Fanny answered slowly, as if speaking were painful to her, "Oh, no, no! He cannot be false—anything but that." It was a new idea to her, and that night a weight of sadness, heavier than she had ever known before, filled her heart. She thought, "I will wait and see if he answers my letter before I believe him unfaithful." The next day was the Sabbath. About church time Julia announced her intentions of remaining at home on the plea of a violent headache. Fanny immediately offered to stay with her, but Julia declined, saying that sooner than both should be absent from church she would go herself. Accordingly Julia was left alone. She watched her sister until she disappeared down the street. Then she arose, and locking the door, drew from her pocket a small key, and unlocking a rosewood box, took from it one of Dr. Lacey’s letters. Going to her writing desk, she sat down and commenced imitating his handwriting. She was very skillful in the art of imitation, and was delighted to find herself rapidly succeeding in her attempts at counterfeiting. So busily engaged was she that she did not heed the lapse of time, until her sister’s footsteps were heard ascending the stairs. She sprang hastily up, and thrusting her writing materials into the box locked it, and had just time to throw herself upon the sofa when Fanny knocked at the door. Julia allowed her to knock twice, and then getting up she unfastened the door, at the same time yawning and rubbing her eyes as if just awakened from a sound slumber. "Why, sister, I woke you up, didn’t I?" said Fanny. "I am sorry." "No matter," answered Julia, with another yawn, "I feel better. My nap has done my head good." In the afternoon Fanny again went to church, and Julia resumed the occupation of the morning. She succeeded so well that before church was out she felt sure that after a few more attempts she could imitate Dr. Lacey’s writing so exactly as to thoroughly deceive Fanny. "But not yet," said she to herself; "I do not wish to test my skill yet. It is hardly time." Thus the days glided away. Nearly two weeks passed, and there came no answer to Fanny’s letter. She did not know that regularly, twice a week, letters had arrived from New Orleans, and had been handed to Julia by Mr. Dunn. In the last of these letters, Dr. Lacey complained because Fanny had neglected writing so long. We will give the following extract: "MY PRECIOUS SUNSHINE: "—Can it be that you are sick? I do not wish to think so; and yet what else can prevent your writing? I have not a thought that you are forgetful of me, for you are too pure, too innocent to play me false. And yet I am sometimes haunted by a vague fear that all is not right, for a dark shadow seems resting over me. One line from you, dearest Fanny, will fill my heart with sunshine again—"