She had taken Mrs. Murray’s hand, and while tears gathered in her eyes, she kissed the fingers and pressed them against her cheek.

“If you are too proud to remain here as you have done for so many years, how do you suppose you can endure the humiliations and affronts which will certainly be your portion when you accept a hireling’s position in the family of a stranger?  Don’t you know that of all drudgery that required of governesses is most fraught with vexation and bitterness of spirit?  I have never treated you as an upper servant, but loved you and shielded you from slights and insults as if you were my niece or my daughter.  Edna, you could not endure the lot you have selected; your proud, sensitive nature would be galled to desperation.  Stay here and help me keep house; write and study as much as you like, and do as you please; only don’t leave me.”

She drew the girl to her bosom, and while she kissed her, tears fell on the pale face.

“Oh, Mrs. Murray! it is hard to leave you!  For indeed I love you more than you will ever believe or realize; but I must go!  I feel it is my duty, and you would not wish me to stay here and be unhappy.”

“Unhappy here!  Why so?  Something is wrong, and I must know just what it is.  Somebody has been meddling—­taunting you.  Edna, I ask a plain question, and I want the whole truth.  You and Estelle do not like each other; is her presence here the cause of your determination to quit my house?”

“No, Mrs. Murray; if she were not here I should still feel it my duty to go out and earn my living.  You are correct in saying we do not particularly like each other; there is little sympathy between us, but no bad feeling that I am aware of, and she is not the cause of my departure.”

Mrs. Murray was silent a moment, scrutinizing the face on her shoulder.

“Edna, can it be my son?  Has some harsh speech of St. Elmo’s piqued and wounded you?”

“Oh! no.  His manner toward me is quite as polite, nay, rather more considerate than when I first came here.  Beside, you know, we are almost strangers; sometimes weeks elapse without our exchanging a word.”

“Are you sure you have not had a quarrel with him?  I know you dislike him; I know how exceedingly provoking he frequently is; but, child, he is unfortunately constituted; he is bitterly rude to everybody, and does not mean to wound you particularly.”

“I have no complaint to make of Mr. Murray’s manner to me.  I do not expect or desire that it should be other than it is.  Why do you doubt the sincerity of the reason I gave for quitting dear old Bocage?  I have never expected to live here longer than was necessary to qualify myself for the work I have chosen.”

“I doubt it because it is so incomprehensible that a young girl, who might be Gordon Leigh’s happy wife and mistress of his elegant home, surrounded by every luxury, and idolized by one of the noblest, handsomest men I ever knew, should prefer to go among strangers and toil for a scanty livelihood.  Now I know something of human nature, and I know that your course is very singular, very unnatural.  Edna, my child!  My dear, little girl!  I can’t let you go.  I want you!  I can’t spare you!  I find I love you too well, my sweet comforter in all my troubles!  My only real companion!”