“I had been in Philadelphia but a short time when the news of Mr. Bramlett’s death reached me--and Lottie informed me, by letter, that Viola was overwhelmed with grief at the loss of her father, and that she had immediately started home, accompanied by Harry. I was glad to learn that Harry had gone home with her, for I still clung to the idea that Viola would yet be his wife. I was satisfied that she soon would be left all alone, for her mother’s health was wretched, and it was certain she would not long survive her husband. I received a letter from Harry, soon after his arrival in New York, and as it has an intimate connection with this narrative, I think I had better read it now: “‘Dear Edward--I presume you have heard of the death of Mr. Bramlett, as sister Lottie promised to give you the information. His death has cast a cloud over Viola’s young life; she loved her father devotedly, and is plunged in despair at his sudden death. Misfortunes, it seems, never visit us singly, but most always come crowding on us in platoons. Mrs. Bramlett is dying now--we don’t think she will last more than twenty-four hours longer. Poor Viola! I pity her from the bottom of my heart. I am so glad I consented to accompany her home, and that I can be with her during this awful affliction! She is the most amiable, charming girl I ever knew; the sweetest disposition, the gentlest manners--and I believe I might say the most beautiful, too. I will tell you a great secret, if you will keep it to yourself--I am desperately in love with Viola--nay, to tell you the whole truth, I adore her--and my love is returned without discount; I might say with a good interest; but alas! I can never marry her, you know. There is an impassable gulf that separates us. I should despise myself if I thought that I was a sneaking fortune-hunter. I would look upon myself as a disgraced, unworthy, mean fellow, and so would everybody else, were I to take advantage of that poor girl’s situation.