"MY SISTER." Della proposed to Bernard, now that they were so abundantly able, to offer a home to the friendless Blanche, and let her be as a sister to them. Accompanied by Guly, who was still Wilkins' warmest friend, they went to the little house, to offer this proposition to the beautiful brodeuse. To the utter astonishment of all, and to Guly's chagrin and despair, they found the house deserted, the door closed, and the familiar card, "_To Let_," swinging from the upper balcony. Blanche was gone, none knew whither. Della and Bernard waited several days, in the hope of hearing something of their young friend; but thwarted in their generous desire, they at last left the city, bidding an affectionate farewell to Guly, who stood upon the levee, watching the departing vessel, bearing away those true and tried friends, till lost to his aching sight. They bought a delightful country residence, near the city of Havana, and established themselves there, in the heart of a pleasant neighborhood, and were soon surrounded by warm and faithful friends. Bernard Wilkins became an altered man. His habits of dissipation were broken for ever; and he remained a faithful husband and happy father. Thus, performing his promises to the dying Minny, her departing words were fulfilled; and the shadow of her last hour rested on his heart ever holily--holily! CHAPTER XXXIX. "And there we shall have our feasts of tears, And many a cup in silence pour; Our guests, the shades of former years, Our toasts, to lips that bloom no more." Tom Moore. Weeks passed away, and Guly, in spite of all his earnest endeavors, heard nothing more of Blanche. A strange mystery seemed, as it were, suddenly to have swallowed her up, and left no trace. Summer came again, and brought with it one of those fearful epidemics so frequent in that ill-fated city. Cholera was spreading itself broad-cast among rich and poor, the humble and the high alike. Hundreds were weekly being swept into their yawning tombs, and it seemed as if the city most surely must be devastated. Nurses could not be procured to care for the sick; and the dead-carts went gloomily through the silent streets, groaning beneath their fearful load of death, all the day long, while the grave-yards yawned constantly, as though their hunger never could be appeased. Several of Mr. Delancey's clerks had died, and others had fled the pestilence, but Arthur and Guly still remained; the one, in order to gain enough to carry on his career of dissipation, the other, from a high sense of duty, which, though in the midst of danger, kept him faithful to his post. Mr. Delancey had been more lenient with Arthur than with any other clerk of like character he had ever had. Although he could not but note in his countenance the course he was pursuing, he forbore to dismiss him, and the brothers still lived, side by side, beneath the same roof.