ght to Trevelyan Hall a lengthy epistle from Mary
Douglas--lengthy from the fact of its being addressed to each member of
the family--bearing remembrance to Lady Trevelyan, many choice bits of
gossip to Guy, and charming effusions to Fanny, full of love and
tenderness. Her last contained a glowing allusion to Lady Rosamond--an
eager desire to meet her loving friend; also fervent gratitude for the
hopeful restoration of Gerald's health.

"I am almost inclined to feel a pang of jealousy," exclaimed Fanny, as
she read and re-read the contents of the precious missive. "Mary loves
Lady Rosamond better than any other friends on earth."

"Why not, my child?" questioned Lady Trevelyan; "they are old
friends--friends in childhood, girlhood, and womanhood. Lady Rosamond is
worthy of the truest and purest love. She is beautiful, good, and
lovable. Who could see her ladyship but to admire and love?"

"Dear Mamma," returned Fanny, "you share my sentiments towards Lady
Rosamond. Guy seemed surprised when I ventured to wonder why he could
remain so long in the daily society of two such gifted and lovely beings
as her ladyship and Mary Douglas, without forming stronger ties than
those of friendship."

"Both are lovely," exclaimed Lady Trevelyan. "It would indeed be a
difficult matter for a lover to decide between two so much alike in
beauty, grace, and loveliness."

"Strange that I did not think of this before, mamma," said the
childlike Fanny with an air of much wisdom. "The poet must certainly
have experienced the same predicament when he wrote:

"How happy could I be with either,
Were t'other dear charmer away."

A week had elapsed after Maude had arrived at the castle when a hastily
written note was received by Fanny Trevelyan from the former, containing
sad news from Rome. Gerald Bereford had apparently recovered, and was on
the eve of returning home when he was suddenly seized with hemorrhage of
the lungs, which rapidly reduced him and brought on prostration. Medical
assistance had been obtained, but he now lay in a critical state, every
means being used to prevent another attack, in which case there could be
no hope.

Maude Bereford had penned those lines in bitter anguish. She loved her
brother from the depths of her heart. His life must be spared. Heaven
could not deprive her of such a blessing. Ah, no, he will live! In this
hour of trial the sorrowing girl sought comfort in those rebellious and
sinful thoug