Their way lay through bowery
lanes scented with sweet brier and hawthorn, and every now and then
glorious were the views of the beautiful ocean, which lay calmly
reposing and smiling beneath the setting sun. "How unlike that stormy,
dark, and noisy sea of but a week ago!" so said the friends to each
other, as they listened to its distant musical murmur, and heard the
waves break gently on the shingly beach.
Although we have called them friends, there was a considerable
difference in their ages. That tall and pleasing, though plain, girl in
black, was the governess of the younger. Her name was Emilie Schomberg.
The little rosy, dark-eyed, and merry girl, her pupil, we shall call
Edith Parker. She had scarcely numbered twelve Mays, and was at the age
when primrosing and violeting have not lost their charms, and when
spring is the most welcome, and the dearest of all the four seasons.
Emilie Schomberg, as her name may lead you to infer, was a German. She
spoke English, however, so well, that you would scarcely have supposed
her to be a foreigner, and having resided in England for some years, had
been accustomed to the frequent use of that language.
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