"Poor Major Montgomerie," sighed Gertrude; "I felt when he was here the other day, that I could have loved him almost as my own father. How broken-hearted his niece must be at his loss!" A sneer of bitterness passed over the fine features of the American as he replied with emphasis: "Nay, dear Gertrude, your sympathies are but ill bestowed. Miss Montgomerie's heart will scarcely sustain the injury you seem to apprehend." "What mean you, Ernest?" demanded Julia, with eagerness. "How is it that you judge thus harshly of her character. How, in short, do you pretend to enter into her most secret feelings, and yet deny all but a general knowledge of her? What can you possibly know of her heart?" "I merely draw my inferences from surmise," replied the Colonel, after a few moments of pause. "The fact is, I have the vanity to imagine myself a correct reader of character, and my reading of Miss Montgomerie's has not been the happiest." Julia's look betrayed incredulity. "There is evidently some mystery in all this," she rejoined; "but I will not seek to discover more than you choose at present to impart. Later I may hope to possess more of your confidence. One question more, however, and I have done. Have you seen her since your return to Detroit, and did she give you my letter?" The Colonel made no answer, but produced from his pocket a note, which Julia at once recognised as her own. "Then," said Gertrude, "there was not so much danger after all, in intrusting it. You seemed to be in a sad way, when you first heard that it had been given to her." "I would have pledged myself for its safe deliverance," added her sister; "for the promise was too solemnly given to be broken." "And solemnly has it been kept," gravely returned the American. "But hark! already are they hailing the boat, and we must part." The time occupied in conversation had brought them down to the extreme point where the river terminated and the lake commenced. Beyond this lay a sand bar, which it was necessary to clear before the increasing dusk of the evening rendered it hazardous. All the other vessels had already passed it, and were spreading their white sails before the breeze, which here, unbroken by the island, impelled them rapidly onward. A few strokes of the oar, and the boat once more touched the beach. Low and fervent adieus were exchanged, and the American, resuming his station in the stern, was soon seen to ascend the deck he had so recently quitted. For a short time the sisters continued to watch the movements of the vessel, as she in turn having passed, spread all her canvass to the wind, until the fast fading twilight warning them to depart, they retraced their steps along the sands to the town. Both were silent and pensive; and while all around them found subject for rejoicing in the public events of the day, they retired at an early hour, to indulge at leisure in the several painful retrospections which related more particularly to themselves.