Chapter 24 - Page 2

the family were
totally separated from those of all the rest of the house.

I began to reflect seriously, on _what_ I had to say, and
_how_ it was to be said, as I walked through the long passage
which led to the "family-room," or the "triangle," as my own father
had nicknamed the spot. Grace and I had never yet held what might be
termed a family consultation; I was too young to think of such a
thing, when last at home, and no former occasion had offered since my
return. I was still quite young, and had more diffidence than might
have been expected in a sailor. To me, it was far more embarrassing to
open verbal communications of a delicate nature, than it would have
been to work a ship in action. But for this _mauvaise honte_, I
do think I should have been explicit with Lucy, and not have parted
from her on the piazza, as I did, leaving everything in just as much
doubt as it had been before a word passed between us. Then I
entertained a profound respect for Grace; something more than the
tenderness of a brother for a sister; for, mingled with my strong
affection for her, was a deference, a species of awe of her angel-like
character and purity, that made me far more disposed to receive advice
from her, than to bestow it. In the frame of mind which was natural
to all these blended feelings, I laid my hand on the old-fashioned
brass latch, by which the door of the "triangle" was closed. On
entering the room, I found my sister seated on the "causeuses," the
window open to admit air, the room looking snug but cheerful, and its
occupant's sweet countenance expressive of care, not altogether free
from curiosity. The last time I had been in that room, it was to look
on the pallid features of my mother's corpse, previously to closing
the coffin. All the recollections of that scene rushed upon our minds
at the same instant; and taking a place by the side of Grace, I put an
arm around her waist, drew her to me, and, receiving her head on my
bosom, she wept like a child. My tears could not be altogether
restrained, and several minutes passed in profound silence. No
explanations were needed; I knew what my sister thought and felt, and
she was equally at home as respects my sensations. At length we
regained our self-command, and Grace lifted her head.

"You have not been in this room since, brother?" she observed, half
inquiringly.

"I have not, sister. It is now many years--many for those who are as
young as ourselves."

"Miles, you will think better about that 'seat,' and never abandon
Clawbonny--never destroy this blessed room!"

"I begin to think and feel differently on the subject, from what I
once did. If this