In Love's Hands, by Bertha M. Clay—A Project Gutenberg eBook (2024)

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BERTHA CLAY LIBRARY No. 370

BY
BERTHA
M.
CLAY

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IN LOVE’S HANDS;

OR,

FOR HER HEART’S SAKE

BY
BERTHA M. CLAY

The only complete list of whose work, both copyrighted and not, iscontained in the Bertha Clay Library, published byStreet & Smith.

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. IN DEADLY PERIL.
CHAPTER II. SHADOWS.
CHAPTER III. THE LEGACY.
CHAPTER IV. THE GOVERNESSES.
CHAPTER V. AN UNPLEASANT ERRAND.
CHAPTER VI. SHATTERED HOPES.
CHAPTER VII. DESERTED.
CHAPTER VIII. A NEW HOME.
CHAPTER IX. ALONE IN THE WORLD.
CHAPTER X. MRS. WILSON.
CHAPTER XI. THE STRANGER FROM INDIA.
CHAPTER XII. FLORENCE’S PUPILS.
CHAPTER XIII. THE DISCOVERY.
CHAPTER XIV. TOO LATE!
CHAPTER XV. THE STORM.
CHAPTER XVI. A MAN OF MYSTERY.
CHAPTER XVII. THE NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.
CHAPTER XVIII. SUSPENSE.
CHAPTER XIX. STILL A MYSTERY.
CHAPTER XX. NOT QUITE HAPPY.
CHAPTER XXI. A WHISPERED WORD.
CHAPTER XXII. A TARDY EXPLANATION.
CHAPTER XXIII. CONCLUSION.

CHAPTER I.

IN DEADLY PERIL.

Who that knows Northumberland has not roamed delightedlybeside the lovely Coquet, that tricksome littleriver which sometimes murmurs softly along its rockybed, and anon—swollen and turbid—fiercely dashesagainst its steep banks, rushing on toward the ocean witha force and rapidity that carries everything before it.

Those who have visited this capricious stream will rememberHeriton Priory, one of the fairest and finestestates through which it wanders. Surrounded on threesides by hills which protect it from the keen winds, thensloping gently toward the river, the grounds are worthythe house, which is a fine specimen of the Tudor style ofarchitecture. The ruins of the first priory—formerlythe residence of a community of monks—still exist; and,owing to the care of their owners, are almost in as goodcondition as when the demesne was bestowed upon a certainRalph de Heriton by Henry VIII.

The priory had been in the same family ever since.Succeeding generations had added to and improved theestate, until at the commencement of the present reignit fell into the hands of Mr. Richard Heriton, the last ofthe male branch. He, too, pulled down, and rebuilt, and[Pg 6]altered, and this at a rate which made some of his moreprudent neighbors shrug their shoulders as they countedthe cost.

That the alterations were made with taste no one coulddeny, and at the time our story opens—that sweet, fragrantseason when spring insensibly glides into summer—thepriory gardens were in one flush of glowing beauty.It was literally a fairy scene, concealed from prying eyesby the towering heights which guarded and sheltered itsloveliness.

A young man whom Mr. Heriton had discovered pedestrianizingin the neighborhood, and on learning that theyhad mutual friends in London, had hospitably broughthome with him, lay at full length on the greensward beneatha drooping ash tree. Frank Dormer had fixed himselfin the library to have a quiet morning’s reading; butthe twitter of the birds, the sunlight, and the sweet breathof the roses, drew him forth to spend an hour of half-sad,half-pleasant idleness. He had rarely looked on sofair a scene before. He might never behold it again, forhe was daily expecting orders to sail for India, wherehe had received an appointment in the Civil Service. Anorphan from an early age—looked coldly upon by his fewrelatives, and bandied from school to private tutor, fromprivate tutor to college—he had never known the realmeaning of the word home until these few happy weekshe had spent at the priory.

As he lay there listening to the ripple of the river, andrecalling the pleasant events of each succeeding day—the[Pg 7]rides with Mr. Heriton to every spot within reach whichwas worthy a visit; the calls upon the warm-hearted, free-handedNorthumbrian landowners with whom his hostwas acquainted; the quieter drives with Mrs. Heriton, aconfirmed invalid; and the walks and gay romps withFlorence, the only daughter of the house—he sighed, andshaded his eyes with his hand.

The trailing branches of the tree were gently parted,an arch face peeped from between them, and the nextmoment the young man’s head and shoulders were coveredwith a shower of flower petals.

