This reason for wishing
myself still in your memory sounds selfish,--almost rude; but
what can I do? Must I not speak the truth? And indeed I am in
sore trouble. I am friendless, all but homeless, and utterly
alone in the world. But, as I am quite determined to fight my
own way, I have decided on going out as a governess, and I
want you, dear, dear Cissy, to get somebody to try
me,--somebody who would not be too hard upon me, just at
first, until I had accustomed myself to the life and to the
children's ways. You may say I can paint very well, and,
though not a brilliant pianist, I have a good voice. (Do you
recollect how, at school, you used to say you liked to hear
me sing when the day was dying?) I can speak French and
German, but I know nothing of Italian or Latin, and I was
never very much at arithmetic, or that. I think I could get
on, after a little training; and at all events I know I must
try, as life here is not endurable.

"Oh, Cissy, if time has changed you, if you have grown cold
and careless, as all the rest of this cruel world, what shall
I do? But I will not believe that even a hundred years could
make you unkind or unfeeling. Do you think you will be very
long in answering this? Every hour I shall be listening for
the post: write to me, then, as soon as you can. I am very
unhappy here with Aunt Elizabeth, who does not care for me.

"I am, dear Clarissa,

"Your affectionate friend,

"GEORGIE BROUGHTON.

"P.S.--If you could get me pretty children, I should be so
glad; but of course it must not make any difference, and I
dare say ugly ones are just as nice, when one gets used to
them. I am dreadfully afraid of boys; but perhaps there may
be a few found somewhere amenable to reason, and at least one
or two who do not object to knees in their knickerbockers. Do
you remember the gardener's babies at Brussels, and how fond
they were of me? Dear Cissy, write soon."

This is the letter, with all its pathetic little confidences, its "do
you remembers?" and "have you forgottens?" and its tone,--half proud
and half beseeching,--that has touched Miss Peyton so deeply.

Her mouth trembles, there are tears in her voice and eyes, as she
finishes the last word and turns he