Our young traveler found her friends at New Castle willing to aid her, as the generous girls in Wilmington had been. It was arranged that an old gentleman, father of the lady whose roof had given shelter to the young girl, should proceed with her to Baltimore, and with this most unexceptionable escort Myra set forth. With the gentleman whose house she had left, she intrusted a note which was to be delivered to Mr. Whitney, should he by chance have taken passage in the boat expected in a few hours from Baltimore. Anxious, hurried, and half ill with excitement, Myra and her companion reached Baltimore just in time to learn that a gentleman bearing the name of Whitney had taken passage in a boat which had passed them on their way. Agitated by fresh fears, and wild with dread that the meeting between her father and her lover might take place in spite of all her efforts, the poor girl had no resource but to return with her companion, in the wild hope that her note might reach Mr. Whitney at New Castle, and thus prevent his proceeding on his route. By the return boat they reached the home of their generous friends once more, and there to her astonishment and dismay Myra found that a person of like name, but not the Mr. Whitney whom she sought to preserve from periling his life, had passed through New Castle. It was now beyond the day appointed for her lover’s arrival, and, without any knowledge of the time when he would pass through Baltimore, Myra had no better means of meeting him on the way than by remaining quietly with her friends till he should reach New Castle. The kind clergyman, who had so kindly given his protection to the adventurous girl, arranged that a strict watch should be kept at the landing. Thus day after day passed by, during which poor Myra suffered all the irksome pains of suspense, hoping, yet dreading the appearance of her lover, and haunted with a fear that her incensed parent might find out her place of shelter, and thus render all her efforts to prevent mischief of no avail. But thus harassed and worn out, she had only one resource. To wait—wait. To a nature ardent and impetuous as hers, this was a weary trial. So long as she had any thing to do, the excitement of action kept up her courage, but this life of inactive expectation wore upon her nerves, and she began to droop like a bird fettered in its cage. Thus she had lingered three days, imprisoned by her own free will, in the solitude of her chamber, when the event which she had most feared brought new agitation to her already overtaxed spirit. After days of vain and anxious search her parents had found out the place of her retreat.