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.