that the females had been first placed in one of the boats manned by two or three sailors, and then another boat received the male passengers and crew.  They had hoped to keep near each other, but were separated by the dark and tempestuous night.  The gentlemen were fortunate enough to gain land, after a good deal of sailing, and from thence, having endured much fatigue, at length arrived here in safety; but of the missing ones no intelligence was gained, until yesterday, when a boat, identified by the passengers, from the name printed on its stern, was picked up by some vessel, and brought into our harbor.  It had drifted nearly as far as the coast of Newfoundland, and, strange to say, a woman’s bonnet was found floating near it, which being also conveyed here, was immediately recognized by Mrs. Denham, as the very one Miss Wiltshire wore on leaving home, thus proving, beyond the slightest doubt, the terrible fate which befell her and her unfortunate companions.  Mr. and Mrs. Denham seem almost bereft of their senses,—­they refuse to be comforted,—­and blame themselves as the sole cause of their niece’s death; but, for my part, and I am sure you will agree with me, I think Miss Wiltshire’s singular conduct was quite sufficient to warrant the anger of her relatives, who had always treated her with such indulgence; for it seems to me a great presumption, for a young person to set up her own ideas, in opposition to those who certainly are far more capable of judging of what is right and wrong.

“Poor thing, she has gone now, so it would not be right to speak too harshly; but I cannot help telling you, that she was never a favorite of mine, for I do dislike that pretending to be so much better than others, and she had such a soft, winning way with her, that I believe some almost thought her an angel, but she couldn’t thus have imposed on me.”

Arthur read no further.  He forgot his sister’s presence; forgot that the epistle belonged to her, and with an impulse of indignation he could not control, he tore it in pieces, scattering its contents to the winds; while with open, wondering eyes, the tears suddenly checked, Ella looked on without speaking, almost ready to conclude that her brother had taken leave of his senses.  He turned from the open casement, and as he met her inquiring and troubled gaze, instantly became himself again.

“Forgive me, dear sister,” he said, in a tone of mingled anger and grief, “that I have destroyed that =precious= manuscript,” laying an emphasis on the word precious; “but oh, Ella, Ella, is it possible that such fearful intelligence can be true?  It almost seems,” he added, in a tone of anguish and despair, “that heaven could not permit one so young, so lovely, to perish in such a heart-rending manner,”—­he stopped abruptly,—­and Ella was spared replying by a gentle tap at the door.

“Come in,” she said in a low, faint voice, and, in compliance with the invitation, an elderly American lady, who was on a visit to some friends that resided opposite, and with whom Ella had become quite intimate during her sojourn in the place, entered the apartment.