Shaking his curly head with something of the air of agood-tempered Newfoundland dog, he started up—hismelancholy thoughts all put to flight—and looked around.But the owner of the pretty, saucy face had retreated,and was nowhere to be seen, though a stifled laugh proclaimedher vicinity.

“You may as well show yourself, Miss Mischief,” exclaimedFrank, “unless, indeed, you are on the wing for abroom to sweep up this mess before Johnson sees it. Hehad the lawn swept not two hours ago. There’ll be acomplaint laid before Mr. Heriton of Miss Florence’s untidyways. I hope you’ll be punished with half a dozensums in practice and a long German exercise.”

Florence emerged from her hiding place to answer him.She was a slim, delicate girl of fifteen, with eyes of sodeep a blue that they were almost black, and long, wavyhair of golden brown that was carelessly tied at the backof her head with a ribbon of the same color. Although[Pg 8]under the control of a strict governess for several hoursevery day, in order that she might become the accomplishedyoung lady Mr. Heriton’s heiress ought to be, hermother’s thoughtful tenderness secured her perfect freedomfor as many more. Thus Florence, brought up inthe healthful seclusion of the priory—never permitted toexhibit her acquirements and receive the ill-judging admirationof visitors—was still a happy, artless child, withonly enough of the woman to cherish a secret thought thatif she grew up and ever consented to leave dear, sufferingmamma and marry, it must be for just such a man asFrank Dormer.

Secure in her extreme youth and the young man’sspeedy departure, no limits had been set upon their intercourseby either of her parents. They had rambled together,sung together, and read from the same books; thepretty Florence coming to Frank with all her difficulties,and making him the confidant of all her girlish secrets;while he—thrown for the first time into feminine society—pettedand protected her with a growing tendernesswhich no one saw or suspected except Florence’s mother.

“I wouldn’t add story-telling to all my other evil propensitiesif I were you,” said the girl demurely, as shecame a little nearer, yet stood ready to spring away ifFrank attempted to approach her. “It was not I whothrew those leaves on the lawn, Mr. Dormer. I wouldn’tvex poor old Johnson for the world, especially just nowthat I want some of his best verbenas for my garden. Itwas you who made the litter by shaking them off in all[Pg 9]directions. I should advise you to pick them up directly,sir.”

“Come and help me then, mademoiselle.”

“No, indeed, monsieur! That would be to confessmyself guilty. I am going for a walk. Oh, Mr. Dormer,I saw such a lovely fern on one of the heights that overhangthe river! It’s about a mile higher up, and I meanto fetch it. You’ll come, won’t you?”

Frank picked up his straw hat and followed, as withher basket in hand she danced across the lawn, singing toherself, and stopping occasionally to pick the fairest budsshe passed, until she had gathered a tiny bouquet for hercompanion’s buttonhole.

“Miss Dodson says every flower has a meaning attachedto it,” Florence remarked, as she fastened them in hissummer coat. “Do you know what these signify?”

“To me their meaning is second to the fact that theyare among the last blossoms I shall have from an Englishgarden,” Frank answered. “I think I shall take themwith me to India if I can dry them nicely.”

“Were you thinking of your voyage when I disturbedyou?” asked Florence, coming closer to him and speakinggravely. “Why do you go? Why not stay in England?”

“Simply, my dear, because my only chance of risingin the world lies in accepting this appointment. I have nofriends, no interest——” He stopped himself and smiled.“But there—why trouble that little head of yours aboutmatters you don’t understand?”

“I can understand that you are going away for years,[Pg 10]and that mamma is very sorry, and so am I, really! Papamust have friends and interest,” she added suddenly.“He could help you, I am sure. I’ll go and speak to himat once.”

Dropping her basket, she was speeding away, but Frankcaught and detained her.

“Dear Florence—dear little girl—you must not do this.You must promise me never to ask any favors from yourfather for me.”

“But you don’t doubt his willingness to assist you?”asked Florence, a little warmly.

“Certainly I do not. Mr. Heriton has been most kind,most hospitable to me.”

“Then why——” she began.

He checked her with an imperious:

“Hush—say no more! My pride has been galledenough of late years. Don’t let me have to take any butpleasant memories from here.”

