“There, he's calling you now, Susan. Run to him and kiss him, and see what he wants. I'm sure he loves you just as much as ever. He's got no other sweetheart.”
“I'll run, mamma—that I will. I'm so glad! I hope he loves me!” and the little innocent scampered away to the chamber. Her artless tongue, as she approached, enabled him to perceive what had been her grievances.
“Do you call me to love me, and to kiss me, Cousin William, and to make me your sweetheart again?”
“Yes, Susan, you shall be my only sweetheart. I will kiss nobody but you.”
“You'll forget—you will—you'll put me out of your lap, and go away shaking your head, and looking so!—” and here the observant little creature attempted a childish imitation of the sad action and the strange, moody gestures with which he had put her down when he was retiring from the room—gestures and looks which the less quick eyes of her mother had failed utterly to perceive.
“No, no!” said he, with a sad smile; “no, Susan. I'll keep you in my lap for an hour whenever I come, and you shall be my sweetheart always.”
“Your LITTLE sweetheart, your LITTLE Susan, Cousin William.”
“Yes, my dear little Susan, my dearest little sweetheart Susan.”
And he kissed the child fondly while he spoke, and patted her rosy cheeks with a degree of tenderness which his sad and wandering thoughts did not materially diminish.
“But now, Susan,” said he, “if I am to be your sweetheart, and to love you always, you must do all that I bid you. You must go where I send you.”