dealt the blow which laid my class-mate dead at my feet I was sobered in one moment; and oh, Agnes! what, what would I not have given to restore my murdered friend to life!—­not for my own sake; for I never thought of myself till urged by my terror-stricken companions to fly.  Then I thought of my own safety; and, my darling sister, I thought of you, and determined that you should hear of your brother’s disgrace and crime from no lips but his own.  I have been hanging about here all day, but could not see you; and finding no other way to call your attention, I borrowed this guitar at the tavern, and have been watching from these trees, till I saw a white form at a window, which I knew was yours.  Now, Agnes, what shall I do?”

“Oh, Lewie, what can I say but fly, and save yourself from an ignominious fate!  It may not be right counsel; but how can a sister advise otherwise?  My poor, poor brother!” And Agnes was relieved by a passionate burst of tears.  And now came the time for parting.  He must go, for they would be likely to seek him in the home of his only sister,—­he must go quickly and quietly;—­and, with a few hurried words, in which his sister commended him to God, and entreated him to go to Him for pardon and peace, and with one last fond embrace, they parted.  Agnes returned to the house with feeble, staggering steps, stricken to the very heart.

No sleep visited the eyes of Agnes that night; and when she appeared in the breakfast room the following morning, her pale and haggard countenance showed marks of extreme suffering, which should have been respected even by the Misses Fairland.  But no! their quick ears had also caught the tones of the guitar, and rushing to a window on that side of the house, in the expectation of a serenade, they had seen Agnes as she crossed the lawn, and returned again to the house.  Here was food for conjecture, and jealousy for the suspicious ladies, and they had long been awaiting the arrival of Agnes in the breakfast room, hoping to have the mystery cleared up.

“May we be informed, Miss Elwyn,” began Miss Calista, “how long you have been in the habit of receiving signals from lovers, and stealing out at night to give them clandestine meetings in the grove?”

A bright blush suffused the cheek of Agnes, which died away immediately, leaving it of an ashy paleness, as she said: 

“I have met no lover in the grove, Calista, at least not what you mean by a lover,” she added, thinking this might be an evasion, for did not her brother love her dearly?

“Not what I call a lover,” said Miss Calista; “a very nice distinction! then you do not deny that you met what you call a lover in the grove.  Indeed you need trouble yourself to make no denial, for Evelina and I both watched you.”

Agnes rose from the table, and all who were gathered around it were amazed at the unusual vehemence of her manner, as with an expression of intense wretchedness upon her face, she exclaimed: