“Always and ever yours, “ALBERT.” “Never suffered the slightest change!” repeated Clara, bitterly. “What must he think of my common sense?” His words about children cut her to the heart. She did not believe him, and she despised the whole heartless tone of the letter. The next morning Ella rapped at her door. She was in a very jaunty traveling dress. She was in very high spirits, and made Clara think she was going away “for good,” but finally stated that she was only going down to Wolfboro’, on Lake Winnepiseogee, for a day’s visit. She would return the next evening. The next morning a letter came. Clara did not notice the postmark, and her heart leaped as she read, in Albert’s own hand, “My precious one,”—the old words he had always applied to her. It went on for three pages, in the lover’s most impassioned strain. The first few lines revealed the fact that it had been written to Ella, but Clara’s eyes were fascinated, and she read every word. He dwelt continually upon Ella’s beauty, upon her lips, her “glorious eyes,” everything, showing clearly and most unmistakably, that he was wholly, desperately enamored. It was dated the same day and hour as her last letter from Albert, which added, if possible, to the heartlessness of his deception. It had perhaps been purloined from Miss Wills’ room, or possibly Ella had dropped it, and one of the boarders, from some justifiable motive, had sent it through the Conway post-office to Mrs. Delano.