Lucy talked so rapidly, and was so rejoiced to be the first to tell the news, that she did not appear to notice the effect it had on her hearers. If I had done _anything_, I should have burst out crying. I had woven so many pretty romances about his coming home faithful to sister, and all that, and finding out she did love him. As no one spoke, Frank said with the utmost calmness, "he married Miss Karswell, I suppose, sister of the young man with whom he has been travelling." "No, not sister," replied Lucy, "but a cousin, who accompanied his sisters. Our informant who knew the family well, told me that Charles was not altogether pleased, as he wished to marry his cousin himself. She is a Southerner; and they were on their way to the south. He is so much altered that I should hardly have known him, if it were not for his mouth and voice. I stood near them in the boat, and heard him say, he wished her parents were to meet them in Philadelphia instead of Charleston, for it would be extremely warm there at this season. She replied, 'it shall be my endeavor to make it so delightful to you, that you will forget the heat.'" "Didn't you speak to them?" I asked, recovering my voice. "Yes, but it was just as we were leaving. He seemed really annoyed that I had not made myself known at once. I told him I was not sure for some time whether it were really he." "'Am I then so much altered?' said he sadly; but at the same time a beautiful smile played for one instant around his mouth, and vanished." "Then you were not introduced to his lady?" "No, though she kept tight hold of his arm, and seemed almost impatient that he stopped even that short space. Altogether he was the most distinguished gentleman on board the boat, always excepting my own husband," she added, with a merry glance at him. When the conversation turned to another theme, I ventured to look at Emily. To my astonishment, she appeared to be wholly engrossed in a new book, she had taken from the table; but on looking a moment I perceived a deadly pallor about her mouth; and suddenly remembered that we were making a very long call upon persons just returned. When we were at home, I merely ran to take a peep into the nursery, and finding all quiet, I begged Frank to excuse me for a few moments. "Where is Emily?" I asked of mother. "She went to her room to lay aside her bonnet." I followed, and found the poor girl in the very abandonment of grief. She had tossed her bonnet into a chair, and was kneeling by the bed, with her arms thrown over her head, which was buried in the pillow. I knelt by her side, putting my arms around her. "Dear sister," I said, "don't weep so. Do let me comfort you." But I stopped; what could I say? After a few moments, she arose and sat by me. "Oh, Emily!" I said, "if you look so, you will break my heart."