Now, I observed that evening, as I had observed for some days past, that Ada and Richard were more than ever attached to each other’s society, which was but natural, seeing that they were going to be separated so soon. I was therefore not very much surprised when we got home, and Ada and I retired upstairs, to find Ada more silent than usual, though I was not quite prepared for her coming into my arms and beginning to speak to me, with her face hidden.
“My darling Esther!” murmured Ada. “I have a great secret to tell you!”
A mighty secret, my pretty one, no doubt!
“What is it, Ada?”
“Oh, Esther, you would never guess!”
“Shall I try to guess?” said I.
“Oh, no! Don’t! Pray don’t!” cried Ada, very much startled by the idea of my doing so.
“Now, I wonder who it can be about?” said I, pretending to consider.
“It’s about—” said Ada in a whisper. “It’s about—my cousin Richard!”
“Well, my own!” said I, kissing her bright hair, which was all I could see. “And what about him?”
“Oh, Esther, you would never guess!”
It was so pretty to have her clinging to me in that way, hiding her face, and to know that she was not crying in sorrow but in a little glow of joy, and pride, and hope, that I would not help her just yet.
“He says—I know it’s very foolish, we are both so young—but he says,” with a burst of tears, “that he loves me dearly, Esther.”