“No, no, my son! Do not grieve my heart with such cruel words!” she cried. “You will soon be strong enough to come home with us, and then you shall marry when you will. Shall I write to Alva to seek out your betrothed and bring her home to greet you when we return?” A strangled sob shook the invalid’s form. “Oh, mother, how good you are to me--just like an angel! I forgive all that there is to forgive, and--there will never be any more discord between us, please Heaven. I shall never have any one to love henceforth but you three--for--for--_she_ is dead!” “Great Heaven!” cried his mother, in amazement. “_She_ is dead,” he repeated, with the calmness of despair. “That was the secret of my sickness, dear mother. They wrote to me just after I sent you my last letter, that she was dead--my pure, beautiful little love! There, I can not talk of it even to you, dear, and---- But there is father with a letter.” CHAPTER XXXV. “HE IS FICKLE AND FALSE--MY LOVER WHOM I TRUSTED SO FONDLY!--HOW CAN I BEAR THIS PAIN AND LIVE?” Mr. Beresford, when he saw himself discovered, advanced to the bedside. He was a tall, portly gentleman, with kind brown eyes and a pleasant face that beamed with joy as he said: “A letter from Alva at last!” His wife sunk back in her chair and eagerly perused it. Then she handed it to her husband, and turned again to her son. “I suppose Alva is at Newport?” he said, trying to bring his thoughts back from the painful theme that held them--the loss of his darling. But it was hard to remember anything else now, when sorrow was at its flood-tide, sweeping like a torrent over his heart. “No; Alva is at home. She will not leave New York till we return,” his mother returned. “But she will be very lonely, I fear.” “No; she is very busy painting, and Alva loves art better than society, you know. Besides, she has a companion--a lovely young girl whom she has employed as a model.” Alva’s letter had not been very long, and she had chronicled the finding of Floy in one careless paragraph: “Floyd Landon was so fortunate as to find Cupid the very day you left the city, and brought her to me at once, so I hope to finish my picture before your return.” St. George, in his bitter despair over Floy’s supposed death, took no interest in his sister’s pretty model, and Mrs. Beresford, of course, had no idea that her son’s sweetheart was domiciled beneath her roof, while her lover mourned her as dead. The mere utterance of her name by St. George would have solved the mystery, and saved him hours and days and weeks of pain, hastening his recovery by the force of joy; for the influence of mental emotions on the bodily health is too well known to be disputed, and the effects of grief and sorrow in breaking down health and retarding recovery are especially significant.