r and more affectionate every day. He would often address me as
'_mon fils_,' and seemed indeed to regard me with feelings as warm as
those of a father to a son.

And I--what were my sentiments toward this good and noble man who was so
kind to me? I worshiped him; he was every thing to me. Father and mother
were gone, sisters and brothers I had none, other friends I had never
known. My master was all the world to me. To serve him was all I lived
for. To love him, though with a love that could never be known, never be
returned, was enough for me.

I have said that I was happy; but there was one drawback to my
happiness. It lay in the self-reproach I felt for the deception
practiced on my benefactor. Many times I resolved to resume my woman's
garments, (a suit of which I always kept by me, safe under lock and
key,) fall at his feet, and confess all. But the fear that he would
spurn me, the certainty that he would drive me from his presence,
restrained me. I could not exist under his displeasure; I could not
endure life away from him.

Although he was, of course, unconscious of the intensity of the feeling
with which I regarded him, he knew--for I did not conceal it--that I was
much attached to him; and I was aware that I, or rather Eugene, was very
dear to him. On one occasion, as we sat together in the study, he said
to me, abruptly:

'How old are you, Eugene?'

'Twenty-two,' I answered.

He sat silent for some moments; then he said:

'If I had married in my early years, I might have had a son as old as
you. Take my advice, Eugene, marry early; form family ties; then your
old age will not be lonely as mine is.'

'O my dear master!' cried I, safe under my disguise, 'no son could love
you as dearly as I do. A son would leave you to win a place for himself
in the world; but your faithful Eugene will cling to you through life;
he only asks to remain with you always--always.'

'My good Eugene!' said my master, grasping my hand warmly, 'your words
make me happy. I am a lonely man, and the affection which you, a
stranger youth, entertain for me, fills me with profound and heart-felt
joy.'

Ah! then my trembling heart asked itself the question: 'What would he
think if he knew that it was a young girl who felt for him this pure and
tender affection?' Something whispered me that he would be rather
pleased than otherwise, and a wild temptation seized me to tell him
all--but I could not--I could not.

As my labors app