A week had passed in this way, and no suspicion of it conveyed by her quiet passive manner, when she was found one morning by her cousin Edmund, the youngest of the sons, sitting crying on the attic stairs.
"My dear little cousin," said he, with all the gentleness of an excellent nature, "what can be the matter ?" And sitting down by her, he was at great pains to overcome her shame in being so surprised, and persuade her to speak openly.

Was she ill?
or was anybody angry with her?
or had she quarrelled with Maria and Julia?
or was she puzzled about anything in her lesson that he could explain?
Did she, in short, want anything he could possibly get her, or do for her?
For a long while no answer could be obtained beyond a "no, no--not at all--no, thank you"; but he still persevered; and no sooner had he begun to revert to her own home, than her increased sobs explained to him where the grievance lay.

He tried to console her.
"You are sorry to leave Mama, my dear little Fanny," said he, "which shows you to be a very good girl; but you must remember that you are with relations and friends, who all love you, and wish to make you happy.

Let us walk out in the park, and you shall tell me all about your brothers and sisters." On pursuing the subject, he found that, dear as all these brothers and sisters generally were, there was one among them who ran more in her thoughts than the rest.

It was William whom she talked of most, and wanted most to see.