FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.

(After an interval of several weeks.)

Time has flown, my Eleanor, since you left me, after your short but
kind visit, with a heavy but healing wing. I do not think I shall
ever again be the giddy girl I have been; but my head will change, not
my heart; that was never giddy, and that shall still be as much yours
as ever. You are wrong in thinking I have not forgotten, at least
renounced all affection for Mr. Linden. I have, though with a long
and bitter effort. The woman for whom he fought went, you know, to
his house, immediately on hearing of his wound. She has continued
with him ever since. He had the audacity to write to me once; my
mother brought me the note, and said nothing. She read my heart
aright. I returned it unopened. He has even called since his
convalescence. Mamma was not at home to him. I hear that he looks
pale and altered. I hope not,--at least I cannot resist praying for
his recovery. I stay within entirely; the season is over now, and
there are no parties: but I tremble at the thought of meeting him even
in the Park or the Gardens. Papa talks of going into the country next
week. I cannot tell you how eagerly I look forward to it: and you
will then come and see me; will you not, dearest Eleanor?

Ah! what happy days we will have yet: we will read Italian together,
as we used to do; you shall teach me your songs, and I will instruct
you in mine; we will keep birds as we did, let me see, eight years
ago. You will never talk to me of my folly: let that be as if it had
never been; but I will wonder with you about your future choice, and
grow happy in anticipating your happiness. Oh, how selfish I was some
weeks ago! then I could only overwhelm you with my egotisms: now,