“I hope you will excuse me, if I should presume too far; but I am the bearer of a message from one who esteems her above all the world beside, and—­”

“How! do you know Charles Hadley?” she inquired, with deepened interest.

“Ah, I perceive you are not unacquainted with the history of the young lady.  Perhaps I am addressing Miss Mandeville in person?”

“Your supposition is true, my name is Mandeville.  But you have not answered my question yet.”

“Pardon me, fair lady, for my seeming rude neglect.  Yes, I know Mr. Hadley well, and a better man does not live.  He is my near and dear friend.”

“Do you say so much?  Then it is from him you have a message?”

“It is.”

“Oh! tell me, is he well?”

“He is, but is longing to hear from you, to see you, to know that you are still spared by the hand of death.”

“You speak as though he were near.  Is it indeed so?”

“It is, fair lady; he awaits your presence, or such word as you may be pleased to send him, a short way from here, in the denser portion of the forest, not wishing to transgress your father’s commands contrary to your wishes, or to expose himself to the displeasure of your parent, lest it bring trouble and disquiet to your own heart.  But please read the note he commissioned me to bear to you; it probably explains the matter better than I can, as he only confided to me such facts as were essentially necessary for me to know, in order to an intelligent performance of the part he has allotted to me as his friend.”

Saying this he presented a letter, which Eveline received with a joy-beaming countenance, and read with a wildly-throbbing heart.  It ran as follows: 

“DEAREST EVELINE:  For some weeks past, I have been in a distant city, at the urgent call of duty, to attend the bedside of a sick mother.  I left while you were yet very ill, and bore with me the heavy fear that you might never recover to bless me with a kind word or gentle look.  So terrible has been the suspense, and so deep the anxiety of mind under which my spirit has labored, I could only perform my duties to a beloved mother by resolutely bending my energies to the task, and with the first hour of assured convalescence hastened to learn your fate.  Oh, best beloved, may I not hope to see you again?  I have learned that you are better, and the first great burden is removed, but I so long to behold you once more,—­to hear you speak—­to know that I am not forgotten.  But you know I dare not come to you without incurring your father’s deep displeasure; and I have been in doubt and perplexity how to act.  This note will be borne to you by my most confidential friend, who will not betray us.  If you can come to me, even if it be but for a few brief moments, I beseech you to do so; but do in this matter as your own better judgment shall determine.  If you cannot come, send me a note, even though it be but a line, that I may have some precious token of remembrance to gaze upon.  I am but a short distance from your home, and a few steps will bring you to me; if you come, place yourself under the guidance of my friend.  Leaving you to act as prudence and your own heart shall dictate, I remain, impatiently,