Lawrence to the Rocky Mountains.
Amelie sat in the stern of the canoe, laying her white hand in the
cool stream which rushed past her. She looked proud and happy to-
day, for the whole world of her affections was gathered together in
that little bark.
She felt grateful for the bright sun; it seemed to have dispelled
every cloud that lately shaded her thoughts on account of her
brother, and she silently blessed the light breeze that played with
her hair and cooled her cheek, which she felt was tinged with a warm
glow of pleasure in the presence of Pierre Philibert.
She spoke little, and almost thanked the rough voyageurs for their
incessant melodies, which made conversation difficult for the time,
and thus left her to her own sweet silent thoughts, which seemed
almost too sacred for the profanation of words.
An occasional look, or a sympathetic smile exchanged with her
brother and her aunt, spoke volumes of pure affection. Once or
twice the eyes of Pierre Philibert captured a glance of hers which
might not have been intended for him, but which Amelie suffered him
to intercept and hide away among the secret treasures of his heart.
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