owe all my duty and my hand; say but the word, dear Eva, and it is yours forever. I do not ask you to release me from my engagement; but, having told you all, shall most anxiously expect your answer. My heart is breaking, dear Eva, at the thought of the pain this may cause you; but with your own brave spirit, cast from you the image of one who is unworthy of you; one who has so traitorously repaid your love. Arthur Noel. The letter had evidently been penned in a state of great agitation. I thought it the wildest thing I had ever read, but at the moment, indignation mastered every other feeling. I continued silent for some moments after I had finished reading it—for I was too much distressed to speak. I did not know how to break the matter to my friend. I knew she had been watching my face for some seconds, and my feelings must have revealed themselves very strongly; for when she saw me standing so long silent, she said, “Tell me what that letter contains, to move you thus.” Her voice trembled as she spoke, but seeing me still silent, she sprung toward me, and grasping my hand, exclaimed, “have mercy on me, Ellen. Tell me what it is; I can bear all, any thing, so that Arthur is well!” “He is well, Evelyn,” said I; “it would be better for you, poor girl, if he were dead.” “Oh! say not that,” she again exclaimed, “you would have me think him false; but that cannot be. Arthur loves me; oh, God! say that he loves me still.” She sunk at my feet as she said this, and burying her face in my dress, sobbed violently. “Evelyn,” I cried, endeavoring at the same time to raise her, “Evelyn, you have a hard trial before you, but one which I know your woman’s pride will enable you to bear with fortitude. I will leave you; read that letter yourself, and when I come again in an hour, let me find that my friend has been true to herself.” I gently disengaged my dress from her clasp, placed the letter in her hand, kissed her cheek, and left the room. I retired to my own room, and there wept for my friend, as I had never wept for myself. I trembled for the consequences that might ensue. I knew how deeply Arthur was beloved; and I could not but fear that even Eva’s firm spirit would not bear the blow with fortitude. In an hour I knocked at her door, and called her by name. “Do not come in yet,” she said, but in a voice so hoarse and hollow, that I could scarcely believe it hers; “do not come in yet, I am not what you wish to see me.” Once again that morning I attempted to see her, but she still refused to admit me; and it was not until eight o’clock in the evening that my maid came and told me that Evelyn wished to see me.