drew him to the library, just as he was seeking the main entrance to
have his doubts solved. He stood for a few minutes gazing on the two
beings who, more vividly than any others, had haunted his dreams by
night and visions by day; he had wished to meet them first, and alone,
and his wish was granted.

Wrapped in her happy feelings, it was her brother's arm around her, her
brother's voice she heard, Ellen listened to him in trembling eagerness,
scarcely venturing to breathe, lest that dear voice should be still,
lest the hand she clasped should fade away, and she should wake and find
it but a dream of bliss--Edward could not really have returned; and Mrs.
Hamilton felt emotion so powerfully swelling within, as she gazed once
more on the brave preserver of her husband, the child of her sister, her
very image, that it was with difficulty she could ask those many
questions which affection and interest prompted.

Edward had scarcely, however, finished his tale, before the sound of
many and eager voices, the joyous laugh, and other signs of youthful
hilarity, announced the return of the party from their excursion. Nor
was it long before Emmeline's voice, as usual, sounded in loud laughing
accents for her mother, without whose sympathy no pleasure was complete.

"Do not disturb yourselves yet, my dear children," Mrs. Hamilton said,
as she rose, knowing well how many, many things the long-separated
orphans must have mutually to tell, and penetrating with that ready
sympathy--the offspring of true kindness--their wish for a short time to
remain alone together. "You shall not be summoned to join us till tea is
quite ready, and if you wish it, Edward," she added, with a smile, "you
shall have the pleasure of startling your uncle and cousins as agreeably
as you did us. I will control my desire to proclaim the happy tidings of