You may have heard of it, even in these few days--ill news spreads fast. Tell me what you hear; for we wish to save my sister as much as we can. To our friends generally, I have merely written that, "from unforeseen differences," the marriage is broken off. Mr. Charteris may give what reasons he likes at Treherne Court. We will not try to injure him with his uncle. I have just crept in to look at Penelope; she is asleep still, and has never stirred. She looks so old--like a woman of fifty, almost. No wonder. Think--ten years--all her youth to be crushed out at once. I wonder, will it kill her? It would me. I wanted to ask you--do you think, medically, there is any present danger in her state? She lies quiet enough; taking little notice of me or anybody--with her eyes shut during the day-time, and open, wide-staring, all night long. What ought I to do with her? There is only me, you know. If you fear anything, send me a telegram at once. Do not wait to write. But, that you may the better judge her state, I ought just to give you full particulars, beginning where my last letter ended. That "little black dog on her shoulder," which I spoke of so lightly!--God forgive me! also for leaving her the whole of that Sunday afternoon with her door locked, and the room as still as death; yet never once knocking to ask, "Penelope, how are you?" On Sunday night, the curate came to supper, and papa sent me to summon her; she came downstairs, took her place at table, and conversed. I did not notice her much, except that she moved about in a stupid, stunned-like fashion, which caused papa to remark more than once, "Penelope, I think you are half asleep." She never answered. Another night, and the half of another day, she must have spent in the same manner. And I let her do it without enquiry! Shall I ever forgive myself? In the afternoon of Monday, I was sitting at work, busy finishing her embroidered marriage handkerchief, alone in the sunshiny parlour, thinking of my letter, which you would have received at last; also thinking it was rather wicked of my happy sister to sulk for two whole days, because of a small disappointment about a servant--if such it were. I had almost determined to shake her out of her ridiculous reserve, by asking boldly what was the matter, and giving her a thorough scolding if I dared; when the door opened, and in walked Francis Charteris. Heartily glad to see him, in the hope his coming might set Penelope right again, I jumped up and shook hands, cordially. Nor till afterwards did I remember how much this seemed to surprise and relieve him. "Oh, then, all is right!" said he. "I feared, from Penelope's letter, that she wa a little annoyed with me. Nothing new that, you know."