"Take care of your arm, do not hurt yourself by any excitement; and, with dear love from your father, which he would send did he know I was writing, believe me always your devoted
"'Trying circumstances!'--'Miss Ercildoune!'--what does it mean?" he cried, bewildered. "Come, let us see."
The letter which he now opened was an old and much-fingered one, written--as he saw at the first glance--by his aunt to his mother. Why it was sent to him he could not conjecture; and, without attempting to so do, at once plunged into its pages:--
"CONTINENTAL HOTEL, PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 27, 1861
"I can readily understand with what astonishment you will read this letter, from the amazement I have experienced in collecting its details. I will not weary you with any personal narration, but tell my tale at once.
"Miss Ercildoune, as you know, was my daughter's intimate at school,--a school, the admittance to which was of itself a guarantee of respectability. Of course I knew nothing of her family, nor of her,--save as Clara wrote me of her beauty and her accomplishments, and, above all, of her style,--till I met Mrs. Lancaster. Of her it is needless for me to speak. As you know, she is irreproachable, and her position is of the best. Consequently when Clara wrote me that her friend was to come to New York to her aunt, and begged to entertain her for a while, I added my request to her entreaty, and Miss Ercildoune came. Ill-fated visit! would it had never been made!
"It is useless now to deny her gifts and graces. They are, reluctantly I confess, so rare and so conspicuous--have so many times been seen, and known, and praised by us all,--that it would put me in the most foolish of attitudes should I attempt to reconsider a verdict so frequently pronounced, or to eat my own words, uttered a thousand times.
"It is also, I presume, useless to deny that we were well pleased--nay, delighted--with Willie's evident sentiment for her. Indeed, so thoroughly did she charm me, that, had I not seen how absolutely his heart was enlisted in her pursuit, she is the very girl whom I should have selected, could I have so done, as a wife for Tom and a daughter for myself.
"I knew full well how deep was this feeling for her when he marched away, on that day so full of supreme splendor and pain, unable to see her and to say adieu. His eyes, his face, his manner, his very voice, marked his restlessness, his longing, and disappointment. I was positively angry with the girl for thwarting and hurting him so, and, whatever her excuse might be, for her absence at such a time. How constantly are we quarrelling with our best fates!