inscription:--

"MY SISTER."

Della proposed to Bernard, now that they were so abundantly able, to
offer a home to the friendless Blanche, and let her be as a sister to
them. Accompanied by Guly, who was still Wilkins' warmest friend, they
went to the little house, to offer this proposition to the beautiful
brodeuse. To the utter astonishment of all, and to Guly's chagrin and
despair, they found the house deserted, the door closed, and the
familiar card, "_To Let_," swinging from the upper balcony. Blanche was
gone, none knew whither.

Della and Bernard waited several days, in the hope of hearing something
of their young friend; but thwarted in their generous desire, they at
last left the city, bidding an affectionate farewell to Guly, who stood
upon the levee, watching the departing vessel, bearing away those true
and tried friends, till lost to his aching sight.

They bought a delightful country residence, near the city of Havana, and
established themselves there, in the heart of a pleasant neighborhood,
and were soon surrounded by warm and faithful friends. Bernard Wilkins
became an altered man. His habits of dissipation were broken for ever;
and he remained a faithful husband and happy father. Thus, performing
his promises to the dying Minny, her departing words were fulfilled; and
the shadow of her last hour rested on his heart ever holily--holily!

CHAPTER XXXIX.

"And there we shall have our feasts of tears,
And many a cup in silence pour;
Our guests, the shades of former years,
Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more."

Tom Moore.

Weeks passed away, and Guly, in spite of all his earnest endeavors,
heard nothing more of Blanche. A strange mystery seemed, as it were,
suddenly to have swallowed her up, and left no trace. Summer came again,
and brought with it one of those fearful epidemics so frequent in that
ill-fated city. Cholera was spreading itself broad-cast among rich and
poor, the humble and the high alike. Hundreds were weekly being swept
into their yawning tombs, and it seemed as if the city most surely must
be devastated. Nurses could not be procured to care for the sick; and
the dead-carts went gloomily through the silent streets, groaning
beneath their fearful load of death, all the day long, while the
grave-yards yawned constantly, as though their hunger never could be
appeased.

Several of Mr. Delancey's clerks had died, and others had fled the
pestilence