"This happiness is too great to last, Peter," he would often say; "it will all fade one day, I know, and leave me desolate. What man living is worthy to possess yon glorious creature? I feel as though I had no right even to love her. Yet, great heaven! how I <i>do</i> love her. How unconscious she is of her perfect sweetness! How she graces the meanest thing which she may set herself to do! Her presence seems to breathe very life into me; I then forget everything but her--even Sir Massingberd. To return to him would be death indeed--death death!" Then he would sink back, as if prostrated with the thought, and so remain despairingly despondent until he heard Lucy's voice, or laugh, or footstep. All this was bitter for me to bear. I was glad when Mr. Long suggested to me that he thought it was no longer necessary for me to remain with Marmaduke, and that I should return to Fairburn Rectory and my studies. Still, my heart was heavy upon that morning which was to be the last I was to spend under the same roof with Lucy Gerard. Within the last few weeks--nay, it happened in a few hours--I had Loved and I had Lost. If there be any to read this in whose eyes these words have meaning, they will pity me. I do not match such grief, indeed, for a single instant against the sorrow a man must feel for the loss of the loved companion of his life, against the lone wretchedness of recent widowhood; but it is a grievous blow. I wished Marmaduke and Mr. Gerard "good-bye" without quite knowing that I did so. "Good-bye, Mr. Meredith," said Lucy, and though her voice was even lower and sweeter than usual, it wounded me like a knife. "Why don't you call him Peter, Lucy?" exclaimed her father, laughing. "I think it would be more civil, now that we are going to lose him." "Thank you, sir," said I, gratefully; and she did say "God bless you, Peter," very, very kindly. Ever since that morning she called me so; but I was Peter to all of them, you see, as well as to her. Then I called her Lucy, and though for the first and last time, I shall never forget it. "I couldna say mair, but just 'Fare ye weel, Lucy Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee." Then I mounted my horse, my luggage having already preceded me, and slowly took my way towards Fairburn. My life-blood seemed to ebb with every step. The clang of the gate that shut me out from the last foot of ground belonging to the Dovecot, sent a shudder through me like a knell. I was on the very spot where Marmaduke had met with the accident that had been so nearly fatal. Supposing it had killed him! Supposing...--I thanked God that I was able to thank Him from an honest heart that it had not done so.