,
there was no one else." "What was it then? Was it any thing in my
letters? Or had I displeased her by letting Mr. P---- know she wrote to
me?"--"No, not at all; but she did not apprehend my last letter required
any answer, or she would have replied to it." All this appeared to me
very unsatisfactory and evasive; but I could get no more from her, and
was obliged to let her go with a heavy, foreboding heart. I however
found that C---- was gone, and no one else had been there, of whom I had
cause to be jealous.--"Should I see her on the morrow?"--"She believed
so, but she could not promise." The next morning she did not appear
with the breakfast as usual. At this I grew somewhat uneasy. The
little Buonaparte, however, was placed in its old position on the
mantelpiece, which I considered as a sort of recognition of old times.
I saw her once or twice casually; nothing particular happened till the
next day, which was Sunday. I took occasion to go into the parlour for
the newspaper, which she gave me with a gracious smile, and seemed
tolerably frank and cordial. This of course acted as a spell upon me.
I walked out with my little boy, intending to go and dine out at one or
two places, but I found that I still contrived to bend my steps towards
her, and I went back to take tea at home. While we were out, I talked
to William about Sarah, saying that she too was unhappy, and asking him
to make it up with her. He said, if she was unhappy, he would not bear
her malice any more. When she came up with the tea-things, I said to
her, "William has something to say to you--I believe he wants to be
friends." On which he said in his abrupt, hearty manner, "Sarah, I'm
sorry if I've ever said anything to vex you"--so they shook hands, and
she said, smiling affably--"THEN I'll think no more of it!" I
added--"I see you've brought me back my little Buonaparte"--She answered
with tremulous softness--"I told you I'd keep it safe for you!"--as if
her pride and pleasure in doing so had been equal, and she had, as it
were, thought of nothing during my absence but how to greet me with this
proof of her fidelity on my return. I cannot describe her manner. Her
words are few and simple; but you can have no idea of the exquisite,
unstudied, irresistible graces with which she accompanies them, unless
you can suppose a Greek statue to smile, move, and speak. Those lines
in Tibullus seem to have been written on purpose for her--

Quicq