I suppose I must have been nervous, in consequence of the exciting scenes through which I had passed, but there was something in his florid eloquence, animated gestures, and evident desire to make a grand impression, that strangely affected my risibles; I had always thought him so natural before. I tried to keep from laughing; I compressed my lips, and turning my head, looked steadily from the window, but a sudden stammering, then a pause, showed that my unconquerable rudeness was observed. I was sobered at once, but dared not look round, lest I should meet Mrs. Linwood's reproving glance. He soon after asked Edith for a parting song, and while listening to her sweet voice, as it mingled with the breezy strains of the harp, my excited spirit recovered its equilibrium. I thought with regret and pain, of the levity, so unwonted in me, which had wounded a heart so frank and true, and found as much difficulty in keeping back my tears, as a moment before I had done my laughter. As soon as Edith had finished her song, he rose to take leave. He came to me last, to the little recess in the window where I stood, and extended his hand as he had done to Mrs. Linwood and Edith. He looked hurt rather than angry, disappointed rather than sad. "Forgive me," said I, in a low voice; "I value your friendship too much to lose it without an effort." The tears were in my eyes; I could not help it. I was sorry, for they expressed far more than I meant to convey. I knew it at once by the altered, beaming expression of his countenance. "Give me smiles or tears, dear Gabriella," he answered, in the same undertone; "only do not forget me, only think of me as I wish to be remembered." He pressed my hand warmly, energetically, while uttering these words; then, without giving me time to reply, bowed again to Mrs. Linwood and left the room. "A very fine, promising young man," said Mrs. Linwood, with emphasis. "A most intelligent, agreeable companion," added the gentle Edith, looking smilingly at me, as if expecting me to say something. "Very," responded I, in a constrained manner. "Is that all?" she asked, laying her soft, white hand on my shoulders, and looking archly in my face; "is that all, Gabriella?" "Indeed, you are mistaken," said I, hastily; "he is nothing more,--and yet I am wrong to say that,--he has been,--he is like a brother to me, Edith, and never will be any thing more." "Oh, these brother friends!" she exclaimed, with a burst of musical laughter, "how very near they seem! But wait, Gabriella, till you see _my_ brother,--he is one to boast of." "Edith!" said her mother. Edith turned her blue eyes from me to her mother, with a look of innocent surprise. The tone seemed intended to check her,--yet what had she said?