on the morning of the 4th of August last, at the house of a friend
in Calcutta. Mr. Richardson's letter I will transmit to you as soon
as you are able to bear its contents. My poor brother was on his
way to England; and his death was so sudden, that he made no
arrangement of his affairs previous to his dissolution. That Heaven
may comfort and sustain you under this severe trial, is the earnest
prayer of your sincere friend,

"Marcus Hurdlestone."

"Oh, mother! mother! My heart--my poor heart! How shall I learn to bear
this great sorrow?" was all that the forlorn girl could utter, as she
pressed her hands tightly over the agitated bosom that concealed her
convulsed and bursting heart. No sound was heard within that peaceful
home for many days and nights but the sobs and groans of the unhappy
Elinor. She mourned for the love of her youth, as one without hope. She
resisted every attempt at consolation, and refused to be comforted. When
the first frantic outbreak of sorrow had stagnated into a hopeless and
tearless gloom, which threatened the reason of the sufferer, the Squire
visited the cottage, and brought with him the merchant's letter, that
fully corroborated his former statement, and the wretched heart-broken
girl could no longer cherish the most remote probability to which hope
could cling.

Twelve months passed away. The name of Algernon was never mentioned in
her presence; and she still continued to wear the deepest mourning. A
strange apathy had succeeded her once gay flow of spirits, and she
seemed alike indifferent to herself and all the world. To the lover-like
attentions of Mark Hurdlestone she paid no regard, and appeared wholly
unconscious of his admiration. Mortified by her coldness, even his