CHAPTER XLVI.
… “Her moist eye turned towards
Lena’s heath: She listen’d to the rustling blast
For the tread of Fingall. She heard my steps
Approaching; joy arose in her face;
But sorrow returned like a vapoury cloud
Spread o’er the moon, when we see it’s form still,
But without its brightness.”
Gotterimo, carrying a small box and parcel, was ushered in by Alice. Never did our old acquaintance meet with a reception so little cordial from Julia. She had fully expected to see Fitz-Ullin enter, and, possessed with that idea, had sprung from the sofa, placed herself at a table, flung open a large volume before her, and arranged the expression of her countenance, for the purpose of meeting him with proper dignity. The bows and smiles, therefore, of the little pedlar but poorly compensated for her disappointment.
Unwelcomed, he approached and laid down the box and parcel. The latter, on having the silk handkerchief in which it was tied, removed, and coming in contact with the table, resolved itself into numerous loose letters, which, escaping from the piece of red tape that once had confined them, spread themselves before the eyes of our heroine. They were evidently old ones, many of them being much discoloured and abused, and the seals, seemingly, of all broken.