And thus,
"In this first garden of their simpleness
They spent their childhood."
A circumstance had lately happened, which in some sort altered the nature of their attachment.
Rosamund was one day reading the tale of "Julia de Roubignè"—a book which young Clare had lent her.
Allan was standing by, looking over her, with one hand thrown round her neck, and a finger of the other pointing to a passage in Julia's third letter.
"Maria! in my hours of visionary indulgence, I have sometimes painted to myself a husband—no matter whom—comforting me amidst the distresses which fortune had laid upon us. I have smiled upon him through my tears; tears, not of anguish, but of tenderness!—our children were playing around us, unconscious of misfortune; we had taught them to be humble, and to be happy; our little shed was reserved to us, and their smiles to cheer it.—I have imagined the luxury of such a scene, and affliction became a part of my dream of happiness."
The girl blushed as she read, and trembled—she had a sort of confused sensation, that Allan was noticing her—yet she durst not lift her eyes from the book, but continued reading, scarce knowing what she read.
Allan guessed the cause of her confusion, Allan trembled too—his color came and went—his feelings became impetuous—and flinging both arms round her neck, he kissed his young favorite.
Rosamund was vexed and pleased, soothed and frightened, all in a moment—a fit of tears came to her relief.