inhabitants to witness the sight; and as the Sunday stroll of the little population of Amherstburg led in the direction of Elliott’s point, where the lake began, the banks were soon alive with men, women and children, clad in holiday apparel, moving quickly, to keep up with the gliding vessels, and apparently, although not offensively, exulting in the triumph of that flag beneath which the dense masses of their enemies were now departing from their rescued territory.

Among those whom the passing barks had drawn in unusual numbers to the river’s side, were the daughters of Colonel D’Egville, whose almost daily practice it was to take the air in that direction, where there was so much of the sublime beauty of American scenery to arrest the attention.  Something more however than that vague curiosity, which actuated the mass, seemed to have drawn the sisters to the bank, and one who had watched them narrowly, most have observed, that their interest was not divided among the many barks that glided onward to the lake, but was almost exclusively attracted by one, which now lay to, with her light bows breasting the current like a swan, and apparently waiting either for a boat which had been dispatched to the shore, or with an intention to send one.  This vessel was filled in every part with troops, wearing the blue uniform of the American regular army, while those in advance were freighted with the irregulars and backwoodsmen.

“Is not this, Julia, the vessel to which the Commodore promised to promote Gerald, in reward of his gallant conduct last week?” asked the timid Gertrude, with a sigh, as they stood stationary for a few moments, watching the issue of the manoeuvre just alluded to.

“It is, Gertrude,” was the answer of one whose fixed eye and abstracted thought, betokened an interest in the same vessel, of a nature wholly different from that of her questioner.

“How very odd, then, he does not come on shore to us.  I am sure he must see us, and it would not take him two minutes to let us know he is unhurt, and to shake hands with us.  It is very unkind of him I think.”

Struck by the peculiar tone in which the last sentence had been uttered, Julia D’Egville turned her eyes full upon those of her sister.  The latter, could not stand the inquiring gaze, but sought the ground, while a conscious blush confirmed the suspicion.

“Dearest Gertrude,” she said, as she drew the clasped arm of her sister more fondly within her own; “I see how it is; but does he love you in return.  Has he ever told you so, or hinted it.  Tell me my dear girl.”

“Never,” faltered the sensitive Gertrude, and she hung her head, to conceal the tear that trembled in her eye.

Her sister sighed deeply, and pressed the arm she held more closely within her own.  “My own own sister, for worlds I would not pain you; but if you would be happy, you must not yield to this preference for our cousin.  Did you not remark how completely he seemed captivated by Miss Montgomerie?  Depend upon it, his affections are centered in her.”