Lester and his Elsie had been there the previous evening, helping to celebrate the first anniversary of the marriage of Edward and Zoe, and had readily fallen in with the plans for the summer outing proposed by Captain Raymond.

“You will go with us, of course, Elsie?” their mother had said, several of the others eagerly echoing her words, and they had answered that they knew of nothing to hinder, and should be delighted to do so.

So that question seemed fully settled, and now their talk was of needful preparations and arrangements for so long an absence from home; of the anticipated pleasures of the voyage and the proposed lengthened sojourn upon Nantucket Island, including the sketching of the most attractive features of its scenery.

Young, healthy, in easy circumstances, entirely congenial in opinions and tastes, they were a very happy couple.

Lester was meeting with marked success in his chosen profession—­had received only yesterday a large price for one of his paintings; and as Elsie and he were essentially one in all their interests, her joy was fully equal to his, if not greater.

In consequence they were unusually gay this morning, and life seemed very bright and beautiful before them.

They lingered over their meal, and were just leaving the table when a servant came in with the morning’s mail.

There were several newspapers and magazines; only one letter.

“From Eric, dear old boy!  I was intending to write to him to-day,” remarked Lester, as he examined the superscription.

“How nice, then, that his came just in time for you to answer it in yours,” said Elsie.  “I’ll leave you to the enjoyment of it while I give my orders for the day,” she added, turning from him toward the rear of the house, as they left the breakfast-room together.

“Yes, my dear, and when you have a spare moment to bestow upon your unworthy husband, you will find him on the veranda,” he answered lightly, bending his steps in that direction.

Only a few minutes had passed when she sought him there; but what a change had come over him!  All his gayety had forsaken him, his face was pale, and his eyes, as he turned them upon her, were full of anguish.

“Oh Lester, my dear, dear husband! what is it?” she cried, hastening to him and laying a hand tenderly upon his shoulder.

“Read,” he said hoarsely, holding out the open letter to her,—­Eric’s letter, whose sad tidings seemed for the time to have driven away all the joy and brightness of life.

Glancing down the page, Elsie read: 

“My dear brother, will you come to me?  I have sore need of you.  For a year past I have felt my strength failing; for the last few months matters have grown worse, till my days and nights are filled with pain and unrest; and today I have learned that the time has come for me to set my house in order, for I am to ‘die, and not live.’  Nay, not so:  I am to pass from the land of the dying to that blest world where death can never enter.