“And down on aching heart and brain
          Blow after blow unbroken falls.”

  BOKER

“A letter for you, sir,” said the clerk, as Surrey stopped at the desk for his key.  It was a bulky epistle, addressed in his aunt Russell’s hand, and he carried it off, wondering what she could have to say at such length.

He was in no mood to read or to enjoy; but, nevertheless, tore open the cover, finding within it a double letter.  Taking the envelope of one from the folds of the other, his eye fell first upon his mother’s writing; a short note and a puzzling one.

* * * * *

“My dear Willie:—­

“I have tried to write you a letter, but cannot.  I never wounded you if I could avoid it, and I do not wish to begin now.  Augusta and I had a talk about you yesterday which crazed me with anxiety.  She told me it was my place to write you what ought to be said under these trying circumstances, for we are sure you have remained in Philadelphia to see Miss Ercildoune.  At first I said I would, and then my heart failed me.  I was sure, too, that she could write, as she always does, much better than I; so I begged her to say all that was necessary, and I would send her this note to enclose with her letter.  Read it, I entreat you, and then hasten, I pray you, hasten to us at once.

“Take care of your arm, do not hurt yourself by any excitement; and, with dear love from your father, which he would send did he know I was writing, believe me always your devoted

“MOTHER.”

* * * * *

“’Trying circumstances!’—­’Miss Ercildoune!’—­what does it mean?” he cried, bewildered.  “Come, let us see.”

The letter which he now opened was an old and much-fingered one, written—­as he saw at the first glance—­by his aunt to his mother.  Why it was sent to him he could not conjecture; and, without attempting to so do, at once plunged into its pages:—­

* * * * *

  “CONTINENTAL HOTEL,
  PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 27, 1861

  “MY DEAR LAURA:—­

“I can readily understand with what astonishment you will read this letter, from the amazement I have experienced in collecting its details.  I will not weary you with any personal narration, but tell my tale at once.

“Miss Ercildoune, as you know, was my daughter’s intimate at school,—­a school, the admittance to which was of itself a guarantee of respectability.  Of course I knew nothing of her family, nor of her,—­save as Clara wrote me of her beauty and her accomplishments, and, above all, of her style,—­till I met Mrs. Lancaster.  Of her it is needless for me to speak.  As you know, she is irreproachable, and her position is of the best.  Consequently when Clara wrote me that her friend was to come to New York to her aunt, and begged to entertain her for a while, I added my request to her entreaty, and Miss Ercildoune came.  Ill-fated visit! would it had never been made!