smiles from Hope's cheering presence. Hope had fled, with agonizing
gaze, as Lady Rosamond once more read that letter. Every word was
stamped upon her heart in characters of bold and maddening outline.
Heaving a deep sigh she folded the letter, placed it within her desk,
and mechanically stood gazing upon the quiet river, peaceful and calm,
save the little ripple on the surface. Lady Rosamond contrasted the
scene with her troubled depths and superficial quiet exterior.

Quietly opening the window the cool sharp breeze of an October morning
was grateful to the feverish flush partially visible upon the cheeks of
Lady Rosamond. She was usually pale, save when an occasional blush
asserted its right. Standing here in such a state of mind Lady Rosamond
was indeed beautiful--a lovely picture with delicate expression and
coloring. While she is thus engaged let us intrude upon the privacy of
her feelings by taking forth the letter from its hiding place, and
examining its contents. It seems a sacrilegious act, but it is in our
great sympathy and interest on behalf of Lady Rosamond that we yield to
the temptation.

The writing is in a bold, masculine hand, clear, legible, and uniform.
If there be such a thing as judging the character of the writer by the
chirography in the present instance, there was decision, firmness,
bordering on self-will, and resistance to opposition. The letter ran
thus:--

Chesley Manor, Surrey, Oct. 4th, 1824.

My Dear Child:

Having a few moments to spare this morning I devote them to your