I never mentioned these feelings, or all the secret sources of happiness to which my soul awoke, not even to Miss Olmsly. I would have died rather than breathe them to any human being; they were sacred to me as my prayers. Sometimes I would be days together without speaking to Mr. Lee, but I was seldom out of the sound of his voice when he visited the Ridge, and would follow him and Miss Olmsly like a pet dog about the garden, glad to see her brighten and smile when he looked upon her, and loving them both with my whole heart.
Sometimes other company came from the town. We frequently drove over there and brought Mr. Lee home with us; indeed, he was one of the family in every respect, save that he did not sleep at the Ridge, and called himself a visitor. One thing is very certain—on the days he did not come Miss Olmsly was sure to grow serious, almost sad; only there never was any real sadness at our house in those days.
CHAPTER IV.
THREATENED WITH SEPARATION.
This beautiful life must have an end. Even childhood has its duties, and mine could no longer be evaded.
One day Miss Olmsly came into my room, and looking around, sighed; but there was a smile on her lip and an expression in her face that made me wonder at the sigh; for I had not learned that superabundant joy has sometimes the same expression as grief; but oh, how different the feeling.
She sat down by the window, and drawing me close to her, kissed my forehead two or three times with so much feeling that I began to tremble.
"Is anything the matter?" I said, winding my arms around her neck; "have I done wrong?"
"Wrong, my sweet child, no; who ever accused you of being anything but the best girl in the world? I was only thinking how lonesome you would be without us."