journey. Anna acknowledged that she had betrayed
Antonio's secret, but pleaded her duty to her friend
in justification. She did not think that Julia would
be able to penetrate his disguise, as he had
declared his intentions so to conceal himself, by
paint and artifice, as to be able to escape
detection. Here was a new source of pleasure to our
heroine: Antonio was already on the wing for the
city, perhaps arrived--nay, might have seen her,
might even now be within a short distance of the
summer-house where she was sitting at the time,
and watching her movements. As this idea
suggested itself, Julia started, and unconsciously
arranging her hair, by bringing forward a neglected
curl, moved with trembling steps towards the
dwelling. At each turn of the walk our heroine threw
a timid eye around in quest of an unknown figure,
and more than once fancied she saw the face of the
god of music peering at her from the friendly covert
of her aunt's shrubbery--and twice she mistook the
light green of a neighbouring cornfield, waving in
the wind, for the coat of Antonio. Julia had so long
associated the idea of her hero with the image in
her bosom, that she had given it perfect identity;
but, on more mature reflection, she was convinced
of her error: he would come disguised, Anna had
told her, and had ordered his servants home; where
that home was, Julia was left in ignorance--but she
fervently hoped, not far removed from her beloved
aunt. The idea of a separation from this