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."