It was broken at length by an exclamation from Ella, which arrested her brother’s attention, and looking up from the opened sheet he held in his hand, he ejaculated with alarm,—­

“For pity’s sake, Ella, what is the matter?” for his sister’s cheek had become colorless as marble, and sinking into a seat, she burst into a passion of tears.

Still more alarmed, he laid down the letter, and advancing to her, implored her to tell him the cause of her agitation.

“Read for yourself,” she said, “for I cannot bear to speak of it.  Oh, Agnes, Agnes!”

A fresh mist of tears followed these words.

“Agnes, what of her?” and Arthur’s cheek became almost as blanched as his sister’s, and his hand trembled as he grasped the fatal manuscript.  He seemed to forget that the name might belong to some other than Miss Wiltshire, for among the circle of their acquaintance there were two or three with a similar designation, but in his inmost thoughts, though he had never thus addressed her, he had been so accustomed to associate it with the remembrance of herself, that it had become dear and sacred as a household word, and when his sister’s ejaculation of “Agnes, Agnes,” met his ear, he never dreamed of other, for

    “There was but one such name for him
    So soft, so kind, so eloquent.”

The letter was from a lady acquaintance of Ella’s, written in a fine Italian hand, not very intelligible, and crossed and re-crossed in a most elaborate manner.

“Commend me to a lady’s epistle,” he said, in a tone more nearly approaching to bitterness than his sister had ever heard from him before.  And, indeed, trying to the patience at any time, its perusal, just now, seemed a hopeless task; but at length, at the foot of the closing page, the writer having largely expatiated on the loss she had sustained in the departure of her dear friend Ella, and how eagerly she had looked forward to her return, and having exhausted all other items of information which “she hoped,” she added, “might not prove uninteresting to her friend and Mr. Bernard,” very coolly wound up by remarking, “By the bye, I suppose you have not heard of Miss Wiltshire’s unhappy fate.  I think it was a week or two after you left B——­, that she embarked in one of the steamers, ostensibly on a visit to a relative who resided in H——­, to act as bridesmaid for his daughter, but with an intimation from her uncle, so I understand, that unless she relinquished her fanatic notions, she must no longer expect a home beneath his roof.  The vessel in which she embarked sailed at the appointed time, but never reached its destination.  It took fire the night after leaving the harbor, and all efforts to quench the flames were unavailing.  The passengers, of whom there were a large number on board, attempted to escape in boats; some were fortunate enough to succeed, but the ladies, among whom was Miss Wiltshire, without exception, found a watery grave.  It appears