Florence glanced at his darkening face. She had neverbefore heard him allude to the clouds that had shadowedhis early life, and she wisely diverted his thoughts intopleasanter channels. But whether she dived into thewood they were passing through, to peep into a bird’snest, or challenged him to races, or hid from him in somebosky dingle, she always came back to his side with asofter, sweeter smile on her lip, a more caressing gentlenessin her manner, as if she sought to make him amendsfor having evoked such unpleasant recollections.

[Pg 11]

Her wanderings made their ramble a long one, but atlast they reached the spot where the rare fern was growingwhich she was desirous of possessing. While FrankDormer dug carefully around the roots she ran to the edgeof the bank, or cliff, which rose here almost perpendicularlyfrom the river to so great a height that he grewuneasy, and shouted a caution to the adventurous girl.

“Take care, Florence; you are too rash. A fall fromthat cliff would be almost certain death!”

The warning had scarcely passed his lips when sheturned round to answer him, and disappeared. A largestone had given way, carrying her light form with it.White with horror, he rushed madly to the place, expectingto see her mangled form lying on the sharp rockswhich lined the bed of the river, or whirled away by theresistless current.

But the face of Florence, ghastly as his own, looked upat him from a tuft of heather, about halfway down thecliff, to which she was clinging with the tenacity of despair.He clenched his hands; his heart almost ceased tobeat. He could not reach her, and to attempt to descendwould be to hurl her from her frail support. Only bymaking his way to the foot of the bank, which involved adetour of a quarter of a mile, could he climb to where sheclung and assist her descent. But the heather was alreadyyielding to her weight, and—frightened child that she was—wouldshe have the courage to retain her hold until hecould come to her aid?

He spoke to her sharply and firmly.

[Pg 12]

“Florence, do you hear me? Can you listen, and doprecisely as I tell you?”

The dilated eyes lit up hopefully, then closed, and asick shudder passed over her.

“I don’t know,” she answered faintly, “but I’ll try. Oh,save me, Mr. Dormer—save me!”

“I will—I can, if you obey me. But you must be brave.Do you hear, Florence?” And he spoke with greaterimpressiveness than before. “For your mother’s sake!Remember, any great shock would kill her! For her sakeyou must be brave!”

“Oh, mamma—mamma!” moaned Florence. “Yes, Ihear you; I will do all you bid me,” she added, directlyafterward, with an effort to assume composure.

“Look up, then; don’t look down. Keep your eyesfixed on me.” For he dreaded the dizziness which mustinevitably ensue if a downward glance showed her theextent of her danger. “Lower your right hand cautiously;now your foot; there are some projecting rootsjust below you, which will support your weight until Icome.”

For a while she feared to stir. She felt that to loosenher hold in the slightest degree would be more than shedare venture; but when, in the same sharp, imperativetones, he commanded her to make the attempt, she obeyed,and effected the change of position safely.

“Now you will stay there without moving, without lookingdown, until I come, which will be as quickly as Ican. Give me your word for this.”

[Pg 13]

“Yes,” said Florence, in clearer tones. “I am not sofrightened now. I will think of my mother till you comeback.”

Taking one last glance at the pale, patient face thatgazed at him so trustfully, he hurried away. He scarcelydared think of what might happen ere he could gain thefoot of the bank. With torn clothes, with bleeding hands,he flung himself down the rugged declivity, as soon asdescent became anything like practicable. Although buta few minutes were consumed in this, the time seemed interminableuntil he drew near the spot where he had leftFlorence. And as he passed round a jutting crag that concealedher from his view, his foot faltered. He was positivelyafraid to proceed, lest the dire catastrophe shouldhave occurred which he was striving to avert.

A moment’s struggle, and he sprang desperately forward.Better to know the worst than endure such horriblesuspense.

Thank Heaven, she was still there—still clinging to thefriendly roots. But her head had dropped on her shoulder,her fortitude was fast failing, and she was moaningpiteously. She must have fallen ere long if Frank Dormerhad not climbed quickly to her side and thrown hissustaining arm around her.

He was strong, agile, and a practiced climber, but hefound it no easy task to descend the slippery cliff encumberedwith Florence. But she was perfectly passive in hishands, and, encouraged by his hopeful words, moved whenhe told her, or stepped where he directed, and in the[Pg 14]course of a little while was safely lowered to a mossyboulder large enough to form a seat for them both.

