tress will not be lightened somewhat."

But Zillah said that she could not bear to leave, that the house
seemed to be filled with Hilda's presence, and that as long as she
was there there was something to remind her of the one she had lost.
If she went away she should only long to go back.

"But, my child, would it not be better for you to go to your
friends?" said Mrs. Harvey, as delicately as possible.

"I have no friends," said Zillah, in a faltering voice. "They are all
gone."

Zillah burst into tears: and Mrs. Harvey, after weeping with her,
took her departure, with her heart full of fresh sympathy for one so
sweet, and so unhappy.

Time passed on, and Zillah's grief had settled down into a quiet
melancholy. The rector and his wife were faithful friends to this
friendless girl, and, by a thousand little acts of sympathy, strove
to alleviate the distress of her lonely situation. For all this
Zillah felt deeply grateful, but nothing that they might do could
raise her mind from the depths of grief into which it had fallen. But
at length there came a day which was to change all this.

That day she was sitting by the front window in the alcove, looking
out to where the sea was rolling in its waves upon the shore.
Suddenly, to her surprise, she saw the village postman, who had been
passing along the road, open her gate, and come up the path. Her
first thought was that her concealment had been discovered, and that
Guy had written to her. Then a wild thought followed that it was
somehow connected with Hilda. But soon these thoughts were banished
by the supposition that it was simply a note for one of the servants.
After this she fell into her former melancholy, when suddenly she was
roused by the entrance of John, who had a letter in his hand.

"A letter for you, miss," said John, who had no idea that Zillah was
of a dignity which deserved the title of "my lady."

Zillah said not a word. With a trembling hand she took the letter and
looked at it. It was covered with foreign post-marks, but this she
did not notice. It was the handwriting which excited her attention.

"Hilda!" she cried, and sank back breathless in her chair. Her heart
throbbed as though it would burst. For a moment she could not move;
but then, with a violent effort, she tore open the letter, and, in a
wild fever of excited feeling, read the following:

"NAPLES, June 1, 1859.

"MY OWN DEAREST DARLING,---What you must have suffered in the way of