"What do we care for etiquette?" said William. "I, for one, am above it. Let us go!" An hour afterwards, we were all on the way to the residence of Captain Nowell. On being ushered into the drawing-room, my relatives were surprised to meet an old acquaintance--the captain of the ship, on which they had voyaged some thousands of miles. The Captain first introduced them to his wife; and then to his step-daughter. I had before mentioned her name to my brother--while giving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from him in Dublin. On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with evident admiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, "Is this the lost one, Rowland?" I answered in the affirmative. "I am reading a romance of real life," said William, as he grasped Lenore's hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give. Need I add that we passed that evening in the enjoyment of such happiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence and honesty? Volume Three, Chapter XXXIII. A LETTER OF SAD SIGNIFICANCE. Next morning, as I was on my way to Lenore, I thought of Jessie. I was reminded of her by the ringing of bells. It might not have been for her wedding; but no doubt at that same hour the bells of some church were tolling the announcement of the ceremony, that was to make her a wife. Poor Jessie! I could not help feeling sorrow for her. That peal, that should have produced joy both to her and myself, fell upon my ear in tones of sadness! I fancied--nay, I knew it--that whatever might be her future fate, she was at that moment unhappy! Engrossed as I was in my own happiness, it was not natural I should long dwell upon the misery of another; and I soon ceased to think of her. "Jessie is not related to me, nor my family," thought I, by way of stifling my regrets, "she will soon forget her present griefs; and perhaps be as happy as myself." I offered up a silent prayer, that such should be the event. I saw Lenore; passed with her a pleasant hour or two; and then learnt that my company was on that day no longer required. Great preparations were being made for the marriage. Every one in the house appeared to be busy--Lenore included--and as she could devote but little time to entertaining me, I took leave of her, and returned home. On entering my room, I found a letter awaiting me. It lay upon the table; and, drawing near, I cast my eye over the superscription. I saw that the writing was in a female hand, though not one familiar to me. From whom could the letter be? Something seemed to whisper in my ear the word "Jessie." She could not have written to me--least of all at that hour--unless to communicate something of importance; and I hastily tore open the envelope. I lay before my readers a copy of that ominous epistle: "Rowland,