"Dear me, dear me, that's true. What shall I do with it?--what do I want with it, too? Dear me! I wish they hadn't sent it. I shan't sleep in peace. You must e'en put it in your own pouch, and button it up tight, boy." Lenny smiled, and took the note; but he took it to Mr. Dale, and begged him to put it into the Savings' Bank for his mother. The day following he went to take leave of his master, of Jackeymo, of the fountain, the garden. But, after he had gone through the first of these adieus with Jackeymo--who, poor man, indulged in all the lively gesticulations of grief which make half the eloquence of his countrymen; and then, absolutely blubbering, hurried away--Leonard himself was so affected that he could not proceed at once to the house, but stood beside the fountain, trying hard to keep back his tears. "You, Leonard--and you are going!" said a soft voice; and the tears fell faster than ever, for he recognized the voice of Violante. "Do not cry," continued the child, with a kind of tender gravity. "You are going, but papa says it would be selfish in us to grieve, for it is for your good; and we should be glad. But I am selfish, Leonard, and I do grieve. I shall miss you sadly." "You, young lady--you miss me!" "Yes. But I do not cry, Leonard, for I envy you, and I wish I were a boy: I wish I could do as you." The girl clasped her hands, and reared her slight form, with a kind of passionate dignity. "Do as me, and part from all those you love!" "But to serve those you love. One day you will come back to your mother's cottage, and say, 'We have conquered fortune.' Oh that I could go forth and return, as you will. But my father has no country, and his only child is a useless girl." As Violante spoke, Leonard had dried his tears; her emotion distracted him from his own. "Oh," continued Violante, again raising her head loftily, "what it is to be a man! A woman sighs, 'I wish,' but man should say 'I will.'" Occasionally before, Leonard had noted fitful flashes of a nature grand and heroic, in the Italian child, especially of late--flashes the more remarkable from their contrast to a form most exquisitely feminine, and to a sweetness of temper which made even her pride gentle. But now it seemed as if the child spoke with the command of a queen--almost with the inspiration of a Muse. A strange and new sense of courage entered within him. "May I remember these words!" he murmured half audibly. The girl turned and surveyed him with eyes brighter for their moisture. She then extended her hand to him, with a quick movement, and, as he bent over it, with a grace taught to him by genuine emotion, she said,--"And if you do, then, girl and child as I am, I shall think I have aided a brave heart in the great strife for honor!" She lingered a moment, smiled as if to herself, and then, gliding away, was lost among the trees.