Sunday morning, at church, was perhaps the proudest moment of Mr. Wilson's life, when he stood erect and spruce in his pew; and, condescendingly, classed himself in audible tones with the other "miserable sinners" of the congregation. No part of the service did he neglect--he even joined in the singing, with a voice so utterly discordant, that Kate absolutely started, and turned to look from whence the horrid sounds proceeded, the first time she heard them. Church was the grand theatre of display to Mesdames Jorrocks and Wilson and the great proportion of their acquaintances; and a lively topic of conversation on their return home. "Did you see what a velvet mantle Mrs. B----, have on? asks the mother." "Yes; it cost ten guineas, if it cost a penny," returns the daughter. "And her husband be deep in the "great Midland;" maybe, next year she'll have to wear Linsey-woolsey." "You never see such lace as Miss F. had, trimming her bonnet--that depth," cried Mrs. Wilson, with eager rapidity, and holding out a finger, &c. Then came a few words on the sermon, which was quickly despatched; and thus was the interval between church and dinner whiled away; and though it may place Miss Vernon very far back on the list of any sanctified reader, it must be confessed she never looked forward with much pleasure to the day of rest. Mr. Wilson's anecdotical powers were rather too much to endure for an entire sabbath day. The third month of Kate's purgatorial sojourn, was opening gloomily enough, when one Sunday morning, as they were assembled at breakfast, in more than usually gorgeous array--as a popular preacher was expected to draw "a full house--" a loud ring announced the post. "I'll engage it's for Miss Vernon," said Mrs. Jorrocks, "I never see such a many letters as you do get." But Kate did not heed her, her eyes were fastened on the letter handed across the table by Master Pem. who detained it to read the direction, observing--"It's a gentleman's hand," and eliciting a stern--"Hold your tongue, sir," from his father. A mist swam before Kate's eyes, and a spasm of hope and fear shook her heart as she recognised Langley's hand, "it must be a letter from Mr. Winter," she murmured, "will you allow me?" and with trembling fingers broke the seal--but no, it was from Langley himself. Oh, Heavens! had any thing happened. "MY DEAR MISS VERNON, "I lose no time in informing you that I had a letter this morning from Winter, dated the 20th, nearly three weeks ago; he writes in good health and spirits, and talks of returning immediately; he is anxious to know where you are; uncertainty on this point, from some passage in your last letter, having kept him silent. I should not be surprised at his arrival any day. "Hoping this letter may find you well, and in haste to catch the post. "Your's faithfully, "WILLM. LANGLEY."