versation with Mrs. Blyth, has
been reminded of a letter to one of her sisters, which she has not yet
completed, and goes to her own room to finish it--Valentine running
to open the door for her, with the nimblest juvenile gallantry, then
returning to the window and addressing Mrs. Peckover.

"Hot as ever, eh? Shall I get you one of Lavvie's fans?" says Mr. Blyth.

"No, thank'ee, sir; I ain't quite melted yet," answers Mrs. Peckover.
"But I'll tell you what I wish you would do for me. I wish you would
read me Master Zack's last letter. You promised, you know, sir."

"And I would have performed my promise before, Mrs. Peckover, if Mrs.
Thorpe had not been in the room. There are passages in the letter, which
it might revive very painful remembrances in her to hear. Now she has
left us, I have not the least objection to read, if you are ready to
listen."

Saying this, Valentine takes a letter from his pocket. Madonna
recognizing it, asks by a sign if she may look over his shoulder and
read it for the second time. The request is granted immediately. Mr.
Blyth makes her sit on his knee, puts his arm round her waist, and
begins to read aloud as follows:

"MY DEAR VALENTINE,--Although I am writing to you to announce my return,
I cannot say that I take up my pen in good spirits. It is not so long
since I picked up my last letters from England that told me of my
father's death. But besides that, I have had a heavy trial to bear,
in hearing the dreadful secret, which you all kept from me when it was
discovered; and afterwards in parting from Matthew Grice.

"What I felt when I knew the secret, and heard why Mat and all of you
had kept it from me, I may be able to tell you--but I cannot and dare
not write about it. You may be interested to hear how my parting with
Matthew happened; and I will relate it to you, as well as I can.

"You know, from my other letters, all the glorious hunting and riding we
have had, and the thousands of miles of country we have been over, and
the wonderful places we have seen. Well, Bahia (the place I now write
from) has been the end of our travels. It was here I told Mat of my
father's death; and he directly agreed with me that it was my duty to go
home, and comfort my poor dear mother, by the first ship that sailed for
England. After we had settled that, he said he had something serious
to tell me, and asked me to go with him, northward, half a day's march
along the seacoast; saying we could ta