noon, when I came back to
tea, I found the little girl on her knees, busy in packing up my things,
and a large paper parcel on the table, which I could not at first tell
what to make of. On opening it, however, I soon found what it was. It
contained a number of volumes which I had given her at different times
(among others, a little Prayer-Book, bound in crimson velvet, with green
silk linings; she kissed it twenty times when she received it, and said
it was the prettiest present in the world, and that she would shew it to
her aunt, who would be proud of it)--and all these she had returned
together. Her name in the title-page was cut out of them all. I
doubted at the instant whether she had done this before or after I had
sent for them back, and I have doubted of it since; but there is no
occasion to suppose her UGLY ALL OVER WITH HYPOCRISY. Poor little
thing! She has enough to answer for, as it is. I asked Betsey if she
could carry a message for me, and she said "YES." "Will you tell your
sister, then, that I did not want all these books; and give my love to
her, and say that I shall be obliged if she will still keep these that I
have sent back, and tell her that it is only those of my own writing
that I think unworthy of her." What do you think the little imp made
answer? She raised herself on the other side of the table where she
stood, as if inspired by the genius of the place, and said--"AND THOSE
ARE THE ONES THAT SHE PRIZES THE MOST!" If there were ever words spoken
that could revive the dead, those were the words. Let me kiss them, and
forget that my ears have heard aught else! I said, "Are you sure of
that?" and she said, "Yes, quite sure." I told her, "If I could be, I
should be very different from what I was." And I became so that
instant, for these casual words carried assurance to my heart of her
esteem--that once implied, I had proofs enough of her fondness. Oh! how
I felt at that moment! Restored to love, hope, and joy, by a breath
which I had caught by the merest accident, and which I might have pined
in absence and mute despair for want of hearing! I did not know how to
contain myself; I was childish, wanton, drunk with pleasure. I gave
Betsey a twenty-shilling note which I happened to have in my hand, and
on her asking "What's this for, Sir?" I said, "It's for you. Don't you
think it worth that to be made happy? You once made me very wretched by
some words I heard you drop, and now y