“Her health is delicate, I think, and our climate is severe—very severe—and if I might venture, I should advise that she be sent down without delay to Maryland, to spend the winter.” Hagar was sitting in an attitude of aroused and hopeful thought, with her elbow resting on the crib, finger on her lip and eyes raised, while life and light were tiding back, till face and ringlets flashed bright again. “And she really wishes this, Mrs. Collins?” “She really does.” “Does she complain of her position here?” “N-no, not exactly—certainly she complains of _no one_—so far from that, she speaks as usual with the utmost affection of all.” Mrs. Collins, noticing the eloquent expression of returning hope upon Hagar’s face, ventured to remark— “And there are _other_ reasons why this journey should be hurried, Mrs. Withers”— But, with a dignified gesture of the hand, Hagar arrested her speech. “No matter for other reasons, Mrs. Collins; you have given enough. I will write immediately to Mrs. Buncombe, and you will be so kind as to go to Miss Aguilar’s room, and tell her that every arrangement shall be made for her journey without delay; tell her I should like to see and converse with her as soon as she feels well enough to receive me; and as you go, send the housemaid in to me.” The housekeeper left the room, and soon the maid entered it. “Sarah, go to Miss Aguilar, and tell her that you are ready to assist her in preparing her wardrobe for her journey—she is going to make a visit.” Raymond received the news of Rosalia’s intended departure in gloomy silence. It was a strange thing to see Raymond Withers gloomy—he who had borne himself through all scenes with such gay nonchalance. Rosalia appeared at the breakfast-table next morning, looking pale and pensive, and withdrew from it as soon as she possibly could. “That girl looks badly,” remarked Raymond, making an effort at conversation. “Yes,” replied Hagar. “Have you taken it into consideration that she cannot travel alone down South?” “Yes; she wishes you to inquire and procure for her an escort.” “I will do so,” said he, and turned to receive the packet of letters and papers from the servant, who had just brought them from the Post-office. He opened one or two letters, ran his eyes over them, and carelessly threw them aside. One, however, caught his particular attention; he started on seeing it—he read it with great care. Hagar arose to leave the room, but he arrested her by a gesture; she returned and sat down; he continued his reading carefully to the end, folded the letter, and holding it in his hand, fell into thought, lost consciousness of his wife’s presence, and was only aroused from his lethargy by her rising a second time to leave the room. “Stay, Hagar,” said he. “But wherefore? I wish to go to the children, and you seem quite absorbed in thought; no bad news I trust, though indeed there is no one from whom it is likely we should hear bad news.”