she will die of grief."

"You have a good opinion of yourself, Ned."

"I am in earnest. I think so. I made the first advances, not she."

"I should hope not," laughed Tom.

"And for that reason I feel a sense of responsibility, in addition to my
devotion to Sara. Now you know all. What can I do?"

"Upon my word, Ned, that's a hard question; and a man must be a Solon to
advise you."

"You are the sole un who can advise me, Tom," replied Edward, with a
sickly smile.

"That's a lovesick pun. You are in a tight place. If you hold on, you
will be frozen to death; if you let go, you will be burned to death. But
I am inclined to think, my dear fellow, from what I have seen of you
since I came here, that there is still a third consideration. If you
obey your governor, the girl will die of grief; if you marry her, you
lose fortune and father; but if you retain fortune and father, you may
die of grief yourself. You are moping now; you look pale, and the
situation is wearing upon you."

"But what can I do?"

"I'll tell you. I'm going to read law this winter with Colonel Bushnel,
in New Orleans. Come with me, and we will read law together. Before
spring we shall be able to solve the problem."

The boat returned to the town. Edward liked the plan, for Louisiana was
nearer Cuba than Maine was. His father did not seriously object; and in
another fortnight both the young men were in the Crescent City.

CHAPTER II.

THE END OF A SAD STORY.

In New York Edward Montague mailed a letter to Sara Medway. Before he
had been in New Orleans a week her answer came to him. She was better;
her cough had entirely left her, and she slept well. Nothing was needed
to make her happy but his presence.

"Go, Ned; go, by all means," said Tom Barkesdale.

"But my father--"

"Never mind your father," interposed Tom, whose impetuous southern
temperament could hardly brook the cold caution of his friend.

"I promised to write to him at least once a month."

"Do so, then."

"But my letters will betray me."

"Date them at New Orleans, a day or two ahead, and send them to me
under cover. I will mail them here, and your father will believe you are
in this city all the time."

"That's a mean deception," said Edward, whose impulses were rather above
such conduct.

"All is fair in love and war," laughed Tom. "Your letters from home will
come here, and I will forward them to you."

Under the temptation that beset him Edward did