All was new to her: the lifelike speed of the little vessel; that world of cool green weeds, with the fish darting to and fro; the musical chime of oars; those distant stately swans.

She was silent now--her heart was very full.
"What are you thinking of, Sophy ?" asked Lionel, resting on the oar.
"Thinking!--I was not thinking." "What then ?" "I don't know,--feeling, I suppose." "Feeling what ?" "As if between sleeping and waking; as the water perhaps feels, with the sunlight on it!" "Poetical," said Vance, who, somewhat of a poet himself, naturally sneered at poetical tendencies in others; "but not so bad in its way.
Ah, have I hurt your vanity?
there are tears in your eyes." "No, sir," said Sophy, falteringly.

"But I was thinking then." "Ah," said the artist, "that's the worst of it; after feeling ever comes thought; what was yours ?" "I was sorry poor Grandfather was not here, that's all." "It was not our fault: we pressed him cordially," said Lionel.
"You did indeed, sir, thank you! And I don't know why he refused you." The young men exchanged compassionate glances.
Lionel then sought to make her talk of her past life, tell him more of Mrs.Crane.Who and what was she?
Sophy could not or would not tell.

The remembrances were painful; she had evidently tried to forget them.

And the people with whom Waife had placed her, and who had been kind?
The Misses Burton; and they kept a day-school, and taught Sophy to read, write, and cipher.