Mrs. Wildegrave lifted her to the sofa, and taking the letter from her cold and nerveless grasp, read its contents.  They were written by Mark Hurdlestone.

Oak Hall, June 16, ——­

       “My Dear Miss Wildegrave: 

“It is with the utmost reluctance that I take up my pen to communicate tidings which, I well know, will occasion you great distress.  This morning’s post brought me the mournful intelligence of my brother Algernon’s death, which melancholy event took place on the morning of the 4th of August last, at the house of a friend in Calcutta.  Mr. Richardson’s letter I will transmit to you as soon as you are able to bear its contents.  My poor brother was on his way to England; and his death was so sudden, that he made no arrangement of his affairs previous to his dissolution.  That Heaven may comfort and sustain you under this severe trial, is the earnest prayer of your sincere friend,

“Marcus Hurdlestone.”

“Oh, mother! mother!  My heart—­my poor heart!  How shall I learn to bear this great sorrow?” was all that the forlorn girl could utter, as she pressed her hands tightly over the agitated bosom that concealed her convulsed and bursting heart.  No sound was heard within that peaceful home for many days and nights but the sobs and groans of the unhappy Elinor.  She mourned for the love of her youth, as one without hope.  She resisted every attempt at consolation, and refused to be comforted.  When the first frantic outbreak of sorrow had stagnated into a hopeless and tearless gloom, which threatened the reason of the sufferer, the Squire visited the cottage, and brought with him the merchant’s letter, that fully corroborated his former statement, and the wretched heart-broken girl could no longer cherish the most remote probability to which hope could cling.

Twelve months passed away.  The name of Algernon was never mentioned in her presence; and she still continued to wear the deepest mourning.  A strange apathy had succeeded her once gay flow of spirits, and she seemed alike indifferent to herself and all the world.  To the lover-like attentions of Mark Hurdlestone she paid no regard, and appeared wholly unconscious of his admiration.  Mortified by her coldness, even his patience was nearly exhausted; when the death of her mother, who had been a long time in declining health, cast Elinor, friendless and unprotected, on the world.  This circumstance, hailed with unspeakable joy by Mr. Hurdlestone, plunged the poor girl, doubly an orphan, into despair.

A lady in the neighborhood, pitying her distress, received her into her family, until she could adopt some plan for her future maintenance; but all her attempts to console Elinor for her loss proved abortive.  Her tears flowed unceasingly, her health and spirits were impaired; and she felt, with bitterness, that she no longer possessed strength or fortitude to combat with poverty and the many ills of life.