Poor young Wing was supposed to have died in one of the confederate prisons; but it was noticeable that from the time General Rosenthal learned the liberation of Miss Conyers from Castle Thunder, he ceased to mourn the untimely fate of Wing. Britomarte was not in Washington, and no one knew exactly where she was at this time. Immediately after her release from Castle Thunder she had written three letters—one to Justin, announcing her safety, one to Erminie to the same effect, and one to the Signora Adriana di Bercelloni. And within a week after the posting of these letters, she had left Richmond for the North. Lately she had written from New York, announcing her speedy return to Washington. This letter, which was addressed to Justin, was immediately answered by a joint one from the brother and sister, entreating Britomarte to make the parsonage her home, and to let them know exactly by what train she would arrive, that they might meet her at the station. They were now waiting her reply. It was yet early in the day, and the gentlemen had all walked out, and Elfie was busy at her favorite pastime of decorating the drawing-room with flowers, and Erminie, having issued all her domestic orders for the day, was resting in an easy chair in her own chamber, when the sound of wheels was heard turning into the gates and rolling up the avenue towards the front of the house. It was not an unusual sound, for there had been a great number of callers within the last few weeks, so that in fact the inmates of the cottage were getting tired of them. Elfie, pausing in the act of arranging a bouquet, uttered an exclamation of disgust and wondered why people could not content themselves at home. Erminie, seated in her resting-chair in the privacy of her own room, hoped that the visitor might be no one whom she should be obliged to see. And she waited for the appearance of the servant to announce the name of the new comer. But fifteen or twenty minutes passed and no servant appeared, though the carriage still remained standing before the door. “It is some one for Elfie,” said Erminie to herself, as she sank in her chair to take her ease. But at that moment she heard footsteps approaching the chamber, and the next instant the door was thrown open by Elfie, who, pale and faint, tottered into the chamber and sank into the nearest seat. “Elfie! Elfie, my dear! in the name of mercy, what has happened?” exclaimed Erminie, starting up in alarm, for the least terrible of her conjectures was that some serious accident had occurred to her own brother or to Elfie’s father. “Noth—nothing has happened! Nothing bad, I mean! All good! Oh, Erminie! how shall I tell you!” gasped Elfie, bursting into a passion of hysterical tears and sobs. The excess of joy weeps; the excess of anguish laughs. “What? what is this? Who came in the carriage?” breathlessly gasped Erminie, turning pale and cold, yet not with fear!