"Yours, with all the tenderness of friendship that is founded on mutual sympathy, congenial souls, and innate evidence of worth.
"P. S. I should like to know whether Antonio has any scars in his face, and what battles he was in. Only think, my dear, poor Charles Weston was frightened by a clap of thunder--but Charles has an excellent heart."
This letter was written and read, sealed and kissed, when Miss Emmerson tapped gently at the door of her niece and begged admission. Julia flew to open it, and received her aunt with the guileless pleasure her presence ever gave her. A few words of introductory matter were exchanged, when, being both seated at their needles again, Miss Emmerson asked--
"To whom have you been writing, my love?"
"Do you recollect, my child, that in writing to Miss Miller, you are writing to one out of your own family, and whose interests are different from yours?"
"I do not understand you, aunt," cried Julia in surprise.
"I mean that you should be guarded in your correspondence--tell no secrets out"--
"Tell no secrets to my Anna!" exclaimed the niece in a species of horror. "That would be a death-blow to our friendship indeed."
"Then let it die," said Miss Emmerson, coolly; "the affection that cannot survive the loss of such an excitement, had better be suffered to expire as soon as possible, or it may raise false expectations."
"Why, dear aunt, in destroying confidence of this nature, you destroy the great object of friendship. Who ever heard of a friendship without secrets?"
"I never had a secret in my life," said Miss Emmerson simply, "and yet I have had many a friend."
"Well," said Julia, "yours must have been queer friends; pray, dear aunt, name one or two of them."
"Your mother was my friend," said Miss Emmerson, with strong emotion, "and I hope her daughter also is one."
"Me, my beloved aunt!" cried Julia, throwing herself into the arms of Miss Emmerson and bursting into tears; "I am more than a friend, I am your child--your daughter."
"Whatever be the name you give it, Julia, you are very near and dear to me," said the aunt, tenderly kissing her charge: "but tell me, my love, did you ever feel such emotion in your intercourse with Miss Miller?"
It was some time before Julia could reply; when, having suppressed the burst of her feelings, she answered with a smile--