“And every little thing that has reminded me of my brother,” said Agnes, with her cordial eyes turned cheerfully upon me, “has been a welcome companion. Even this,” showing me the basket-trifle, full of keys, still hanging at her side, “seems to jingle a kind of old tune!”

She smiled again, and went out at the door by which she had come.

It was for me to guard this sisterly affection with religious care. It was all that I had left myself, and it was a treasure. If I once shook the foundations of the sacred confidence and usage, in virtue of which it was given to me, it was lost, and could never be recovered. I set this steadily before myself. The better I loved her, the more it behoved me never to forget it.