“‘Has she been spoken on the passage?’

“‘Never but once, and that after she was three days out.’

“‘Is she a good ship?’ I next inquired.

“‘None better out of this port,’ was the prompt answer.

“For ten days I remained in New York, eagerly examining each morning the shipping lists, and referring to all the southern papers to which I could get access.  I met during that time but one reference to the Empress, and that was contained in a paragraph alluding to her long passage, and expressing great fears for her safety.  This thrilled my heart with a more palpable and terrible fear.  On the next day but one, I met in a New Orleans paper a further allusion to her, coupled with the remark that a suspicious-looking vessel, clipper-built, with a black hull, had been seen several times during the past few weeks cruising in the Gulf, and expressing a fear lest she had come across the Empress.  I thought this would have driven me beside myself.  But why prolong this painful narration by attempting to describe my feelings, as day after day, week after week, and month after month passed, and no tidings came of the missing ship?  From the day I parted with Eugenia, I have neither seen her nor heard from her.  The noble vessel that bore her proudly away neither reached her destination, nor returned back with her precious freight.  All—­all found a grave in the dark depths of the ocean.

“It is a terrible thing, my friend, to be thus reft of all you hold dearest in life.  If I had seen her touched by the hand of disease, and watched the rose fading from her cheek, leaf after leaf falling away, until death claimed at last his victim, I could have borne the severe affliction with some degree of fortitude.  Even if she had been struck down suddenly at my side, there would have been something for the bruised heart to rest upon.  But to be taken from me thus!  Her fate shrouded in a most fearful mystery!  Oh! it is terrible!”

And the young man set his teeth firmly, and clenched his hands, in a powerful struggle with his still o’ermastering feelings.  At length he resumed, a calmer voice—­

“No matter what terrors or violence attended her death—­no matter how deep she lies in the unfathomable sea, her spirit is with the blessed angels, for she was pure and good.  This ought to be enough for me.  The agonies of a fearful departure are long since over.  And why should I recall them, and break up afresh the tender wounds that bleed at the slightest touch?  Henceforth I will strive to look away from the past, and onward, in pleasing hope, to that future time when we shall meet where there will be no more parting.”

“She must have been a lovely creature indeed,” said Milford, some minutes after his friend had ceased, holding, as he spoke, the miniature in his hand, and looking at it attentively.

“She was lovely as innocence itself,” was the half abstracted reply.