r,
both in writing and in reading, was the child of many prayers: and even
the loveliness of Emily grew more soft, more elevated, "as it had been
the face of an angel," when feeding in solitary joy on those effusions
of her lover's heart.

Of course, he could not hear from her, until the overland mail might
haply bring him letters at Madras: so that, as our Irish friends would
say, with all her will to tell him of her love, "the reciprocity must
needs be all on one side." But Emily did write too; earnestly, happily:
and poured her very heart out in those eloquent burning words. I dare
say Charles will get the letter now within a day or two: for the roaring
surf of Madras is on the horizon, almost within sight.

Nevertheless, before he gets there, and can read those
letters--precious, precious manuscripts--it will be my painful duty, as
a chronicler of (what might well be) truth, to put the reader in
possession of one little hint, which seemed likeliest to wreck the
happiness of these two children of affection.

I am Emily's invisible friend: and as the dear girl ran to me one
morning, with tears in her eyes, to ask me what I thought of a certain
mysterious paragraph, I need not scruple to lay it straight before the
reader.

At the end of a voluminous love-letter, which I really did not think of
prying into, occurred the following postscript, evidently written at the
last moment of haste.

"Oh! my precious Emmy, I have just heard the most fearful rumour of ill
that could possibly befall us: the captain of our ship--you will
remember Captain Forbes, he knew you and the general well, he said--has
just assured me that--that--! I dare not, cannot write the awful words.
Oh! my own Emmy--Heaven grant you be my own!--pray, pray, as I will
night and day, that rumour be not true: for if it be, my love, both God
and man forbid us ever to meet again! How I wish I could explain it all,
or that I had never heard so much, or never written it here, and told it
you, though thus obscurely: for I can't destroy this letter now, the
ships are just parting company, and there is no time to write another.
Yet will I hope, love, against hope. Who knows? through God's good
mercy, it may all be cleared up still. If not--if not--strive to forget
for ever, your unhappy "CHARLES.

"Perhaps--O, glorious thought!--Nurse Mackie may know better than the
captain, after all; and yet, he seems so positive: if he is ri