The little girl touched the china with soft delicate fingers; lifted each piece and set it down with gentle noiselessness; the little clink of the china keeping measure, perhaps, with the thoughts which moved and touched, so gently, in her heart. Presently Mr. Richmond came out again. He walked up and down the little room several times; it was a small walk, for a very few of his steps took him from one corner to the other; then he came and stood beside the table where Matilda was at work. The child stopped and looked up at him wistfully. Their eyes met; and a smile of much love and confidence was exchanged between the two.
"Mr. Richmond,"—said Matilda, "isn't it difficult, sometimes, to keep hearing those voices?"
You could see the light spring into the young man's eyes; but he answered very quietly, "Why, Matilda?"
"I think it is difficult," the child repeated.
"You find it so?"
"I think, sometimes, Mr. Richmond, I don't hear them at all."
"It is not necessary to be always thinking about them."
"No, I know that; but sometimes I seem to get out of the sound of them."
"How comes that?"
"I don't know. I think it must be because I am hearing other voices so much."