ll upon.

The old house had a look of contentment and repose. The hall door stood
wide open. Mr. Graham's arm-chair was in its usual place; Gertrude's
birds, of which Mrs. Ellis had taken excellent care, were hopping about
on the slender perches of the great Indian cage which hung on the wide
piazza. The old house-dog lay stretched in the sun. Plenty of flowers
graced the parlour, and all was very comfortable. Mr. Graham thought so
as he came up the steps, patted the dog, whistled to the birds, sat down
in the arm-chair, and took the morning paper from the hand of the neat
housemaid. The dear old place was the dear old place still.

Mr. Graham has been having new experiences; and he is, in many respects,
a changed man. Emily is sitting in her own room. She is paler than ever,
and her face has an anxious expression. Every time the door opens she
starts, trembles, a sudden flush overspreads her face, and twice during
the morning she has suddenly burst into tears. Every exertion, even that
of dressing, seems a labour to her; she cannot listen to Gertrude's
reading, but will constantly interrupt her to ask questions concerning
the burning boat, her own and others' rescue, and every circumstance
connected with the late terrible scene of agony and death. Her nervous
system is shattered, and Gertrude looks at her and weeps.

Gertrude withdrew, but returned in an hour to help her to dress for
dinner--a ceremony which Miss Graham would never omit, her chief desire
seeming to be to maintain the appearance of health and happiness in the
presence of her father. Gertrude retired to her own room, leaving Emily
to bow her head upon her hands, and utter a few hysterical sobs.
Gertrude is followed by Mrs. Ellis, who seats herself, and in her
exciting style adds to the poor girl's fear and distress by stating the
dreadful effect the recollection of that shocking accident is having
upon poor Emily. "She's completely upset, and if she don't begin to mend
in a day or two there's no knowing what the consequences may be. Emily
is feeble, and not fit to travel; I wish she had stayed at home."

Gertrude is again interrupted. The housemaid brought her a letter! With
a trembling hand she receives it, fearing to look at the writing or
post-mark. Her first thought is of Willie; but before she could indulge
either a hope or a fear on that score the illusion is dispelled, for,
though the post-mark is New York, and he might be there, the handwriting