Fanny sighed and turned away from the hard-hearted girl, who was left alone with her thoughts during all the long hours of that day.  But to do her justice, we must say, that after her mother and sister were gone, a feeling of sadness stole over her; her stony heart somewhat softened, and in the solitude of her chamber she wept for a long time; but whether for Mr. Wilmot’s death, her own conduct toward him, or the circumstances which surrounded her, none can tell.

Let us now return to Frankfort, and go back for a few moments in our story.  Just as the funeral procession had left the house and was proceeding toward the church, the steamboat Diana, which plies between Cincinnati and Frankfort, appeared round a bend in the river.  She was loaded with passengers, who were all on the lookout as they neared the landing place.  Just at that moment the tolling bell rang out on the air.  Its tones fell sadly on the ear of a tall, beautiful girl, who was impatiently pacing the deck, and looking anxiously in the direction of the city.  The knell was repeated, and she murmured, “Oh, what if that should be for Richard!” The thought overpowered her, and sitting down on a seat near her she burst into tears.

“Can I do anything for you?” said the captain, who at that moment passed her.

“Nothing, except to land me in Frankfort as soon as possible,” said the young lady, whom the reader will readily suppose was Kate Wilmot.

“Are you in a great hurry?” asked the captain.

“Yes, sir,” returned Kate.  “My brother is dangerously sick and I am anxious to get to him.”

“Where does your brother live?” asked the captain.

“He boards with Mrs. Williams, on Elm street,” answered Kate.

“Then,” said the captain, “if you will show me your baggage, I will see that it is sent there, for you probably will not wish to waste time in looking after it when we land.”

Kate thanked him for his kindness; and when they reached the shore the kind-hearted man called one of his boatmen and ordered him to show Miss Wilmot the way to Mrs. Williams’ residence.  As Kate approached the house she noticed the air of desertion about it, and her heart sank for fear her brother might be dead.  Running hastily up the steps, she rang the bell, which was answered by a female domestic, who was too old and too infirm to attend the funeral.  Kate accosted her by saying, “Does Mr. Wilmot live here?”

The old lady replied by lifting up her hand and exclaiming, while the tears coursed their way down her cheeks, “Lord bless me if it isn’t young marster’s sister.”

“Yes, yes,” said Kate impatiently, “I am his sister.  But tell me, is he dead?  Am I too late?”

The woman replied, “Not too late to see him, if you’re right spry.  They’ve carried him to the church.”

“Where?  What church is it?” asked Kate wildly.

“Right yender; that ar brick house with the tall steeple.”