any one you ever saw before?"

"There _is_ something very striking in his appearance," I answered,
smiling at the number and rapidity of her questions, "but I was so
disconcerted, so foolish, I hardly dared to look him in the face. Has he
changed since you saw him last?"

"Not much,--rather paler, I think; but perhaps it is only fatigue, or
the languor following intense excitement. I feel myself as if all my
strength were gone. I cannot describe my sensations when I saw him
standing in the open gateway. I let mamma get out first. I thought it
was her right to receive the first embrace of welcome; but when he
turned to me, I threw myself on his neck, discarding my crutches, and
clung to him, just as I used to do when a little, helpless, suffering
child. And would you believe it, Gabriella? he actually shed tears. I
did not expect so much sensibility. I feared the world had hardened
him,--but it has not. Make haste and come down with me. I long to look
at him again. Here, let me put back this scarlet geranium. You do not
know how pretty it looks. Brother said--no--I will not tell you what he
said. Yes, I will. He said he had no idea the charming young girl, with
such a classic face and aristocratic bearing, was mother's little
protegee."

"You asked him, Edith, I know you did."

"Supposing I did,--there was no harm in it. Come, I want you to see
mamma; she looks so young and handsome. Joy is such a beautifier."

"I think it is," said I, as I gazed at _her_ star-bright eyes and
blush-rose cheeks. We entered the drawing-room together, where Ernest
was seated on the sofa by his mother, with her hand clasped in his.
Edith was right,--she did look younger and handsomer than I had ever
seen her. She was usually pale and her face was calm. Now a breeze had
stirred the waters, and the sunshine quivered on the rippling surface.

They rose as we entered, and came forward to meet us. My old trepidation
returned. Would Mrs. Linwood introduce me,--and if she did, in what
manner? Would there be any thing in her air or countenance to imply that
I was a dependent on her bounty, rather than an adopted daughter of the
household? Hush,--these proud whispers. Listen, how kindly she speaks.

"My dear Gabriella, this is my son, Ernest. You know it already, and he
knows that you are the child of my adoption. Nevertheless, I must
introduce you to each other."

Surprised and touched by the maternal kindness of her manner, (I ought
not t