She looked so changed--oh! she looked as though she were dead.

You will write--Herbert Livingstone, Langham Vicarage, Yorkshire; you will promise me to write.

If I could do anything for her, but I can but pray.

Oh, my darling; my darling! and I have no right to be with her." "Go away, there's a good young man," said Miss Monro, all the more pressing to hurry him out by the front door, because she was afraid of his emotion overmastering him, and making him noisy in his demonstrations.

"Yes, I will write; I will write, never fear!" and she bolted the door behind him, and was thankful.
Two minutes afterwards there was a low tap; she undid the fastenings, and there he stood, pale in the moonlight.
"Please don't tell her I came to ask about her; she might not like it." "No, no! not I! Poor creature, she's not likely to care to hear anything this long while.