“What! are you going? Where?”
“To—to Lapland.”
“Lapland!”
“Yes! to see if I cannot freeze the burning weight at my heart.”
Agnes looked surprised. The truth half flashed upon her, and when she saw how wretched Frank looked, a thousand little things he had done and said that she thought nothing of at the time, came suddenly to her mind, as though to corroborate her suspicions.
“No, it cannot be,” said she to herself, blushing at having even thought she was beloved by Frank. She warmly expressed her regrets for the departure of her friend. And the little Nina—she hardly knew what to make of it. She crept up to Francis, and climbing upon his knee, hid her face in his bosom, to hide her own tears.
“Is good Frank going to leave his poor Nina? Naughty Frank.”
“Yes, pretty one,” said he, fondly passing his hand through her clustering curls. “Give me one of these sunny ringlets, Nina; I will keep it always.”
Quicker than thought the child sprang down, and ran to her mother. “Mamma, where are your scissors? Frank wants one of my curls.”
The mother gave her the scissors. Nina, selecting the prettiest curl she could find, off it came.