The first paper Mrs Brandon drew from the envelope was one in a bold lady’s-hand, evidently written hastily, and contained but the following words:

    “Dear Max,—I will take him into the waiting-room, where there is a good view of the platform. I can keep him there, I think. But you must be quick. Recollect, a momentary glance will do. Run by, if you can, at the very last minute. But pray, pray be careful. It is victory or ruin; for he would never forgive either. Laura.

    “P.S. Burn this, and every note I send.”

Mrs Brandon’s face wore a troubled puzzled expression as she glanced at Ella, whose lips moved.

“I found that in my reticule since I have lain here,” she whispered. “Read on, and you will understand.”

Mrs Brandon took out from the envelope another paper, and read, in a round legal hand:

    “Cliff-terrace, Penzance,—18—

    “Sir,—I am requested by my patient, Mr Charles Vining, to enclose the note here contained, one which, at his wish, I have addressed as you see. He tells me that he is doubtful of its reaching the lady if sent by post, and desires me to implore you to be its bearer, delivering it yourself, and adding your persuasions if she should decline compliance. He would have written more, but the note enclosed was penned in my brief absence, and I sternly forbade farther exertion. By way of explanation, I may tell you that my patient came in here, with two more gentlemen, in a yacht, driven to the bay by stress of weather. The next night there was a fearful wreck close in shore, and Mr Vining and one of his friends volunteered, and were out in the lifeboat. I regret to say that their gallant attempt only added to the long list of those gone to their account. Two of the lifeboat’s crew were drowned, while your friend was cast upon the rocks fearfully injured.

    “Let me assure you that he has had the best advice the town affords.—I am, sir, your obedient servant,

    “Henry Penellyn, M.R.C.S.

    “To Maximilian Bray, Esq.

    “P.S. Mr Vining bids me tell you that the above is his last request.

    “I do not read to him the following: Not a moment is to be lost, for internal haemorrhage has set in.”

Mrs Brandon’s breath came thick and fast, as dashing down this letter, she took up the next.

    “My only love,—Pray come to me. I am half-killed.—Ever yours,

    “Charles Vining.”

“But that is—stop a minute,” exclaimed Mrs Brandon, who was terribly agitated, and she rang the bell. “Bring my desk quickly,” she said to the maid who answered. “Yes,” she exclaimed, as she unlocked the desk and drew out a letter, and compared it carefully. “It is the same hand. It is his writing!”

“Yes,” whispered Ella sadly.

“What does it all mean, then?” exclaimed Mrs Brandon confusedly.

“I cannot tell—I cannot understand,” whispered Ella. “I was deceived and led away, and he must have seen me; but he would not have betrayed me thus.”

“But how to explain it all!” cried Mrs Brandon excitedly. “He is to be married to Laura Bray—”

“Ah, me! What have I done, what have I said?” cried Mrs Brandon. “My poor child, I must have been mad to have let my foolish lips utter those words!” And she gently raised the fainting girl in her arms; for at those bitter words, Ella had uttered that faint sigh, her face had been contracted as by a violent spasm, and her eyes had closed.

“It is nothing,” sighed Ella, reviving. “If he is only happy!”

“Happy!” cried Mrs Brandon, her breast heaving with passion. “It is some cruel conspiracy. But tell me—if you can bear to speak—tell me all.”

It was a long recital; for it was told in a faint whisper, and spread over some time, Ella’s strength seeming often to fail her. Twice over Mrs Brandon would have arrested her, but she begged to be allowed to proceed.

“It will make me happier,” she whispered. And Mrs Brandon could only bend her head.

Three o’clock had struck by the pendule, whose slow beat seemed to be numbering off Ella’s last minutes, when Mrs Brandon left her in the charge of the nurse she had summoned, sleeping now calmly, and as if relieved by confiding her sad little last month’s history to another breast.

It was late; but Mrs Brandon had another duty to perform, one which she did, with her mind now confused, now seeming to see plainly the whole of the plot. But there was that letter—those lines in Charley Vining’s hand. But for them, all would have been plain.

At times she was moved by a burning indignation; at others she weakly wept; but before returning to Ella’s bedside, she took a large sheet of paper, secured to it the three missives she had brought from the bedside, and then wrote under them:

    “Charles Vining,—The victim of a cruel plot—Ella Bedford—was enticed from the home I had found for her by Maximilian Bray, from whom she escaped, to crawl, dying, to my house, where she now lies, to breathe her last in p............