“I have often read about gazelle’s eyes, and I wonder if these are not quite as lovely?  Very often when I look at them they remind me of yours.  There is such a soft, sad, patient expression, as if she knew perfectly well that some day the hunters would be sure to catch and kill her, and she was meekly biding her time to be turned into venison steak.  I never will eat another piece!  The dear little thing!  Edna, do you know that you have the most beautiful eyes in the world, except Mr. Murray’s?  His glitter like great stars under long, long black silk fringe.  By the way, how is he?  I have not seen him for some days and you can have no idea how I do want to look into his face, and hear his voice, which is so wonderfully sweet and low.  I wrote him a note thanking him for this little spotted darling; but he has not answered it—­has not come near me, and I was afraid he might be sick.”

Gertrude stole one arm around her companion’s neck and nestled her golden head against the orphan’s shoulder.

“Mr. Murray is very well; at least, appears so.  I saw him at breakfast.”

“Does he ever talk about me?”

“No; I never heard him mention your name but once, and then it occurred incidentally.”

“Oh, Edna! is it wrong for me to think about him so constantly?  Don’t press your lips together in that stern, hard way.  Dearie, put your arms around me, and kiss me.  Oh! if you could know how very much I love him!  How happy I am when he is with me.  Edna, how can I help it?  When he touches my hand, and smiles down at me, I forget everything else!  I feel as if I would follow him to the end of the earth.  He is a great deal older than I am; but how can I remember that when he is looking at me with those wonderful eyes?  The last time I saw him, he said—­well, something very sweet, and I was sure he loved me, and I leaned my head against his shoulder; but he would not let me touch him; he pushed me away with a terrific frown, that wrinkled and blackened his face.  Oh! it seems an age since then.”

Edna kissed the lovely coral lips, and smoothed the bright curls that the wind had blown about the exquisitely moulded cheeks.

“Gertrude, when he asks you to love him, you will have a right to indulge your affection; but until then you ought not to allow him to know your feelings, or permit yourself to think so entirely of him.”

“But do you believe it is wrong for me to love him so much?”

“That is a question which your own heart must answer.”

Edna felt that her own lips were growing cold, and she disengaged the girl’s clasping arms.

“Edna, I know you love me; will you do something for me?  Please give him this note.  I am afraid that he did not receive the other, or that he is offended with me.”

She drew a dainty three-cornered envelope from her pocket.

“No, Gertrude; I can be a party to no clandestine correspondence.  I have too much respect for your uncle, to assist in smuggling letters in and out of his house.  Beside, your mother would not sanction the course you are pursuing.”