seal. She glanced at
the signature, and turned so pale they thought she would faint, but in a
moment she was relieved by a burst of tears.

Her long lost brother was alive! he wrote that he was married, and
settled in that far distant State. One of his sister's letters (for she
still continued from time to time to write to him) had lately reached
him, he said, and he wished her to come to him. Her mind was immediately
made up to go; she dearly loved her sweet pupils, and the kind friends
who had given her a home, and a place in their hearts, but the ties of
kindred were stronger than all other ties, and they drew her with
resistless force towards the home of her own and only brother.

There was something about the tone of this letter which Mrs. Wharton did
not like, and she had a foreboding that this journey would not be for
the happiness of her friend, and tried to dissuade her from undertaking
it. And in this she was entirely disinterested; for great as would be
the loss of this gifted young lady to her, Mrs. Wharton was not the one
to put a straw in her way, if she felt assured the journey would end
happily for her.

All that she said, however, was of no avail; it had been the hope of
Miss Edwards' life, once more to see this darling brother, and nothing
could deter her from making the attempt. Her preparations were made in
haste, and with many tears on her part, and on that of the kind friends
she was leaving, and amid loud sobs and lamentations from her dear
little scholars, they parted, never again to meet on earth. A tedious
and perilous journey she had, by river and land, but she seemed to bear
all the discomforts of the way with her own cheerful, happy spirit, and
the letters she wrote to her friends from different points on the
journey were exceedingly amusing and entertaining. One of them, and the
last she wrote before reaching her point of destination, I will
transcribe here in her own words:--

"Springdale, Oct.--"

"My beloved pupils,--I am going, in this letter, to tell you a ghost
story, and a murder story, of both of which your humble servant was the
heroine. But before your little cheeks begin to grow white, and your
eyes to open in horror, let me tell you that the ghost was no ghost at
all, and in the murder scene, nobody's life was in danger, though both
matters at the time were very serious ones to me."

"I wrote you last from a little tavern in the northern part of Virginia,
while I was w