"Then you shall know all, from my earliest recollection," said I. "My name is Cassie VanNess. I was born and raised near New York City. My mother died when I was an infant, and I was cared for by my devoted old father, James VanNess, and a kind motherly colored woman who had been a servant in the family. My father died when I was fifteen years old, and I went to live with my guardian, Richard Sage, who was also the uncle and guardian of Raphael Ganoe, whom he had taken to raise when an infant. At this time Raphael was eighteen years of age. Our school days, of about five years, were the happiest, nay, I may say the ONLY really happy days of my life. When I was twenty and Raphael twenty-three years of age, he was offered a lucrative position on a ship engaged in the Chinese trade. During our vacations we had crossed the ocean together, and he desired to travel in the Orient. While on this voyage he expected to circumnavigate the globe, stopping at all the leading ports. On his return we were to be married. "He promised to write to me at every available opportunity, and for the first few months his letters came regularly, always couched in the most affectionate terms and often referring to our coming marriage as the beacon light of all his fondest hopes. Then his letters ceased altogether, and though I wrote repeatedly to him, I never heard from him again. "As the months rolled by, often at noontime, when the music of birds filled the air, and all was life and light, or at eventide, when the mellow twilight was over hill and dale, and the activities and light of day were giving place to the stillness and shadows of night; when the perfume of the flowers filled the air, or the yellow leaves of autumn fell about my feet, I, the forsaken, and perhaps forgotten, could have been seen seated beneath some broad-spreading tree, where we used to read and converse together. I would sit thus for hours in silent meditation, recalling the tender words and caresses of my absent lover. Then arising sad and disconsolate, I would leave the lonely spot and try to bravely wait and hope for the word that never came. "My guardian professed great sympathy, and with seemingly the most poignant grief informed me that his nephew had committed some desperate crime in foreign lands for which he had been tried, convicted and sent to prison for a long term of years. Yet, with this black shadow resting upon him, the truth of which was vouched for by his uncle, I continued to write as it had been agreed between us and many were the tear stained missives I addressed to him, hoping that comrades on the ship would see that they reached him. Though he might be a criminal and an out-cast from his kind, my affection for him never wavered for a single moment.