Oh, when its flower seems fain to die,
The full heart grudges smile or sigh
To aught beside, though fair and dear;
Like a bruised leaf, at touch of fear,
Its hidden fragrance love gives out.--Lyra Innocentum
'The letters at last! One to Ethel, and three to Leonard! Now for it, Ethel!'
Ethel opened--read--ran out of the room without a word, and sought her father in his study, where she laid before him Tom's letter, written from Massissauga the day after his arrival.
'Dear Ethel,
'I have found my darling, but too late to arrest the disease--the work of her brother's perverseness and wrong-headedness. I have no hope of saving her; though it will probably be a matter of several months--that is, with care, and removal from this vile spot.
'I am writing to Henry, but I imagine that he i
