nwood, I presume."

I thought I had made a mistake in his name, it sounded so strange. I had
never heard him called any thing but Ernest Linwood, and Mr. Linwood had
such a stiff, formal sound, I was quite disgusted with it.

He again bowed, and looked impatiently towards the house.

"I saw a young female and thought it might be my sister, or I should not
have intruded. Shall I find her,--shall I find my mother within?"

"They have gone to meet you,--they have been looking for you these many
days; I know not how you have missed them."

"By coming another road. I jumped from the carriage and walked on, too
impatient to wait its slow motions in ascending the hill. And they have
gone to meet me. They really wish to see me back again!"

He spoke with deep feeling. The home thoughts and affections of years
thrilled from his tone. This seemed one of those self-evident truths,
that required no confirmation, and I made no answer. I wondered if I
ought to ask him to walk in,--him, the master and the heir; whether I
should ask him to take a seat on the oaken settee, where he could watch
the carriage, ascending the winding hill.

"Do not let me disturb you," he said, looking at me with a questioning,
penetrating glance, then added, "am I guilty of the rudeness of not
recognizing a former acquaintance, who has passed from childhood to
youth, during my years of absence?"

"No, sir," I answered, again wondering if politeness required me to
introduce myself. "I am a stranger to you, though for two years your
mother's home has been mine. My name is Lynn,--Gabriella Lynn."

I was vexed with myself for this awkward introduction. I did not know
what I ought to say, and painful blushes dyed my cheeks. I would not
have mentioned my name at all, only, if his mother and sister delayed
their coming, he might feel awkward himself, from not knowing what to
call me.

"My mother's protegee!" said he, his countenance lightening as he spoke.
"Edith has mentioned you in her letters; but I expected to see a little
girl, not the young lady, whom I find presiding genius here."

My self-respect was gratified that he did not look upon me as a child,
and there was something so graceful and unostentatious in his air and
manner, my self-possession came back without an effort to recall it.

"Will you walk in?" I asked, now convinced it was right.

"Thank you; I am so weary of the confinement of the carriage, I like the
freedom of the open air. I