Here he laved her face and hands with the cool waterthat rippled around their feet, and supported her untilthe color came back to her cheek. Then she looked up atthe spot from which she had slipped, at the small tufts ofheather which had saved her from instant destruction;and imagining to herself the fate she had escaped, aswell as the anguish and horror it would have inflicted onher parents, she leaned her face against his shoulder andbegan to cry softly. Florence Heriton was a child nolonger. She realized in that moment—although, perhaps,she would have been unable to define her feelings—somethingof the value and solemnity attached to the Creator’sgreat gifts, life and health, and of the necessity of sousing them that when they are withdrawn from us wemay feel that they have not been wasted.

“Mr. Dormer, I want to thank you,” she said at last;“but when I try, the words choke me, and yet I know thatyou saved me, and——”

“My dear little Florence,” he said hastily, “I have asmuch to be thankful for in your escape as you have. Ishould not have permitted you to go so near the edge ofthat precipice alone. How could I have returned to thepriory if—if anything had happened to you?”

He drew her almost convulsively to his bosom. He hadnever guessed till now how dear this little creature wasbecoming to him. But, ashamed of his emotion, hequickly released her, and assisted her to rise.

[Pg 15]

“We must hasten home, or there will be some wonderingat our long absence.”

“And mamma will be uneasy, Mr. Dormer. How shallI tell her what has happened?”

“Do not tell her at all until I have gone away, and youcan speak of it calmly. And promise me, Florence, thatyou will never expose yourself to such peril again.”

The promise was given, and then both were silent untilthey had nearly reached the house. But the sob thatbroke at intervals from the young girl’s lips, and thedrops that glittered on her long eyelashes, told how busilyher thoughts were at work.

Clinging to Frank’s hand as he bade her adieu at a sidedoor, she exclaimed ingenuously:

“I wish I had something to give you, Mr. Dormer—somethingto make you think always of this day, and whatyou have done for me!”

“I need no souvenir to keep you in my thoughts, Florence,”he answered, smiling down at her animated face.

“But I should like you to have a ring or something tolook at when you are in India, just to remind you howmamma and I regretted your leaving us.”

“Wait till I come back,” he said hurriedly. “If you arethe same Florence I leave, I will ask you for what Iwould sooner have than all the diamonds of Golconda.”

The ringing of the second dinner bell made Florencestart away to change her dress, and try and still the tremblingin her limbs, before she made her appearance inthe drawing room for the evening.

SHADOWS.

Mr. Heriton, a portly, handsome man, scarcely pastthe middle age, was walking about the drawing room,addressing an occasional observation to his lady, who wassitting near a window which commanded the route Frankand Florence had taken an hour previously.

She had the hectic color and fragile form of continualsuffering, and every time Mr. Heriton raised his voice orpushed a chair out of his way she put her hand to her sideas if to stay the quickened beating of her heart. But sheanswered him cheerfully, with a smile on her lip, thougha close observer might have detected in her eyes ananxious scrutiny of her restless husband, who was bothmoody and irritable.

“Is it not time we dined?” he asked. “It seems to methat our servants do as they please with us.”

“It is my fault,” Mrs. Heriton replied. “I bade themput the dinner back for a quarter of an hour. Mr. Dormeris out; Florence has carried him off on one of herwild excursions.”

Mr. Heriton knitted his brow.

“She has too much liberty. Her manners are terriblyunformed, and she is quite childish for her age.”

“She is so young!” replied the mother deprecatingly.“I thought, dear Richard, we had agreed not to bring herforward too early?”

[Pg 17]

He ahemmed, and looked slightly embarrassed.

“Yes, yes—of course! But, as Morrison of Carnbraeswas remarking this morning, the heiress of the Heritonsis—is, in fact—is not an ordinary person.”

Mrs. Heriton looked at him inquiringly as he walkedto and fro, but was silent. She knew that he would bemore likely to explain himself if she did not attempt toquestion him.

“A year or two will transform Florence into a lovelywoman, and, with her advantages and wealth, she ought tomarry well—very well. By the bye, Mrs. Morrison madea remark about your protégé—this Mr. Dormer—a remarkthat I thought very impertinent.”

Mrs. Heriton forbore to remind him that she had nothingto do with Mr. Dormer’s introduction to the priory,but gently observed:

“An impertinence of any description is not worthy yournotice, Richard.”

“True—true. But it was annoying, very annoying, tobe asked if it was not dangerous to domesticate a youngadventurer with my heiress.”

Mrs. Heriton reddened slightly.

“Surely Mr. Dormer does not merit such a name asthat?”

