At length I glanced at the direction, which was written in a fine bold hand, and was directed, as the old woman had said, to the young man in "Mumper's Dingle," with the addition, "near.

.

., in the county of.

.

." Suddenly the idea occurred to me, that, after all, the letter might not contain an eternal farewell; and that Isopel might have written, requesting me to join her.
Could it be so?
"Alas! no," presently said Foreboding.