The young ladies looked at each other, wholly at a loss to guess the reason of this singular message, but Myra had promised to explain all, and so they allowed the old man to depart unquestioned. Long before the faithful messenger returned, Myra was standing in the humble dwelling of an out-door dependent in whom she could trust. “And you are determined, Miss Myra,” was the man’s question as he stood, hat in hand, by the door. “Yes; obey my directions exactly as they are given, that is all I require of you.” “We would do any thing—any thing on earth for you,” said the wife of this man, coming forward; “you know we would, Miss Myra, even though it may be our ruin should your father know that we aided you against his will!” “But he never can know; nothing shall tempt me to inform him, and the secret will rest with us alone,” was the prompt reply. “We will be punctual, never fear,” said the man; “but it looks like a storm.” “Well,” said Myra, casting her eyes toward the heavens, which did indeed bear indications of a mustering tempest, “it does not matter, be ready all the same. Remember to come by the old carriage route, not along the new road—you might meet company there.” “I will be cautious, dear young lady; I will be cautious as you could wish.” “I am sure of it,” was the mild and grateful reply; and with a beating heart Myra went back to the house which was soon to be her home no longer. The relation whom we have mentioned was still at D. Place, and his wife, with her two beautiful children, occupied a room near that appropriated to Myra, and to this room the young girl betook herself after returning from the visit to her humble friends. A spirit of unrest was upon her; she longed for action, for sympathy, for some being to whom she could pour forth the anguish which beat like a fever in every vein of her delicate body. Myra found her father’s guest in an easy chair near the window. She was a quiet, tranquil woman, devoid of strong passions, but selfish in the extreme, and possessing a sort of gentle craft that from its very want of active spirit was calculated to deceive. She knew that discontent and disunion were active in the dwelling, and after her usual inert manner was waiting for some result that might prove beneficial to herself and her children. When she saw Myra enter her room with a glow upon her cheek, but pale as death about the mouth and temples, this woman drooped her eyelids to conceal all expression of the joy this agitation kindled in her bosom, but her look was tranquil, her voice was full of sympathy as she addressed the young girl. “You look anxious, nay, ill, my sweet friend,” she said, taking Myra’s hand, which fell over the back of her chair.