"it is to this very love-making that you owe this letter from me, as I
deem it my duty to keep continually before your mind the fact that
_I_ am still alive."

With a blanched cheek Mr. Browning read this letter through--then tore
it into fragments, wondering much who gave her the information. There
were no _spies_ about his premises. Rosamond would not do it, and it
must have been his sister, though why she should thus wish to annoy
him he did not know, when she, more than any one else, had been
instrumental in placing him where he was. Once he thought of telling
Rosamond all, but he shrank from this, for she would leave his house,
he knew, and, though she might never again speak kindly to him, he
would rather feel that she was there.

And so another dreary week went by, and then one morning there came to
him tidings which stopped for an instant the pulsations of his heart,
and sent through his frame a thrill so benumbing and intense that at
first pity and horror were the only emotions of which he seemed
capable. It came to him in a newspaper paragraph, which in substance
was as follows:

"A sad catastrophe occurred on Thursday afternoon at Cuyler, a little
place upon the lake, which of late has been somewhat frequented during
the summer months. Three ladies and one gentleman went out in a small
pleasure-boat which is kept for the accommodation of the guests. They
had not been gone very long when a sudden thunder-gust came on,
accompanied by a violent wind, and the owner of the skiff, feeling
some alarm for the safety of the party, went down to the landing just
in time to see the boat make a few mad plunges with the waves, and
then capsize at the distance of nearly half a mile from the shore.