So evident were they that Franconia's
sympathies became enlisted in his behalf, and even carried so far,
that Maxwell mistook her manner for indifference toward himself.
And, as if to confirm his apprehensions, no sooner had the collation
ended than she took Lorenzo's arm and retired to the remains of an
old mill, a few rods above the landing. It was a quiet, sequestered
spot-just such an one as would inspire the emotions of a sensitive
heart, recall the associations of childhood, and give life to our
pent-up enthusiasm. There they seated themselves, the one waiting
for the other to speak.
"Tell me, Lorenzo," said Franconia, laying her hand on his arm, and
watching with nervous anxiety each change of his countenance, "why
are you not joyous? you are gloomy to-day. I speak as a sister-you
are nervous, faltering with trouble-"
"Trouble!" he interrupted, raising his eyes, and accompanying an
affected indifference with a sigh. It is something he hesitates to
disclose. He has erred! his heart speaks, it is high-handed crime!
He looks upon her affectionately, a forced smile spreads itself over
his face. How forcibly it tells its tale. "Speak out," she
continues, tremulously: "I am a sister; a sister cannot betray a
brother's secrets." She removes her hand and lays it gently upon his
shoulder.
Looking imploringly in her face for a few minutes, he replies as if
it were an effort of great magnitude. "Something you must not
know-nor must the world! Many things are buried in the secrets of
time that would make great commotion if the world knew them.
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