any legitimate claims,--unkind as she had
formerly been. He immediately started for the embattled walls of
Fortress Monroe,--but before his departure, he put advertisements in
every paper, which, if they met her eye, she could not fail to
understand. Alas! they never reached the gray cottage imbosomed in New
England woods!

In vain he sought her in the wave-washed home of her childhood. He met
with no sympathy from the slighted and jealous step-mother, who had
destroyed the only link that bound them together, the name of her
father. She had married again, and disowned all interest in the daughter
of her former husband. She went still further, and wreaked her vengeance
on St. James for the wounds he had inflicted on her vanity, by aspersing
and slandering the innocent Rosalie. He left her in indignation and
disgust, and wandered without guide or compass, like another Orpheus in
search of the lost Eurydice. Had he known Peggy's native place, he might
have turned in the right direction, but he was ignorant of every thing
but her name and virtues. At length, weary and desponding, he resolved
to seek in foreign lands, and in devotion to his art, oblivion of his
sorrows. Just before his departure he met his brother, and told him of
the circumstances which banished him from home and country. Gabriel,
whose love for Theresa had been the one golden vein in the dark ore of
his nature, was awakened to bitter, though short-lived remorse, not only
for the ruin he brought on her, but the brother, whose fraternal
kindness had met with so sad a requital. Touched by the exhibition of
his grief and self-reproach, Henry committed to his keeping a miniature
of Rosalie, of which he had a duplicate, that he might be able to
identify her, and Gabriel promised, if he discovered one trace of his
wife and child, that he would write to his brother and recall him.

They parted. Henry went to Italy, where images of ideal loveliness
mingled with, though they could not supplant, the taunting memories of
his native clime. As an artist, and as a man, he was admired, respected,
and beloved; and he found consolation, though not happiness. The one
great sorrow of his life fell like a mountain shadow over his heart; but
it darkened its brightness without chilling its warmth. He was still the
sympathizing friend of humanity, the comforter of the afflicted, the
benefactor of the poor.

In the mean time Gabriel continued his reckless and dissolute course,