She must have had a warm heart, when she loved her father so, to give so much to me.

I said her days were divided between us; but the master retired early, and I generally needed nothing after six o'clock, thus the evening was her own.
Poor thing! I never considered what she did with herself after tea.

And though frequently, when she looked in to bid me good-night, I remarked a fresh colour in her cheeks and a pinkness over her slender fingers, instead of fancying the line borrowed from a cold ride across the moors, I laid it to the charge of a hot fire in the library..