After Julia returned from her walk that evening she said, “Fanny, if I were you I would not tell any one that I did not hear from Dr. Lacey, for you know it’s just possible that he may not be sick, and in that case your best way would be to seem quite as forgetful of him.”

“Forgetful!” said Fanny.  “Why, Julia, what do you mean?  You cannot—­Oh, no, I know you do not think Dr. Lacey untrue to me?” And Fanny’s large blue eyes were fixed on her sister with as much earnestness as though her answer could decide her fate forever.

“I do not like to think so, any more than you do,” said Julia.  “But Dr. Lacey is now in the gay city of New Orleans, surrounded by beauty and fashion, and were I his betrothed, I should not think it strange if he did not remain true to me.”

Fanny answered slowly, as if speaking were painful to her, “Oh, no, no!  He cannot be false—­anything but that.”

It was a new idea to her, and that night a weight of sadness, heavier than she had ever known before, filled her heart.  She thought, “I will wait and see if he answers my letter before I believe him unfaithful.”

The next day was the Sabbath.  About church time Julia announced her intentions of remaining at home on the plea of a violent headache.  Fanny immediately offered to stay with her, but Julia declined, saying that sooner than both should be absent from church she would go herself.

Accordingly Julia was left alone.  She watched her sister until she disappeared down the street.  Then she arose, and locking the door, drew from her pocket a small key, and unlocking a rosewood box, took from it one of Dr. Lacey’s letters.  Going to her writing desk, she sat down and commenced imitating his handwriting.  She was very skillful in the art of imitation, and was delighted to find herself rapidly succeeding in her attempts at counterfeiting.  So busily engaged was she that she did not heed the lapse of time, until her sister’s footsteps were heard ascending the stairs.  She sprang hastily up, and thrusting her writing materials into the box locked it, and had just time to throw herself upon the sofa when Fanny knocked at the door.  Julia allowed her to knock twice, and then getting up she unfastened the door, at the same time yawning and rubbing her eyes as if just awakened from a sound slumber.

“Why, sister, I woke you up, didn’t I?” said Fanny.  “I am sorry.”

“No matter,” answered Julia, with another yawn, “I feel better.  My nap has done my head good.”

In the afternoon Fanny again went to church, and Julia resumed the occupation of the morning.  She succeeded so well that before church was out she felt sure that after a few more attempts she could imitate Dr. Lacey’s writing so exactly as to thoroughly deceive Fanny.  “But not yet,” said she to herself; “I do not wish to test my skill yet.  It is hardly time.”

Thus the days glided away.  Nearly two weeks passed, and there came no answer to Fanny’s letter.  She did not know that regularly, twice a week, letters had arrived from New Orleans, and had been handed to Julia by Mr. Dunn.  In the last of these letters, Dr. Lacey complained because Fanny had neglected writing so long.  We will give the following extract: