"Yes, indeed," returned she; "the pretty, gentle girl has a strong regard for you, Willie. You must renew acquaintance when she and her brother come to pay me their long-meditated visit."
"I don't know," said the young man, rather sadly.
"I believe you will be a second Hermit of the Cedars, or the Hemlocks, or the Pines," said she, laughing; "for you are already half as melancholy as your uncle, at times."
"Do you consider him so very gloomy, then?" asked Willie.
"He has the most mournful expression I ever saw," answered Florence; "but he is an entertaining companion for all that. I always sit apart, and listen in silence, when he relates some tale or adventure of his extensive travels. He was with us yesterday evening, and I never saw him so animated and lively before. Even Aunt Mary's pale, grief-worn countenance assumed a cheerful expression while listening to his sprightly, intelligent conversation."
"Did you not know the cause of his unusual exhilaration?" inquired William.
"No," said Florence, looking innocently in the face of the questioner.
"Edgar is at home."
"Why did he not inform us of his nephew's return?" asked Florence, growing suddenly very pale, and finding it convenient to lean against a pillar near by.
"Perhaps he did not think the intelligence would interest your family," returned Willie; "he is very modest in his confidences."