! Oh, what am I writing? I know
not. I cannot endure the suspense long; write quickly, or come to
me, my father--for I will call you so once, though perhaps never
again.

"GERTRUDE."

Mr. Phillips--or rather Mr. Amory, for we shall call him by his true
name--had neglected to mention his address. Gertrude did not observe
this circumstance until she was preparing to direct her letter. She for
a moment experienced a severe pang in the thought that her communication
would never reach him. But she was reassured on examining the post-mark,
which was evidently New York, to which she addressed her missive; and
then, unwilling to trust it to other hands, tied on her bonnet, caught
up a veil with which to conceal her agitated face, deposited the letter
herself in the village post-office.

Gertrude's case was a peculiarly trying one. She had been already, for
a week past, struggling in suspense which agitated her almost beyond
endurance; and now a new cause of mystery had arisen, involving an
almost equal amount of self-questioning and torture. It seemed almost
beyond the power of so sensitive, and so inexperienced a girl to rally
such self-command as would enable her to control her emotions, disguise
them from observation, and compel herself to endure alone and in silence
this cruel destiny. But she did do it, and bravely too.

CHAPTER XLII.

TIES--NOT OF EARTH.

In a private room of one of those first-class hotels in which New York
city abounds, Phillip Amory sat alone. It was evening, the curtains were
drawn, the gas-lamps burning brightly and giving a cheerful glow to the
room, the comfortable appearance of which contrasted strongly with the
pale countenance and desponding attitude of its solitary inmate, who
leaned upon a table in the centre of the apartment. He had thus sat for
nearly an hour without once moving or looking up. Suddenly he started
up, straightened his commanding figure to its full height, and slowly
paced the room. A slight knock at the door arrested his steps; a look of
annoyance overspread his countenance; he again flung himself into his
chair, and, in reply to the servant's announcing, "A gentleman, sir,"
was preparing to say, "I cannot be interrupted"--but it was too late;
the visitor had advanced within the door, which the waiter quietly
closed and repeated.

The new-comer--a young man--stepped quickly and eagerly forward, but
checked himself, abashed at the coldness