the die.
--SHAKESPEARE.

Craven Kyte, the infatuated and doomed instrument and victim of a cruel
and remorseless woman, returned to Wendover and resumed his place in
Bastiennello's establishment, where he culpably neglected his business,
and lived only on the thought of receiving her daily letters and of soon
returning to Richmond to be blessed by her promised hand in marriage.

Every morning he was the first man at the post-office, waiting eagerly,
impatiently, for the arrival and opening of the mail.

And he was never disappointed of receiving her letter, and--never
satisfied with its contents.

Every letter was in itself something of a mortification to him,
containing no expression of confidence or affection, no word by which
any one might suspect that the correspondent was writing to one she
loved and trusted, much less to her betrothed husband.

Every letter began and ended in the most polite and formal manner; never
alluded to the matrimonial intentions between the correspondents, but
treated only of church services, Sunday-schools, sewing circles and
missionary matters, until the young man, famishing for a word of
affection, with pardonable selfishness, sighed forth:

"She is a saint; but oh, I wish she was a little less devoted to the
heathen, and all that, and a little more affectionate to me!"

But the instant afterward he blamed himself for egotism, and consoled
himself by saying:

"She always told me that, however much she loved, she would never write
love-letters, as they might possibly fall into the hands of irreverent
and scoffing people who would make a mockery of the writer. It is a
far-fetched idea; but still it is _her_ idea and I must submit. It will
be all right when I go to Richmond and claim her darling hand."

And the thought of this would fill him with such ecstasy that he would
long to tell some one, his partner especially, that he was the happiest
man on earth, for he was to be married in a week to the loveliest woman
in the world. But he was bound by his promise to keep his engagement, as
well as all other of his relations with the beautiful widow, a profound
secret. And though the poor fellow _was_ a fool, he was an _honorable_
fool, and held his pledged word sacred.

Every letter that came to him also contained another letter, to which it
never referred by written word. This inclosed letter was sealed in an
envelope bearing the initial "L" emboss