At that moment a tall lady, of middle age, noble in appearance, and dressed richly, but plainly, and in excellent taste, entered the room.
Both the young people arose with a glad cry:
“Aunt Louisa, when did you come? Oh, how glad we are to see you!”
And the old gentleman left his book and its new-found illustration, to greet the visitor, who, it seemed, was a widowed sister of his late wife, who, living in another city, visited him occasionally, and ever found a welcome, a warm and heartfelt welcome, from himself and his children.
The children, or rather young people—they were rather too old to be called children—loved their Aunt Louisa very much, for she was all tenderness to them, and though often sad, as if a secret sorrow lay heavily on her heart, she was ever ready to join them in any festive movement, any pleasure-giving excursion, and seemed to strive to be doubly cheerful to add to their happiness on such occasions.
“I have but just arrived,” she said, “and even left my trunk at the depot in my haste to see the dear ones here.”
“I will send George for it right away, dear aunt—give me the check,” cried Frank.
“And then come here and look at these old works, Louisa, and a wonderful little pencil sketch I have just discovered,” said the old gentleman.
The lady handed her nephew the check for her baggage, and while he went out to send the coachman after it, she went to the table where Mr. Legare had been seated, examining the newly-bound works.
“What artist drew that?” she exclaimed, the moment her eyes fell on the sketch which had so attracted his attention.