“My father, once again—once again reflect, it is more than life that I offer you for this!” she said, and her voice grew softer, as if tears were swelling in its tones once more. “That which I have said I abide by!” was the stern reply. Myra pleaded no longer, but turned gently and left the room. In the upper hall she met her mother. “Does he relent—will he accept the sacrifice of your offer?” questioned the anxious lady. “No, mother, he refuses; he seems athirst for the life of this noble young man; but I will save him, I will save them both.” “How, my child? how can you, so frail and so helpless, struggle against the strong will of your father?” “I will leave the house. I will no longer remain where innocent and honorable love leads to scenes like this.” “What, leave your mother—your own fond, too fond mother? Myra, my child, my child!” “Hush! mother; dear, dear mother; these tears, they make me weak as an infant. If you weep and cling to me thus, mother, my strength may fail; and do you not know that death may follow—death to your husband or to mine, for is he not my husband before God, do you think, sweet mother?” But Mrs. D. only wept, and clung more fondly to her daughter. Myra withdrew herself gently from that warm clasp, and went away. On the morrow Mr. Whitney would be in Wilmington, and before then the young girl had much to accomplish—much to suffer. All that day Myra avoided the family, above all the gentle mother, whose tears she feared far more than the anger of her proud father. She had formed a resolution that required all her courage, and more strength than seemed to animate that slender form. She shrunk, therefore, from encountering the tears of that sweet and loving woman. There was an old servant in the family, with whom Myra from her childhood had been a sort of idol. Indeed, in all that large household there was not a dependant who did not reverence and love the young creature. This man, early in the afternoon, might have been seen riding toward Wilmington at a brisk trot, and with some little anxiety in his manner. When he reached the town the old man entered a dwelling where he was received by two bright and joyous-looking young ladies, who greeted him eagerly, and inquired for news of his young mistress, while the old negro was searching in his pockets for a hastily folded billet, which he, at length, produced with no little mysterious importance. One of the young ladies tore open the billet, and began to read. “Sit up for me to-night, dear girls,” thus the billet commenced, “sit up till morning, unless I come before; you will certainly see me during the night; then I will explain this hasty message. It may storm; no matter, I shall surely be with you. MYRA.”