er
greeted her sisters, she hastily laid her hand on Henry's arm, and
said, under her breath, 'I've a letter from him.'

'Hush!' Henry looked about with a startled eye and repressing gesture.
Averil drew back, and, one hand on her bosom, pressing the letter, and
almost holding down a sob, she took her accustomed seat at the meal.
Minna, too languid for the rapidity of the movements, hardly made the
exertion of tasting food. Ella, alert and brisk, took care of herself
as effectually as did Rosa Willis, on the opposite side of the table.
Averil, all one throb of agitation, with the unread letter lying at her
heart, directed all her efforts to look, eat, and drink, as usual;
happily, talking was the last thing that was needed.

Averil had been greatly indebted to Miss Muller, who had taken pity on
the helpless strangers--interested, partly by her own romance about
England, partly by their mourning dresses, dark melancholy eyes, and
retiring, bewildered manner. A beautiful motherless girl, under
seventeen--left, to all intents and purposes, alone in New
York--attending a great educational establishment, far more independent
and irresponsible than a young man at an English University, yet
perfectly trustworthy--never subject to the bevues of the 'unprotected
female,' but self-reliant, modest, and graceful, in the heterogeneous
society of the boarding-house--she was a constant marvel to Averil, and
a warm friendship soon sprang up. The advances were, indeed, all on
one side; for Ave was too sad, and oppressed with too heavy a secret,
to be readily accessible; but there was an attraction to the younger,
fresher, freer nature, even in the mystery of her mournful reserve; and
the two drew nearer together from gratitude, and many congenial
feelings, that rendered Cora the one element of comfort in the
boarding-house life; while Henry in vain sought for occupation.

Cora had been left under the charge of the lady of the boarding-house,
a distant connection, while her father, who had been engaged in more
various professions than Averil could ever conceive of or remember, had
been founding a new city in Indiana, at once as farmer and land-agent,
and he had stolen a little time, in the dead season, to hurry up to New
York, partly on business, and partly to see his daughter, who had
communicated to him her earnest desire that her new friends might be
induced to settle near their future abode.

American meals were too serious af