‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said; ‘I have not come instead of Miss--did you say Burchell? Is she one of the Sisters?’ he asked, hypocritically. ‘I thought you called them by their Christian names.’ ‘Oh, sir, Miss Burchell is not a Sister. She is the teacher. I am in the third division,’ said the child, with pride; ‘and she teaches us. She is a lady--not like Miss Davies, in the infant school, you know; but a real, real lady. And all the Sisters are ladies. It is for goodness they take care of us, and not because they are obliged. Such a trouble as they take!’ said little Emmy, with the _naïve_ surprise of her class, ‘and for nothing at all! And Miss Burchell is the kindest of them all.’ ‘She has come to see you very often?’ ‘Oh, sir, every open day! and she told me that--that--you had come to ask for me. She said it was so good and kind. She said, sir, as you were a very kind gentleman, and took an interest in poor children--especially orphans like me.’ ‘Yes; I take a great interest in you, my poor little Emmy,’ said Oswald, blushing with pleasure. ‘I think you ought to have change of air after your long illness. Is there not a place where the children at the House go to when they have been ill?’ ‘Oh!’ cried the little girl, with eyes as round as her exclamation, ‘Nelly Brown went to Margate after the fever. She used to tell us about the sands and the shells, and riding on donkeys; but Nelly had a kind lady who took an interest in her,’ said Emmy, her countenance falling, ‘and paid for her. There are such a many orphans, sir,’ she added, with a wistful look at him. ‘Such a many! They would do more for us, if there wasn’t such a many of us, Sister Mary Jane says.’ A certain half-aggrieved and serious wonder was in the child’s eyes. Why there should be so many orphans puzzled little Emmy; and she felt that it was a special grievance to her, as one of them, debarred from the privileges which a smaller number might have shared. ‘And you have a kind gentleman, Emmy,’ said Oswald. ‘I hope it comes to the same thing. This is what I came to talk to you about----’ ‘Ah, there she is!’ said little Emmy, growing red with delight. Oswald got up precipitately from his chair. What would she say to find him here already installed before her? She came up, light-footed, in her nun’s dress; her face looked doubly sweet, or so, at least, her young lover thought, in the close circle of the poke-bonnet, to meet the rapture in the child’s eyes. Agnes had no thought that Oswald was likely to penetrate here; therefore, she did not see him or think of him as she came up to the child, and he was a witness of the clinging to the little orphan’s arms, the tender sweetness of the salutation. Agnes could not have said anything more homely than the ‘How have you been, dear?’ but it sounded like the very softest utterance of loving kindness--maternal, dove-like murmurings, tender and caressing, to Oswald’s ear.