"Come, Miss," she said, a little roughly, "crying is no use, you know."
She stooped to give me a kiss; I turned away with passionate sorrow. What was to me the caress of a stranger on the night that had deprived me for ever of my father's embrace?
"Proud little hussy!" she exclaimed, half angrily.
With this she left me. Ere long she returned, and lay down by my side; she was soon breathing hard and loud. I silently cried myself to sleep.
I awoke the next morning, subdued by grief into a mute apathy that delighted Miss Murray when I went down to breakfast, and made her hold me up as a model to her nephew.
He replied with great disgust, "He was not going to make a girl of himself, to please her and Abby."
"But you could respect the child's feelings by remaining silent," remonstrated his aunt, gently sipping her tea.
"Why don't you eat?" asked William, addressing me.
"I am not hungry."
"All children are not voracious, like you, William," said Miss Murray.