, I saw her sweet eyes bent on my face with an expression of thankfulness that could not be mistaken.
“I would have given the same pledge to you, Lucy, and purely on your own account. It would be too much to cause you to mourn for your brother's—”
I did not name the offence, lest my feelings should tempt me to use too strong a term.
“This is all I ask—all I desire, Miles; bless you—bless you! for having so freely given me this assurance. Now my heart is relieved from this burthen, I am ready to speak frankly to you; still, had I seen Grace—”