"How so?" he asked, with so peculiar an expression, I forgot what I was going to say. "How so?" he repeated, while Edith leaned towards him and laid her hand on his. "By showing me how strong and fervent a sister's love can be." His eyes flashed; they looked like fountains of light, full to overflowing. His arm involuntarily encircled Edith, and a smile, beautiful as a woman's, curled his lips. "How he does love her!" thought I; "strong indeed must be the counter charm, that can rival hers." I had never seen his spirits so light as they were the remainder of the evening. They rose even to gaiety; and again I wondered what had become of the reserve and moodiness whose dark shadow had preceded his approach. "We are so happy now," said Edith, when we were alone, "I dread the interruption of company. Ernest does not care for it, and if it be of an uncongenial kind, he wraps himself in a mantle of reserve, that neither sun nor wind can unfold. After commencement, our house will be overflowing with city friends. They will return with us, and we shall not probably be alone again for the whole summer." She sighed at the anticipation, and I echoed the sound. I was somebody now; but what a nobody I should dwindle into, in comparison with the daughters of wealth and fashion who would gather at Grandison Place! "Ernest must like you very much, Gabriella, or he would not show the interest he does in all that concerns you. You do not know what a compliment he pays you, because you have not seen him in company with other young girls. I have sometimes felt quite distressed at his indifference when they have been my guests. He has such a contempt for affectation and display, that he cannot entirely conceal it. He is not apt to express his opinion of any one, but there are indirect ways of discovering it. I found him this morning in the library, standing before that beautiful picture of the Italian flower girl, which you admire so much. He was so absorbed, that he did not perceive my entrance, till I stole behind him and laid my hand on his shoulder. 'Do you not see a likeness?' he asked. 'To whom?' 'To Gabriella.' 'To Gabriella!' I repeated. 'Yes, it is like her, but I never observed it before.' 'A very striking resemblance,' he said, 'only she has more mind in her face.'" "That enchanting picture like me!" I exclaimed, "impossible! There is, there can be no likeness. It is nothing but association. He knows I am the flower-girl of the house, and that is the reason he thought of me." I tried to speak with indifference, but my voice trembled with delight. The next morning, when I came in from the garden, all laden with flowers, an irresistible impulse drew me to the library. It was very early. The hush of repose still lingered over the household, and that particular apartment, in which the silent eloquence of books, paintings, and statues hung like a solemn spell, seemed in such deep quietude, I started at the light echo of my own footsteps.