ion of the whole matter. _Why_ is it his duty to go into
banishment?" But Madame always addressed some other teacher, and never
looked at me, never seemed conscious I could have a care in the
question.

The week wore on. Nothing more was said about M. Emanuel coming to bid
us good-by; and none seemed anxious for his coming; none questioned
whether or not he would come; none betrayed torment lest he should
depart silent and unseen; incessantly did they talk, and never, in all
their talk, touched on this vital point. As to Madame, she of course
could see him, and say to him as much as she pleased. What should _she_
care whether or not he appeared in the schoolroom?

The week consumed. We were told that he was going on such a day, that
his destination was "Basseterre in Guadaloupe:" the business which
called him abroad related to a friend's interests, not his own: I
thought as much.

"Basseterre in Guadaloupe." I had little sleep about this time, but
whenever I _did_ slumber, it followed infallibly that I was quickly
roused with a start, while the words "Basseterre," "Guadaloupe," seemed
pronounced over my pillow, or ran athwart the darkness round and before
me, in zigzag characters of red or violet light.

For what I felt there was no help, and how could I help feeling? M.
Emanuel had been very kind to me of late days; he had been growing
hourly better and kinder. It was now a month since we had settled the
theological difference, and in all that time there had been no quarrel.
Nor had our peace been the cold daughter of divorce; we had not lived
aloof; he had come oftener, he had talked with me more than before; he
had spent hours with me, with temper soothed, with eye content, with
manner home-like and mild. Kind subjects of conversation had grown
between us; he had inquired into my plans of life, and I had
communicated them; the school project pleased him; he made me repeat it
more than once, though he called it an Alnaschar dream. The jar was
over; the mutual understanding was settling and fixing; feelings of
union and hope made themselves profoundly felt in the heart; affection
and deep esteem and dawning trust had each fastened its bond.

What quiet lessons I had about this time! No more taunts on my
"intellect," no more menaces of grating public shows! How sweetly, for
the jealous gibe, and the more jealous, half-passionate eulogy, were
substituted a mute, indulgent help, a fond guidance, and a tender
forbear