“Well, no—not in the common acceptation of the term.He is an agreeable, intelligent young fellow. But youmust acknowledge, my dear, that you are permitting tooclose an intimacy between him and our daughter. Hemight be tempted to try and entangle her into an engagement[Pg 18]or elopement. Really,” and Mr. Heriton began tolook quite excited at the idea, “really, it looks very serious.”

His lady smiled.

“I have too much faith in his honor and my littleFlorence’s simplicity to fear such a dénouement. YetI know and feel that you are right; and if it were not thathe will soon leave us, I should, for his sake, keep Florencemore closely to her studies.”

Mr. Heriton stared.

“For his sake! Well, yes, I suppose you are right.Florence will have too much good sense to throw herselfaway. She must not marry until she has been properlypresented. She must have a season in London, and——”

“Dear Richard, is it worth while to form plans thatcannot be carried out for two or three years to come?”the lady asked, wearily leaning back with closed eyes, asif the mere prospect of her merry, artless daughter beingconverted into a fashionable belle alarmed her.

Mr. Heriton came to her side directly with affectionatesolicitude.

“Dear Emma, I have worried you, haven’t I? You’renot feeling so well. Did you have a drive to-day?”

“No, I scarcely felt equal to it.”

“Ha! That carriage is not easy enough. I saw a newpatent advertised in the Times expressly adapted for invalids.I’ll have one down for you.”

“Pray don’t!” said Mrs. Heriton earnestly. “I am very[Pg 19]well satisfied with the one I have; and, indeed, Richard,it troubles me when you go to such needless expense.”

He patted her shoulder.

“Pooh—pooh! Do I ever begrudge anything that willadd to your comfort?”

“No, never. But, Richard, dear, when I think of theenormous outlay of the last few years, I will confess thatit frightens me. No, don’t go away. I have wanted to saythis to you for some time. Do tell me frankly—are wenot exceeding our income? Is not that the cause of thesecret anxiety that I am sure is preying upon you?”

She had got both his hands in hers, and was looking soeagerly in his face that he was obliged to reply:

“Nonsense, love! You are too fearful. There is nothingamiss. The improvements will pay for themselves ina little while. I am somewhat pressed for ready money—yes,I don’t mind confessing that to you. But it’s nothing—absolutelynothing. Every gentleman of enterprisehas to contend with such inconveniences occasionally.And I have been embarking rather largely in a capitalspeculation.”

“Speculation!” Mrs. Heriton repeated, looking reallyalarmed.

He laughed.

“I shouldn’t have used that expression. I know what aterrible sound it has in your ears. But there is not theslightest cause for uneasiness. It is a flourishing companyI have joined, and I shall more than double what Ihave risked. For Florence’s sake, love, you ought to be[Pg 20]pleased. It is for our child’s interests I try to increaseour fortune.”

Mrs. Heriton tried to appear satisfied, but failed so signallythat her husband’s irritability returned.

“Are we not to dine at all to-day? Really, Emma, thereis strange mismanagement somewhere!”

Before she could reply the signal was given, and he ledher to the dining room, where they were speedily joinedby Frank. His apologies for the delay somewhat appeasedhis host’s ill humor, and he chatted cheerfully tillthe removal of the cloth.

But Mrs. Heriton’s keener eye detected that the youngman was not in his usual spirits, and when she returnedto the drawing room her questions quickly drew from theingenuous Florence a recital of what had occurred.

She was lying back on her couch, still quivering withgrateful emotion, and caressing the beloved one who hadbeen in such peril, when the gentlemen joined them. Aservant had been sent to the nearest town for letters, andMr. Heriton was unusually eager to examine the bag. Butthere was nothing in it for him except a few notes andcirculars of no importance, and he sat drumming on thetable, and sipping his coffee, while Frank Dormer openedthe two addressed to himself.

From one of his correspondents—a college acquaintance,who was enjoying a few months of London life—hewas in the habit of receiving many little bits of towngossip, which he was so accustomed to read aloud, thatwhen he closed his letter Florence exclaimed:

[Pg 21]

“What! No news to-night, Mr. Dormer?”

“None worth repeating. In fact, Willis’ letter is filledwith lamentations at his own ill fortune. He has sufferedhimself to be persuaded to take some shares in a newcompany which has suddenly collapsed. I fear from whathe tells me that hundreds will be sufferers by the rascalityof the few who had constituted themselves directors.”

