‘Oh, sir! Oh, Miss Burchell! look what he has given me,’ said the child in ecstasy. But Oswald knew how to beat a retreat gracefully. He gave a little squeeze to Emmy’s fist, keeping it closed over the sovereign, and, bowing to Agnes, went away. Was that the last of him? Better, far better, that it should be the last of him, poor Agnes felt, as her heart contracted, in spite of herself, at his withdrawal; but the surprise, and that pang of disappointment, which she would have gone to the stake rather than acknowledge, made her incapable of speech for the moment. It is very wicked and wrong to speak to a gentleman to whom you have never been introduced; but, then, when that gentleman has a legitimate opportunity of making a little acquaintance in a natural way, how strange, and rather injurious, that he should not take advantage of it! This failure of all necessity for resistance at the moment when she was buckling on her best armour to resist, gave an extraordinary twist to Agnes Burchell’s heart. It almost would have brought the tears to her eyes, had not she started in instant self-despair--though she would not have shed such tears for all the treasures of the world. ‘Oh, look what he has given me!’ cried little Emmy, ‘a sovereign, a whole sovereign--all to myself!’ ‘He is--very kind,’ said Agnes, stiffly, and she was restrained even in her intercourse with Emmy, not saying half so much to her as she did on ordinary occasions, which was wrong; for, in fact, Emmy could not justly bear blame for anything committed, neither for his coming nor his going away. The child was quite cast down by Miss Burchell’s coldness. She began to inquire if Agnes was ill, if she was tired, if she thought the Sisters would object to let her go to Margate; thus plainly showing that she perceived her visitor’s abstraction, which was, of all things in the world, the last thing which Agnes wished to be remarked. And poor Agnes could not conceal how worried she was by these questions; she could not account for the discouragement, the sickness of heart, that had come over her. She was tired all at once--overcome by the heat or the cold; which was it? ‘It is the spring, miss,’ said the nurse. And she was very willing to allow that it must be the spring. ‘I will send you word as soon as I have spoken to the Sister,’ she said, kissing little Emmy as she went away; ‘and forgive me, dear--for I have a headache. I have not been able to talk to you to-day.’