A few months had passed away, and Walter (or William, as I suppose we must now call him) gradually becoming more dependent upon Evelyn’s society for his happiness, so sad and bitter were the memories that haunted him when alone, that he would fly to her presence to dispel them; it was a relief to his slighted heart to be so fondly welcomed; and almost unconsciously he was led on, till Charles had no longer any doubt that his affections were fondly Evelyn’s, and she so happy, so blessed in his presence, asked nothing more. The cold bleak winds of autumn, with their first breath, seemed to chill the little life in Wentworth’s feeble frame; every day he failed, and yet Evelyn could not, would not believe that he was passing away. One evening, after a wretched day, he insisted upon being lifted into a chair, that he might behold the sun-set. Alas! it was only to hasten a few days the approach of the fatal messenger. The exertion was too great for him, a large blood-vessel ruptured, and in a few moments all saw that his life was fast ebbing away. Evelyn and William stood by in mute despair, the former, her cheek deadly pale, her whole frame convulsed, bent over him in that silent, tearless anguish, so terrible to behold. “William,” whispered the dying man, “come near, I have a solemn charge for you—my darling sister! oh guard her, cherish and protect her, as you value my peace in death. I give her to you; oh promise me that you will be to her, father, brother, husband—all; promise me this, my friend, my only friend—and he took the cold passive hand of Evelyn and laid it gently in William’s, then clasping them in his own, he said, you promise me never to leave her, to value her happiness more than your own; do you not, oh will you not promise this for the sake of a dying man?” “I will—I do promise,” faltered the young man, in earnest, solemn accents; “and may ‘God do so to me and more also,’ if I ever willingly cause her pain.” “I know you love her,” Charles continued; “I have seen it in your every act; and oh, William, you have yet to learn the wealth of love and tenderness in that young heart—it is thine, all thine. “God bless you, dear ones; do not mourn for me, I am so happy thus to die;” and here the low tones, grew fainter and fainter, the large eloquent eyes gave one last lingering look of ardent love, and then were closed forever.