ith the troubles of this life. Ah! there, there!"--(the old
man starts suddenly, as if a thought has flashed upon him)--"there is
the letter, and from poor Tom, too! I only broke the envelope. I have
not opened it."

"It is safe, father; I have it," resumes Maria, holding it before him,
unopened, as the words tremble upon her lips. One moment she fears it
may convey bad news, and in the next she is overjoyed with the hope that
it brings tidings of the safety and return of him for whose welfare she
breathed many a prayer. Pale and agitated, she hesitates a moment, then
proceeds to open it.

"Father, father! heaven has shielded me--heaven has shielded me! Ha! ha!
ha! yes, yes, yes! He is safe! he is safe!" And she breaks out into one
wild exclamation of joy, presses the letter to her lips, and kisses it,
and moistens it with her tears, "It was all a plot--a dark plot set for
my ruin!" she mutters, and sinks back, overcome with her emotions. The
old man fondles her to his bosom, his white beard flowing over her
suffused cheeks, and his tears mingling with hers. And here she
remains, until the anguish of her joy runs out, and her mind resumes its
wonted calm.

Having broken the spell, she reads the letter to the enraptured old man.
Tom has arrived in New York; explains the cause of his long absence;
speaks of several letters he has transmitted by post, (which she never
received;) and his readiness to proceed to Charleston, by steamer, in a
few days. His letter is warm with love and constancy; he recurs to old
associations; he recounts his remembrance of the many kindnesses he
received at the hands of her father, when homeless; of the care, to
which he owes his reform, bestowed upon him by herself, and his burning
anxiety to clasp her to his bosom.

A second thought flashes upon her fevered brain. Am I not the subject of
slander! Am I not contaminated by associations? Has not society sought
to clothe me with shame? Truth bends before falsehood, and virtue
withers under the rust of slandering tongues. Again a storm rises up
before her, and she feels the poisoned arrow piercing deep into her
heart. Am I not living under the very roof that will confirm the
slanders of mine enemies? she asks herself. And the answer rings back in
confirmation upon her too sensitive ears, and fastens itself in her
feelings like a reptile with deadly fangs. No; she is not yet free from
her enemies. They have the power of falsifying her to her l