"Upon your honor?"
"Upon my honor."
"Kiss me, dear. I know you won't deceive me now you have pledged your
honor. This solemn promise consoles me more than you can conceive."
"I am so glad; but if you knew how little it costs me."
"All the better; you will be more likely to keep it," was the dry
reply.
The conversation then took a more tender turn. "And so to-morrow you
go! How dull the house will be without you! and who is to keep my
brats in order now I have no idea. Well, there is nothing but meeting
and parting in this world; it does not do to love people, does it?
(ah!) Don't cry, love, or I shall give way; my desolate heart already
brims over--no--now don't cry" (a little sharply); "the servants will
be coming in to take away the things."
"Will you c--c--come and h--help me pack, dear?"
"Me, love? oh no! I could not bear the sight of your things put out to
go away. I promised to call on Mrs. Hunt this afternoon; and you must
not stop in all day yourself--I cannot let your health be sacrificed;
you had better take a brisk walk, and pack afterward."
"Thank you, aunt. I will go and finish my drawing of Harrowden Church
to take with me."
"No, don't go there; the meadows are wet. Walk upon the Hatton road;
it is all gravel."
"Yes; only it is so ugly, and I have nothing to do that way."
"But I'll give you something to do," said Mrs. Bazalgette, obligingly.
"You know where old Sarah and her daughter live--the last cottages on
that road; I don't like the shape of the last two collars they made
me; you can take them back, if you like, and lend them one of yours I
admire so for a pattern.
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