S. Nothing can alter my resolution, Sir.
H. Will you go and leave me so?
S. It is late, and my father will be getting impatient at my stopping so long.
H. You know he has nothing to fear for you—it is poor I that am alone in danger. But I wanted to ask about buying you a flageolet. Could I see that which you have? If it is a pretty one, it would hardly be worth while; but if it isn’t, I thought of bespeaking an ivory one for you. Can’t you bring up your own to shew me.
S. Not to-night, Sir.
H. I wish you could.
S. I cannot—but I will in the morning.
H. Whatever you determine, I must submit to. Good night, and bless thee!
[The next morning, S. brought up the tea-kettle as usual; and looking towards the tea-tray, she said, ‘Oh! I see my sister has forgot the tea-pot.’ It was not there, sure enough; and tripping down stairs, she came up in a minute, with the tea-pot in one hand, and the flageolet in the other, balanced so sweetly and gracefully. It would have been awkward to have brought up the flageolet in the tea-tray, and she could not have well gone down again on purpose to fetch it. Something, therefore, was to be omitted as an excuse. Exquisite witch! But do I love her the less dearly for it? I cannot.]