Mr. Heriton took the cup Florence had just replenished,and carelessly observed:

“Ah, there are so many of these mushroom affairs alwaysspringing up that it behooves a man to be cautious.Your friend should not have been so easily duped. Whatwas the company called?”

Frank referred to his letter, and read aloud the high-soundingappellation. Mr. Heriton’s cup fell from hisnerveless hand, he gasped for breath, and then, dashinghis hand on the table, cried fiercely:

“It is a lie, sir—a lie!”

His wife and daughter started up in such terrified surprisethat it recalled him to himself. But he was fearfullypale.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dormer—I really beg yourpardon! I don’t know what possessed me. How ridiculousI am! Sit down, Emma. Why do you persist inagitating yourself about nothing? Florence, child, goto your mother. Do you hear?” And he stamped hisfoot at her so passionately that she shrank from him intearful affright.

With unsteady hand he lit a candle.

[Pg 22]

“I must go to my study. I have letters here that mustbe answered. Will you excuse me, Mr. Dormer?”

When he had quitted the room, Mrs. Heriton, stiflingher own dread, quietly said that she believed he had takena few shares in the defunct company, and felt mortifiedthat his name should be mixed up in a fraudulent concern.

The composure of her manner reassured her daughterand deceived Frank, who knew nothing of his host’saffairs, and was thoughtfully musing over the contentsof his other missive. He was so absorbed in his musingsthat he did not hear Florence when she came to bid himgood night.

Then he started up.

“Good night and good-by, dear little friend! I havereceived my summons, and shall be far away from herewhen you open your eyes in the morning.”

Florence looked aghast.

“So soon—so soon? Oh, mamma! Why must he go?”

“It is his duty, child,” her mother replied gravely.“Don’t distress him with vain regrets. Bid him adieu,and we will both pray for his successful career and safereturn.”

Florence put out both her hands.

“Dear Mr. Dormer, good-by! And Heaven bless you!I shall greatly miss you. I shall never, never forget you!”

“You promise too much,” he answered, trying to laugh.“You will be a happy wife long before I return to England—ifI ever do.”

[Pg 23]

Florence raised her eyes to his with dismay.

“If ever you come back! Do you mean that we shallnot see you again? What—never? Mamma, does hemean it?”

She burst into tears, and Frank, more troubled at herdistress than he dared express, led her to her mother, whowas anxiously looking on.

For some few minutes the young girl could not still herpassionate weeping. She had never contemplated an utterseparation, and it terrified her.

“It is like death,” she murmured, “to see any one youlove go away with no hope of their returning.”

“Mr. Dormer spoke too hastily, Florence,” said hermother. “If he leaves friends here whom he values, hewill come back some day to them. Now say good-by oncemore, and run away, unless you wish to spoil my night’srest.”

Florence instantly obeyed, but her faltering farewelland the wistful glance of her soft eyes made Frank forgethimself. He put his arms around her and pressed his lipsto her forehead; then turned to the fireplace and shadedhis face with his hand till the closing of the door told himshe had gone.

Then he went to Mrs. Heriton.

“Forgive me! If you knew all I feel and suffer at thismoment—how dear Florence has become to me—to me,who may never——”

He could say no more, but she kindly answered:

“Be more hopeful. Look forward to the future with a[Pg 24]firm trust in Providence, and remember that Florence isvery young, and may still be free when you have achieveda position that warrants your asking her father for her, ifyou still wish it.”

His face glowed with joy.

“And would you—would Mr. Heriton ever consent?Ah, madam, you say this to encourage me; but years ofpatient toil would scarcely place me on a footing with yourheiress!”

The lady sighed heavily, and pressed her hands to herthrobbing heart.

“There are many changes in life, and Florence may notbe exempt from misfortunes. I have terrible misgivings.A few years, and Heaven only knows where my childmay be!”

She spoke so low that Frank bent forward to hear her;and, raising herself, she laid her clasped hands in his.

“Frank Dormer,” she said, with solemn impressiveness,“I shall have gone to my grave long ere you turn yourface homeward! I have faith in you—great faith. Somuch, that, were Florence older, I would thankfully seeher yours. But I can do nothing. I have been weak andhelpless all my life. I can only strive for strength to leavemy dear ones to wiser guardianship than mine. But itwill comfort me to hear you promise that, under any circ*mstances,you will protect and befriend my child if sheneeds it.”

“I promise it, on my soul, Mrs. Heriton,” the youngman answered, reverently bending his head.

