At length, seeking his own now desolate home, and shutting himself up in that dear familiar chamber, with the pleasant window looking out on the sea—there where he had seen her last—where she had breathed out her pure spirit—where her form had lain in death—there he lifted his heart to God for strength, kissed the seal and broke it. Before him lay a rich mass of dark auburn hair—Dora’s beautiful hair! With a low cry, half joy, half pain, he caught it, pressed it to his lips and heart, and bedewed it with his abundant tears. Suddenly he observed that those long, bright tresses were wound about a letter—a letter addressed to him in Dora’s own familiar hand. He sank into a seat, unfolded the precious missive, and read—what we will give in the chapter following. CHAPTER III. “Earth on my soul is strong—too strong— Too precious is its chain, All woven of thy love, dear friend, Yet vain—though mighty—vain! “A little while between our hearts The shadowy gulf must lie, Yet have we for their communing Still, still eternity!” HEMANS. THE LETTER. “Frederic, my dearest—pride of my heart—love of my youth—my husband! A sweet, yet most mournful task is mine, to write to you words which you may not read until my voice is hushed in the grave—till the heart that prompts is cold and pulseless—till the hand that traces is mouldering into dust. Yes, I am called from you—from our children—and you are not near to comfort me with your love in this dark season. But I must not add to your sorrow by thus weakly indulging my own. Though it may not be mine to feel your tender hand wiping the death-dew from my brow—though I may not pant out my soul on your dear breast, nor feel your strong, unfailing love sustaining me as I go—yet I shall not be all forsaken, nor grope my way in utter darkness; but leaning on the arm of our Redeemer, descend into ‘the valley of the shadow of death.’ “And now, dearest, I would speak to you of our children—our children, of whose real characters it has happened that you know comparatively little. I would tell you of my hopes and wishes concerning them—would speak with all the mournful earnestness of a dying mother, knowing that _you_ can well understand the mighty care at my heart.