He did not notice my emotion, and I answered, in as calm a voice as I could command:  ’My mother had fine, soft hair; I have inherited it from her.’

Thus passed a year, the happiest I had ever known.  My master became kinder 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 approached their completion, a gloomy feeling of dread oppressed me.  I feared that when the Vedas were finished my master would no longer require my services.  But he relieved my fears by reengaging me, and expressing a desire to retain me as his secretary until I became too famous and too proud to fill the office contentedly.