with any one else."

"Ah," smiled Mrs. Arnold, kissing Agnes, gayly, "young hearts like
yours are not so brittle as to be easily shattered. Better fish in the
sea, et cetera. You know the old adage--but there's the postman, dear;
you run and get the letters he has."

Agnes did as her mother requested her, and in a few moments more
re-entered the room with four letters in one hand, and one letter in
the other. The single missive was directed to herself, in a
chirography which she well knew. Giving the four to her mother, she
sat down and opened her own. It was couched in cold, formal words,
instead of gushing sentences as usual, and to say that it chilled and
crushed her is to say only the truth. When her mother had finished
her's, Agnes handed this letter to her with the quietly spoken remark:

"That severs George and me forever in this world, mother. With a keen
sword he has cut me off from him, like the gardener ruthlessly cuts
the vine from the oak."

As she spoke, Agnes drew from her bosom a gold locket, and, springing
it open, she gazed for a moment upon a handsome manly face which it
contained. That was George's likeness.

"Till eternity George, till eternity--"

She did not finish the sentence in words; but the fond, artless,
fervent kiss she imprinted upon the picture was such a one as is given
to the dead lips of one we love, and are about to part with forever.