Weston. Here a new scene indeed opened on our
heroine; for some time she even forgot to look
around her in the throng in quest of Antonio. As the
boat glided along the stream, she stood leaning on
one arm of Charles, while Miss Emmerson held the
other, in delighted gaze at the objects, which they
had scarcely distinguished before they were passed.

"See, dear Charles," cried Julia, in a burst of what
she would call natural feeling--"there is our house--
here the summerhouse, and there the little arbour
where you read to us last week Scott's new novel--
how delightful! every thing now seems and feels
like home."

"Would it were a home for us all," said Charles,
gently pressing her arm in his own, and speaking
only to be heard by Julia, "then should I be happy
indeed."

Julia thought no more of Antonio; but while her
delighted eye rested on the well known scenes
around their house, and {as} she stood in the
world, for the first time, leaning on Charles, she
thought him even nearer than their intimacy and
consanguinity made them. But the boat was famous
for her speed, and the house, garden, and every
thing Julia knew, were soon out of sight, and she,
by accident, touching the picture which she had
encased in an old gold setting of her mother's, and