"They will prove rather an inconvenient accompaniment," replied he; "and if we turn our face on our return to the White Mountains, will you bring them back also?"
"Certainly. Take me the whole world over, and every thing of beauty and sublimity will cling to my soul inseparably and forever."
"Will you ask Edith, if she will be ready?"
She was in the room which she occupied with her mother, and there I sought her. She was reading what seemed to be a letter; but as I approached her I saw that it was poetry, and from her bright blushes, I imagined it an effusion of young Julian's. She did not conceal it, but looked up with such a radiant expression of joy beaming through a shade of bashfulness, I shrunk from the task imposed upon me.
"Dear Edith," said I, laying my hand on her beautiful hair, "your brother wishes to leave here to-morrow. Will you be ready?"
She started, trembled, then turned aside her face, but I could see the starting tear and the deepened blush.
"Of course I will," she answered, after a moment's pause. "It is far better that we should go,—I know it is,—but it would have been better still, had we never come."
"And why, my darling sister? You have seemed very happy."
"Too happy, Gabriella. All future life must pay the penalty due to a brief infatuation. I have discovered and betrayed the weakness, the madness of my heart. I know too well why Ernest has hastened our departure."
"Dearest Edith," said I, sitting down by her and taking her hand in both mine, "do not reproach yourself for a sensibility so natural, so innocent, nay more, so noble. Do not, from mistaken delicacy, sacrifice your own happiness, and that of another which is, I firmly believe, forever intertwined with it. Confide in your mother,—confide in your brother, who think you have made a solemn resolution to live a single life. They do not know this young man; but give them an opportunity of knowing him. Cast him not off, if you love him; for I would almost stake my life upon his integrity and honor."