and in feeling every hope of happiness was lost, she could judge to
what she had nearly brought him; though she perhaps forgot that he had
a support in the hour of trial to which she could not look, for she
had wilfully erred. It had always been her practice to go daily to the
village post office, consequently, no suspicions could arise on the
part of Ethelind, as they would have done, had she seen the frequency
of her friend's receiving letters. She rose early, and went the
morning she was to leave. She started, as the well known writing met
her eye on the address: her limbs trembled, and she feared to open the
packet put into her hands. Her own letters were returned with the
accompanying note:--

"FAITHLESS, BUT STILL DEAR BEATRICE,

"Farewell, and for ever! May you never know the bitter pangs you
have inflicted! I may be too fastidious, but I could never unite my
fate with yours; the woman I marry I must respect, or I can never
be happy; and miserable as I shall be without you, I feel that I
should be still more wretched did I unite my fate with yours. My
whole heart was, and is yours only, and had your feelings been what
they ought, you would have spurned the paltry gratification of
winning the affection you could not return, I sail for India
to-morrow; to have seen you would be worse than useless; as we can
never now, be anything, to each other.--Once more, adieu!

"Your once devoted,

"GEORGE GRAHAM."

Beatrice's eyes were red with weeping when she returned from the