On her way home, conscience clamored loudly in behalf of Fanny’s rights.  It said, “Beware what you do!  Give Fanny her letter.  It is a crime to withhold it.”  But again the monitress was stilled, and the crafty girl kept on her way, firm in her sinful purpose, until she reached the corner which brought her in sight of the window where Fanny was impatiently watching for her.  The sight of that bright, joyous face, as it looked from the window, anxious for the expected sight of her letter, made Julia for a moment waver.  She thought how gentle and loving Fanny had always been to her and involuntarily her hand sought the letter which lay like a crushing weight in her pocket.  It was half drawn from its hiding place when the spirit of evil which seemed ever to follow Julia’s footsteps whispered, “Let it alone.  You have gone too far to retreat.  You have Dr. Lacey to win, and it can be done in no other way.”

Julia listened to the tempter, her hand was withdrawn, and Fanny looked in vain for her letter.  A faint sickness stole over her for a moment but she thought, “Perhaps Julia means to tease me.  I will appear very unconcerned and not ask for it.”  So when Julia entered the room, she found that her sister’s attention was suddenly, distracted by something in the street; but Fanny was not accustomed to dissemble and the rosy flush on her cheek showed how anxious she was.

At last Julia said, “Why do you not ask for your letter, Fanny?”

Oh, how eager was the expression of the sweet, pale face which was instantly turned toward the speaker.  Springing up she exclaimed, “Oh, Julia, you have got me one, haven’t you?  Please give it to me.”

“I will tomorrow when it arrives,” said Julia.  “It has probably been delayed.”

Fanny’s countenance fell and she said, “Then you haven’t got me a letter?  Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Never mind, sister,” said Julia.  “It will come tomorrow, and will seem all the better for waiting.”

Tomorrow came, but with it came no letter, and days wore on, until at last it was Saturday night.  Alone in her room poor Fanny was weeping bitterly.  Was Dr. Lacey sick or dead?  This was the question which she continually asked herself.  A suspicion of his unfaithfulness had not yet entered her mind.  While she was yet weeping an arm was thrown affectionately round her, and a voice whispered in the sweetest possible tones, “Dear sister, do not weep so.  If he were dead, some one would inform you.  And now I think of it, why do you not write to him?  There would be no harm in doing so.  Come, sit down, and write him a few lines before dark, and I will take them to the office.”

So Fanny sat down to her writing desk, and the few lines proved to be a long letter ere she had finished.  It was a most touchingly sad letter, and ought to have drawn tears from Julia, instead of forcing the malicious smile which played around her mouth while reading her sister’s effusion.  It is needless to say that, although Julia went to the post office, this letter never did but was placed in a little box by the side of two others, which had arrived from Dr. Lacey that week.