"I don't know, aunt," was poor Sara's answer. "I suppose he will come again some time." And in good truth she did suppose he would come again "some time," when the pain of their separation should have worn away. Sara quitted her seat as she spoke, throwing down a fork with the movement, and hastened to the window. "What's the matter?" exclaimed Miss Bettina. "It is the postman, aunt." "The postman!" echoed Miss Bettina, sharply, wondering what possessed her niece that morning. "If it is the postman, you need not fly from the breakfast-table in that way, upsetting the things. Do you call that manners?" "O papa," cried Sara, turning round, unmindful of the reproof in her flush of excitement, "I do think here are letters from Edward! Some foreign mail must be in, for the man has an unusual number of letters in his hand, and some of them look like foreign ones." She turned from the window, and stood gazing at the room door. But no letters appeared. The postman went out again with his quick step, and Sara, feeling grievously disappointed, returned slowly to her seat. "Is he gone?" presently asked the doctor. "O yes, papa. He is half-way down the street by this time. He came, I suppose, for one of the servants." "He didn't ring." "No. He seemed to go straight to your consulting-room window. Perhaps Neal is there, putting the room to rights." But Dr. Davenal did not rest so easily satisfied. He opened the door and called down the passage in an imperative voice. "Neal! Are there no letters?" Neal came gliding into the room from his pantry, two letters in his hand. "Why did you not bring them in at once?" somewhat sternly asked the doctor as he took them, certain past suspicions regarding Neal and such missives arising forcibly to his mind. "I was looking for my waiter, sir: I have mislaid it somewhere. Oh, I left it here, I see." The silver waiter was on a side-table; not at all where it ought to be; as if it had been put down heedlessly and forgotten. Neal caught it up and retired. It might have been as he said--that the delay was caused by looking for it, and by that only; and Dr. Davenal, more inclined to be charitable than suspicious, thought no more of the matter. In the keen disappointment which had come over him, he nearly lost sight of other things. Neither of the two letters was from his son; and he had so fully expected to hear from him by the present mail. Sara's heart was beating. "Are they not from Edward, papa?"