“Yes, dear?” said Augusta’s voice. It was quite bright and absolutely changed.
“Aren’t you coming out to stand on the balcony a little, and to chat? Do come, please.”
“Not to-night, dear; I am very busy.”
Still that new, wonderful, exceedingly cheerful voice.
“The spell has worked,” I said to Hermione when I returned to her.
We neither of us saw Augusta again until the next morning, and then there was a marvellous change in her. She did not tell us what had caused it. To begin with, she was neatly dressed; to follow, she ate an excellent breakfast; and again, wonder of wonders! she applied herself with extreme and passionate diligence to her French and German lessons. She looked up when her mistress spoke; she no longer indulged in silence broken only by rhapsodies of passionate snatches of verse from her favourite authors. She was altogether a changed Augusta. I did not say a word to her on the subject, and I cautioned Hermione not to breathe what I had done.
“If she thinks father has written to her on his own account the spell will work, and she will be saved,” I said.
It was not until a fortnight later that Augusta said to me in a very gentle tone, “I see daylight. How very naughty I was when I first came! How badly I did behave! But now a guiding hand has been stretched out, and I know what I am expected to do.”
I jumped up and kissed her.
“I am glad,” I said.