Edmund had been seven years old at the time of the return to England.  Fondly attached to some of the Hindoo servants, and with unusual intelligence and observation, the gorgeous scenery and oriental habits of his first home had dwelt vividly in his imagination, and he had always considered himself as only taken to England for a time, to return again to India.  Thus, he had been fond of romancing of the past and of the future, and had never let his little sister’s recollections fade entirely away.  His father had likewise thought that it would save future trouble to keep up the boys’ knowledge of the language, which would by-and-by be so important to them.  Gilbert’s health had caused his studies to be often intermitted, but Edmund had constantly received instructions in the Indian languages, and whatever he learnt had been imparted to Sophia.  It was piteous to discover how much time the poor forlorn little girl had spent sitting on the floor in the loft, poring over old grammars, and phrase-books, and translations of missionary or government school-books there accumulated—­anything that related to India, or that seemed to carry on what she had done with Edmund:  and she had acquired just enough to give her a keen appetite for all the higher class of lore, which she knew to reside in the unapproachable study.  Those few familiar words from her father had overcome her, because, a trivial greeting in themselves, they had been a kind of password between her and her brother.

Mr. Kendal was greatly touched, and very remorseful for having left such a heart to pine in solitude, while he was absorbed in his own lonely grief; and Albinia ventured to say, ’I believe the greatest pleasure you could give her would be to help her to keep up the language.’

He smiled, but said, ‘Of what possible use could it be to her?’

’I was not thinking of future use.  It would be of immense present use to her to do anything with you, and I can see that nothing would gratify her so much.  Besides, I have been trying to think of all the new things I could set her to do.  She must have lessons to fill up the day, and I want to make fresh beginnings, and not go back to the blots and scars of our old misunderstandings.’

’You want me to teach her Sanscrit because you cannot teach her Italian.’

‘Exactly so,’ said Albinia; ’and the Italian will spring all the better from the venerable root, when we have forgotten how cross we used to be to each other over our relative pronouns.’

’But there is hardly anything which I could let her read in those languages.’

’Very likely not; but you can pick out what there is.  Do you remember the fable of the treasure that was to be gained by digging under the apple-tree, and which turned out not to be gold, but the fruit, the consequence of digging?  Now, I want you to dig Sophy; a Sanscrit, or a Hindostanee, or a Persian treasure will do equally well as a pretext.  If she had announced a taste for the differential calculus, I should have said the same.  Only dig her, as Maurice dug me apropos to Homer.  I wouldn’t bother you, only you see no one else could either do it, or be the same to Sophy.’