familiar name, and he read as follows:

BANQUET TO MR. VILLIERS WYCKLIFFE.

This popular and fortunate young gentleman, who is on the point of
starting for a tour of the Australian Colonies, was entertained at
dinner at the Angora Club, last evening. Lord Hardup presided, and
in proposing the health of the guest of the evening in eulogistic
terms, presented him, on behalf of the Club, with a handsome
diamond pin, and heartily wished him God-speed. The pin was in the
shape of a broken heart, which curious badge has been adopted by
Mr. Wyckliffe. Mr. Wyckliffe left by the night express for Naples,
to join the _s.s. Himalaya_ en route for Adelaide.

"The ---- scoundrel," said Reg, emphatically. Whyte and Sir Charles
turned round upon him in surprise. "Here is the cause of it," said Reg,
handing the paper to Whyte.

Barely time to express their surprise at the discovery was given them
before they were all hurriedly summoned to Amy's bedside. Mrs. Whyte
and a nurse, who had been at once sent for, were watching the still
figure on the bed, with the doctor in attendance.

"Will she die, Sir Charles?" asked Reg, in a feverish whisper.

"My dear young sir, there is no hope. She may recover consciousness, but
if she does it will only be for a few moments. Doctor Carr will remain
till the end;" and giving the young man's hand a sympathetic squeeze,
while he brushed away something dangerously like a tear, he hurried away
to his carriage.

They remained in the darkened room in anxious silence. Suddenly, the
nurse moved to the bedside, and held up her hand in warning. The nervous
tension of each watcher was extreme, that the movement seemed to give
relief.

"Wyck! Wyck!" came from the lips of Amy, in a mournful whisper. "Wyck
gone; Reg gone. Poor Amy."

"No, my darling," burst from Reg's lips, but the doctor held up a
warning finger and hushed his impetuous outburst.

It was a terrible scene. To watch helplessly while a few stifled words
broke in interjections from the dying girl's lips, and note the
manifest struggle to give them utterance.

"Reg, Reg, forgive--forgive daddy, mammy! God--bless--you;" and with a
convulsive shudder, her spirit had passed away.

Doctor Carr had seen many death-beds in his career, but never one so
affecting as this. Kneeling by the bedside were the two old people, and
a hale and hearty youth, sobbing as if their hearts were