“Dear, dear Walter,” she said, weeping, “I have so wanted to know the particulars of his death, and am so thankful to hear that he was a Christian.”

“His friend told me he was instantly killed, so was spared much suffering.”

“I am thankful for that.  I will open this now; you will like to see the contents.”

They were a letter from Walter to her, and two photographs—­both excellent and striking likenesses; one of her in her bridal robes, the other of himself in his military dress.

The first Elsie threw carelessly aside, as of little worth; the other she held long in her hands; gazing intently upon it, again and again wiping away the fast-falling tears.

“It is his own noble, handsome face,” she murmured.  “Oh, to think I shall not see it again in this world!  How good of him to hive it taken for me!” and again she gazed and wept.

Turning to her companion she was startled by the expression of mingled love and anguish in his eyes, which were intently fixed upon the other photograph; he having taken it up as she threw it aside.

“Oh Harold!” she moaned, in low, agitated tones.

He sighed deeply, but his brow cleared, and a look of peace and resignation stole over his face as he turned his eyes on her.

“I think there is no sin in the love I bear you now, Elsie,” he said; “I rejoice in your happiness and am willing to see you in the possession of another; more than willing, since I must so soon pass away.  But it was not always so; my love and grief were hard to conquer, and this—­bringing you before me just as you were that night that gave you to another and made my love a sin—­brought back for a moment the anguish that wrung my heart at the sight.”

“You were there, then?”

“Yes; just for a few moments.  I found I must look upon the scene, though it broke my heart.  I arrived at the last minute, stood in the shadow of the doorway during the ceremony, saw you look up towards me at its conclusion, then turned and fled from the house; fearful of being recognized and forced to betray my secret which I felt I could not hide.

“But don’t weep for me, dear friend, my sorrow and disappointment proved blessings in disguise, for through them I was brought to a saving knowledge of Him

        “’whom my soul desires above
    All earthly joy or earthly love.’”

“And oh, Harold, how infinitely more is His love worth than mine!”

But her eye fell upon Walter’s letter lying forgotten in her lap.  She took it up, glanced over it, then read it more carefully, pausing often to wipe away the blinding tears.  As she finished, Mr. Travilla came in.

“Here is a letter from Walter, Edward,” she said, in tremulous tones, as she handed it to him.

“Then the report of his death was untrue?” he exclaimed inquiringly, a glad look coming into his face.

“Only too true,” she answered, with a fresh burst of tears; and Harold briefly explained.