I thought Mrs. Linwood sighed, as he followed me into the drawing-room, and with quick, graceful fingers, made ample amends for the negligence be had caused. His light, careless manner restored me to ease, and at breakfast Mrs. Linwood's countenance wore its usual expression of calm benevolence. Had I done wrong? I had sought no clandestine interview. Why should I? It was foolish to wish to look at the beautiful flower girl; but it was a natural, innocent wish, born of something purer and better than vanity and self-love. CHAPTER XIX. I lingered after school was dismissed, to ask permission of Mr. Regulus to attend the commencement. It was Mrs. Linwood's wish, and of course a law to me. "Will you release me one week before the session closes?" I asked, "Mrs. Linwood does not wish to leave me behind, but I do not care much to go." "Of course I will release you, my child, but it will seem as if the flower season were past when you are gone. I wonder now, how I ever taught without your assistance. I wonder what I shall do when you leave me?" "Mrs. Linwood wished me to say to you," said I, quite touched by his kind, affectionate manner, "that she does not wish me to renew our engagement. She will take me to town next winter, satisfied for the present with the discipline I have experienced under your guardian care." "So soon!" he exclaimed, "I was not prepared for this." "So soon, Mr. Regulus? I have been with you one long year." "It may have seemed long to you, but it has been short as a dream to me. A very pleasant time has it been, too pleasant to last." He took up his dark, formidable ferula, and leaned his forehead thoughtfully upon it. "And it has been pleasant to me, Mr. Regulus. I dreaded it very much at first, but every step I have taken in the path of instruction has been made smooth and green beneath my feet. No dull, lagging hour has dragged me backward in my daily duties. The dear children have been good and affectionate, and you, my dear master, have crowned me with loving kindness from day to day. How shall I convince you of my gratitude, and what return can I make for your even parental care?" I spoke earnestly, for my heart was in my words. His unvarying gentleness and tenderness to me, (since that one fiery shower that converted for a time the Castalian fountain into a Dead Sea,) had won my sincere and deep regard. He had seemed lately rather more reserved than usual, and I valued still more his undisguised expressions of interest and affection.