that his brother's letters
must have miscarried, through the negligence of private hands, to whom
they might have been entrusted. But when these suggestions failed in
arousing her from the stupor of grief into which she had fallen, he
offered the most tender consolations which could be administered to a
wounded mind--an appearance of heartfelt sympathy in its sufferings.

While musing one morning over the cause of Algernon's silence, the
Squire's groom approached the open window at which she was seated, and
placed a letter in her hands; it was edged and sealed with black; and
Elinor hastily broke the seal, and opened it. Her eye glanced, hurriedly
over the first few words. She uttered a loud cry; and sank down,
weeping, at her mother's feet.

Mrs. Wildegrave lifted her to the sofa, and taking the letter from her
cold and nerveless grasp, read its contents. They were written by Mark
Hurdlestone.

Oak Hall, June 16, ----

"My Dear Miss Wildegrave:

"It is with the utmost reluctance that I take up my pen to
communicate tidings which, I well know, will occasion you great
distress. This morning's post brought me the mournful intelligence
of my brother Algernon's death, which melancholy event took place
on the morning of the 4th of August last, at the house of a friend
in Calcutta. Mr. Richardson's letter I will transmit to you as soon
as you are able to bear its contents. My poor brother was on his
way to England; and his death was so sudden, that he made no
arrangement of his affairs previous to his dissolution. That Heaven
may comfort and sustain you under this severe trial, is the earnest
prayer of your sincere friend,

"Marcus Hurdlestone."

"Oh, mother! mother! My heart--my poor heart! How shall I learn to bear
this great sorrow?" was all that the forlorn girl could utter, as she
pressed her hands tightly over the agitated bosom that concealed her
convulsed and bursting heart. No sound was heard within that peaceful
home for many days and nights but the sobs and groans of the unhappy
Elinor. She mourned for the love of her youth, as one without hope. She
resisted every attempt at consolation, and refused to be comforted. When
the first frantic outbreak of sorrow had stagnated into a hopeless and
tearless gloom, which threatened the reason of the sufferer, the Squire
visited the cottage, and