preparations, wrote this correspondent, were complete;
but, on the day when the vessel sailed, he died--sickened and died in
one morning; his disease was of the heart.

'Poor Josephine!' groaned August again; this time his pity had comment.

'It's awful!' said Paul. 'Josephine cried when she heard of your
misfortune. She won't do more when she sees this letter.' Paul was
entirely reckless of consequences. He was determined Scheffer's fire
should serve a private purpose of illumination, 'It is so rare a thing,
her crying,' he continued, 'I should have thought the fire would have
been put out by it.'

Scheffer's tears ceased falling. But he spoke in a low voice, somewhat
broken, too:

'It's enough to wipe out _my_ regrets. If she cared that much, I don't
consider it a misfortune. Tell her so, Paul.'

'I will, after you have told her yourself, Scheffer,' said Paul. Then
casting all their fortunes on a word, speaking hurriedly, impetuously,
driven on by admiration and gratitude toward Scheffer, and a
determination to end all misunderstandings at once and forever, he
continued: 'I found it all out, myself, without prying. The young fellow
in the bank told me. I knew that you never would. It made me love you,
that did. I told Josephine, but not till I thought I might safely. He
didn't get that money from the bank till Josephine had told him she
could not promise herself to him before he went away. Poor fellow! It
made him mad, I think.'

'Paul,' said Scheffer, with reproof, and yet the mildest, in his voice,
'he is dead. That was an ugly twist, but it wasn't his nature to grow in
a crooked fashion. Harry will come out straight yet. He is in better
circumstances now than ever before. I could forgive a man for worse
things than he had the wit to do, if he loved Josephine.'

'There! I'm glad we are back on that ground! I hate mysteries,'
exclaimed Paul.

'Except in locks,' said Scheffer.

'Why _wouldn't_ she promise Harry? It is what mother expected. And I was
fool enough to wonder. You are wiser than we; so tell me, Scheffer, did
anything ever happen in old times that binds her yet? Do you suppose she
ever loved a lad when she was a child?'

'I know she did,' said Scheffer, looking not away from Paul, neither
busying himself any longer with the endeavor to bring order out of
chaos. 'I know she did.'

Then Paul laughed again, as he had not laughed in many a day; but it was
laughter that did not jar the silence of t