Elsie had none of the still, wicked light in her eyes, that morning.  She looked gentle, but dreamy; played with her books; did not trouble herself with any of the exercises,—­which in itself was not very remarkable, as she was always allowed, under some pretext or other, to have her own way.

The school-hours were over at length.  The girls went out, but she lingered to the last.  She then came up to Mr. Bernard, with a book in her hand, as if to ask a question.

“Will you walk towards my home with me today?” she said, in a very low voice, little more than a whisper.

Mr. Bernard was startled by the request, put in such a way.  He had a presentiment of some painful scene or other.  But there was nothing to be done but to assure her that it would give him great pleasure.

So they walked along together on their way toward the Dudley mansion.

“I have no friend,” Elsie said, all at once.  “Nothing loves me but one old woman.  I cannot love anybody.  They tell me there is something in my eyes that draws people to me and makes them faint:  Look into them, will you?”

She turned her face toward him.  It was very pale, and the diamond eyes were glittering with a film, such as beneath other lids would have rounded into a tear.

“Beautiful eyes, Elsie,” he said,—­“sometimes very piercing,—­but soft now, and looking as if there were something beneath them that friendship might draw out.  I am your friend, Elsie.  Tell me what I can do to render your life happier.”

“Love me!” said Elsie Venner.

What shall a man do, when a woman makes such a demand, involving such an avowal?  It was the tenderest, cruellest, humblest moment of Mr. Bernard’s life.  He turned pale, he trembled almost, as if he had been a woman listening to her lover’s declaration.

“Elsie,” he said, presently, “I so long to be of some use to you, to have your confidence and sympathy, that I must not let you say or do anything to put us in false relations.  I do love you, Elsie, as a suffering sister with sorrows of her own,—­as one whom I would save at the risk of my happiness and life,—­as one who needs a true friend more than—­any of all the young girls I have known.  More than this you would not ask me to say.  You have been through excitement and trouble lately, and it has made you feel such a need more than ever.  Give me your hand, dear Elsie, and trust me that I will be as true a friend to you as if we were children of the same mother.”

Elsie gave him her hand mechanically.  It seemed to him that a cold aura shot from it along his arm and chilled the blood running through his heart.  He pressed it gently, looked at her with a face full of grave kindness and sad interest, then softly relinquished it.