them for ever.

Then came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell it.
All the servants were there in the hall--all the dear friend--all
the young ladies--the dancing-master who had just arrived; and there
was such a scuffling, and hugging, and kissing, and crying, with the
hysterical YOOPS of Miss Swartz, the parlour-boarder, from her room,
as no pen can depict, and as the tender heart would fain pass over.
The embracing was over; they parted--that is, Miss Sedley parted
from her friends. Miss Sharp had demurely entered the carriage some
minutes before. Nobody cried for leaving HER.

Sambo of the bandy legs slammed the carriage door on his young
weeping mistress. He sprang up behind the carriage. "Stop!" cried
Miss Jemima, rushing to the gate with a parcel.

"It's some sandwiches, my dear," said she to Amelia. "You may be
hungry, you know; and Becky, Becky Sharp, here's a book for you that
my sister--that is, I--Johnson's Dixonary, you know; you mustn't
leave us without that. Good-by. Drive on, coachman. God bless
you!"

And the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with
emotion.

But, lo! and just as the coach drove off, Miss Sharp put her pale
face out of the window and actually flung the book back into the
garden.

This almost caused Jemima to faint with terror. "Well, I never"--