The door was opened by a beautiful girl between fourteen and fifteen years old, not tall for her age, but full-formed and exquisitely proportioned. Her features were regular, with the “sweet, low brow,” and straight nose and arched lips of the Grecian profile; her eyes were of dark and melting hue, and her dark, rich auburn hair, parted over a forehead of snowy fairness, dropped in a mass of irregular ringlets down cheeks of carnation dye. The idea she inspired was that of a richness and fullness of life. She stood within the door with a smile, awaiting the pleasure of the stranger, whose knock had summoned her. Captain Hugh had never seen Agnes Seabright before, so that he handed her the letter, saying: “I think that this is for you?” She took it, and was about in her haste to break the seal and possess herself of the contents, when her eyes alighted on these words, written on the corner: “To make my little girl acquainted with Mr. Hutton, my mate and good friend.” Then she raised her eyes from the letter in her hand to Hugh Hutton’s face. Then she offered her hand shyly but kindly, while she said, simply: “How do you do, Mr. Hutton? Will you walk in and sit down, and excuse me while I read father’s letter? I have not heard from him for so long,” she said, as they walked into the parlor. He sat down in a large flag-bottomed chair and began to draw figures on the sanded floor with a stick, while she retired to an end window to read her father’s farewell letter. Captain Hutton watched her growing pale and paler as she read the letter to its close—as she folded it and advanced trembling to his side—as she laid her hand heavy from faintness on his arm, and speaking in thick, faltering tones, said: “Tell me! I don’t—I’m afraid to understand what this means! But, my father—where is he gone?” Hugh took both her hands in his, while the folded letter fell to the ground, looked full, looked kindly and gravely into her set and anxious eyes, and answered slowly: “To heaven, Agnes.” He would have held her hands longer, gazed longer upon that beautiful but troubled countenance, as to impart his own strength and composure, but she withdrew her fingers, sank down upon a chair, and covered her face with her hands. Soon between the fingers copious tears flowed. Then she arose and slowly left the room. What was to be done with this young and beautiful girl? To be sure, there was Hugh’s own home on Hutton Island, and there was Miss Josephine Cotter, Hugh’s maiden aunt; but the home was so poor, and Miss Joe—so queer! There was no knowing how Miss Joe might receive this poor child, so much in need of love and sympathy and care just now. After ruminating a long time he could think of no better plan than to at least consult Miss Joe upon the subject. So, his hours for the evening being all pre-engaged, he determined to go home early the next morning to break the news to his aunt. * * * * *