Miss Lettie called me to her.  She wished to say something to me only.  I bent my head to listen.

“I am ill,” she said,—­“better just now, but I feel that it will be weeks before I shall leave this place; it is good for me to be here, but this troubles me,—­I don’t like to think that I must take care of it; will you guard it sacredly for me?—­and the letter of last night, add it to the others.”

She gave me a small package, carefully closed, and I saw that it was sealed.

From her manner, I fancied it was to be known to me alone, and, concealing it, I said,—­

“I will keep it securely for you.”

Sophie came playfully up, and said,—­

“Now, Anna, I’m empress here; no secret negotiations to overthrow my power.”

“I’m just going to say good-bye to Miss Axtell,” I said, “for I am going home to-morrow;” and I told her of the letter from father, that I had received.

Sophie got up a charming storm of regret and wrath, neither at my father for sending for me, nor at myself for going, but for the mysterious third personality that created the need for my departure.

Miss Lettie seemed to regret my coming absence still more than Sophie.

“I wanted you so much,” she said; “if I had only had you long ago, life would have been changed,” she whispered again, as Sophie turned to listen to some pretty nonsense that the grave minister poured into her ears through those windings of softly purplish hair.

“Will you make me one promise, only one?” said Miss Axtell.

I hesitated,—­for promises are my religious fear, I do not like to make promises.  They are like mile-stones to a thunder-storm.  They note distances when the spirit is anxious only to cycle time and space.

She looked so earnest, so persuasive, that I yielded, and said that “consistency should be my only requirement.”

“It is not so immensely inconsistent, my Anemone; it is only that I want you to come back again.  Two weeks will satisfy your father.  Will you come to me on the twenty-fifth of March?”

“What for?” with my awkward persistency in questioning, I asked.

“Why, because I want to see you,—­I wish you to write a letter for me,—­and more than all, I want an advocate.”

I, smiling at the triplet of occasions, promised to come, if consistent.

Sophie was going home.  She came up to drop a few last cheery words, to fall into the coming hours of night.

“You see how you’ve spoiled me by kindness, Mrs. Wilton,” Miss Lettie said.  “I presume still further:  I would like to see old Chloe; it is a long, long time since I’ve seen her.  Would you let her come?” Sophie said that “it would renew Chloe’s youth; she certainly would send her.”

Good-byes were spoken, and we went down.  Mr. Axtell was still treading the hall below.  He thanked Sophie for her kindness to Miss Lettie, shook hands genially with Aaron, looked at me, and we were gone.