The sisterly friendship of Louisa Manvers had been a source of real gratification to both the Earl St. Eval and his Countess during their travels, more particularly now, when the health of the latter required such kindly tending.  Mrs. Hamilton had deeply regretted the impossibility of her being with her child at such a time; the letter Lord St. Eval had despatched was, however, calculated to disperse all her anxiety, the danger appearing after the letter had gone, and not lasting sufficiently long to justify his writing again.  They were sitting round the breakfast-table the morning after Percy’s return, lengthening the usual time of the meal by lively and intelligent conversation; Miss Manvers was presiding at the table, and Percy did not feel the least inclined to move, declaring he would wait for his English despatches, if there were any, before he went out.  The post happened to be rather late that morning, a circumstance, wonderful to say, which did not occasion Percy annoyance.  It came in, however, at length, bringing several papers for Lord St. Eval and his wife, from the Malvern family, but only two from Oakwood, one, in the handwriting of Ellen, to Percy, and one for Robert Langford, evidently from Mr Hamilton.

“This is most extraordinary,” Percy said, much surprised.  “My mother not written to Caroline, and none from Herbert to me; his duties are increased, I know, but surely he could find time to write to me.”

“Mrs. Hamilton has written to Caroline since her confinement, and so did all her family four or five days ago,” said Lord St. Eval, but his words fell unheeded on the ear of Percy, who had hastily torn open his cousin’s letter, and glanced his eye over its contents.  Engaged in his own letters, the Earl did not observe the agitation of his friend, but Miss Manvers saw his hand tremble so violently, that he could scarcely hold the paper.

“Merciful heaven!  Mr. Hamilton—­Percy, what is the matter?” she exclaimed, suddenly losing all her wonted reserve, as she remarked his strange emotion, and her words, connected with the low groan that burst from Percy’s heart, effectually roused the Earl’s attention.

“Hamilton, speak; are there ill news from Oakwood?  In mercy, speak!” he said, almost as much agitated as his friend.

“Herbert,” was all Percy could articulate, “Herbert, my brother; oh God, he is dying, and I am not near him.  Read, St. Eval, for pity; I cannot see the words.  Is there yet time—­can I reach England in time? or is this only a preparation to tell me he is—­is dead?”

“He lives, Percy; there may be yet time, if you set off at once,” exclaimed the Earl, who saw the necessity of rousing his friend to exertion, for the sudden blow had bewildered his every faculty.  He started up wildly, and was darting from the room, when he suddenly paused—­