eturn this
box," said he, "which has been the source of so much uneasiness already,
and in the evening pay a visit to my poor melancholy Charlotte, and
endeavour to forget this fascinating Julia."

He arose, dressed himself, and taking the picture out, "I will reserve
this from the rest," said he, "and by presenting it to her when she
thinks it is lost, enhance the value of the obligation." He repaired to
Mr. Franklin's, and found Julia in the breakfast parlour alone.

"How happy am I, Madam," said he, "that being the fortunate instrument
of saving these jewels has been the means of procuring me the
acquaintance of so amiable a lady. There are the jewels and money all
safe."

"But where is the picture, Sir?" said Julia.

"Here, Madam. I would not willingly part with it."

"It is the portrait of my mother," said she, taking it from him: "'tis
all that remains." She pressed it to her lips, and a tear trembled in
her eyes. Montraville glanced his eye on her grey night gown and black
ribbon, and his own feelings prevented a reply.

Julia Franklin was the very reverse of Charlotte Temple: she was tall,
elegantly shaped, and possessed much of the air and manner of a woman
of fashion; her complexion was a clear brown, enlivened with the glow of
health, her eyes, full, black, and sparkling, darted their intelligent
glances through long silken lashes; her hair was shining brown, and her
features regular and striking; there was an air of innocent gaiety that
played about her countenance, where good humour sat triumphant.

"I have been mistaken," said Montraville. "I imagined I loved Charlotte:
but alas! I am now too late convinced my attachment to her was merely
the impulse of the moment. I fear I have not only entailed lasting
misery on that poor girl, but also thrown a barrier in the way of my own
happiness, which it will be impossible to surmount. I feel I love Julia
Franklin with ardour and sincerity; yet, when in her presence, I am
sensible of my own inability to offer a heart worthy her acceptance, and
remain silent." Full of these painful thoughts, Montraville walked out
to see Charlotte: she saw him approach, and ran out to meet him: she
banished from her countenance the air of discontent which ever appeared
when he was absent, and met him with a smile of joy.

"I thought you had forgot me, Montraville," said she, "and was very
unhappy."

"I shall never forget you, Charlotte," he replied, pressing her hand.

T