[Pg 25]

She murmured a blessing, and, seeing that the excitementwas too much for her, he rang for her maid. Itwas their last earthly meeting, as she had predicted; butere Frank quitted the priory at daybreak, a sealed packetwas given to him. It contained a tiny miniature of Florenceand her mother, and on the paper that enveloped itwas faintly traced the word “Remember!”

Mr. Heriton also left the priory that day, on pretextof a little business to attend to at Morpeth; but his ladywas not surprised to hear that he had been seen at thecoach office when the coach was starting for London.

The railways had not then reached Northumberland,and Mrs. Heriton prepared herself for days of suspense,to be endured with what patience she could muster, beforeshe could expect his return, or even a letter to explain thecause of his departure.

On the evening of the second day she was reclining inher easy-chair, with Florence sitting at her feet, talkingsorrowfully of the absent Frank, when a servant announcedthe arrival of two strangers.

“They want master, please, ma’am; and they wouldn’tbe said nay when I told ’em he was out. They’re Lunnonersby the look of ’em.”

“Are they gentlemen, Mark—friends of papa’s?” askedFlorence, her curiosity aroused by the man’s evident perturbation.

Before he could answer, Mrs. Heriton touched herdaughter.

[Pg 26]

“Go away, my dear. And, Mark, show these personsin here.”

Florence looked dubious.

“Let me stay, mamma. You’re not fit to talk to thesepeople, whoever they are; and I will be very reserved anddignified, as Miss Heriton ought to be.”

“No, no!” was the hurried reply. “They come on business.Pray go away!” And she reluctantly withdrew.

Mrs. Heriton knew that her worst forebodings wererealized as soon as her unwelcome visitors entered. Butshe struggled with the sharp pain that shook her feebleframe, and calmly inquired their errand. It was soontold, though with tolerable gentleness, for the men had alittle compassion for the delicate woman who questionedthem.

Mr. Heriton had rendered himself responsible for theliabilities of the company he had joined, to such an extentthat ruin—absolute ruin—must be the consequence. Thesem*n had been empowered to take possession of the priory,and would remain until some arrangements could bemade.

She offered no useless objections, uttered no complaints,but heard them with patience, and gave the necessaryorders to her servants. But when they had quitted theroom, and the miserable wife and mother began to comprehendthe extent of the trouble that menaced her, a bittercry burst from her laboring heart.

“Florence, my child—my poor child!”

[Pg 27]

Her daughter, who was lingering in the next room untilrecalled, heard the shriek, and flew to her mother. Shefound her lying back in her chair, looking so strangelywhite that she hastily summoned assistance.

The female servants gathered around their lady, andtried every known remedy to revive her, but without success.

“A doctor!” cried the half-frantic Florence. “She hasfainted. Oh, if papa were but here!”

One of the strangers, who had stolen in unchecked inthe confusion, put his fingers to Mrs. Heriton’s pulse, thencrept softly away.

“Heaven help that poor young creature!” he whisperedto his companion. “I don’t like to be the first to tell her,but a doctor’s no use. The lady’s dead.”

THE LEGACY.

Eight years had passed over the head of Florence Heritonsince the sudden death of her beloved mother, andthe gay, happy child of fifteen was transformed into thethoughtful, beautiful woman.

Florence had more than fulfilled the promise of herearly girlhood. The slim figure had expanded into well-roundedproportions, and if the rosy color and arch expressionof her features had departed, they were replacedby a softened sweetness and delicacy even more charming.

Mrs. Heriton’s worst misgivings had been realized. Thepriory had passed into other hands. By slow degrees therest of her husband’s property had been dissipated in vainattempts to rebuild his fortunes by wild speculations.Friends had grown weary of dissuading and advising, andhad given up a connection which only exposed them tourgent entreaties for loans to be repaid on the success ofsuch and such an enterprise.

Only Florence clung more closely than ever to thefather whom she loved and pitied; and, fancying that hermother’s death had been in some measure the cause of hisinsatiable restlessness, she tried in every conceivable wayto minister to his comfort, and to wile him from thosethoughts of achieving riches which tormented him.

[Pg 29]

As they grew poorer they had been compelled to economizemore and more, and they were now occupying lodgingsin a very quiet part of Brompton.

There was no thoroughfare through this street, whichended in a mews, so it was indeed very quiet and verydull. From her sitting-room window Florence had listlesslywatched the opposite neighbors till she knew themall and was familiar with their habits—the half-pay majorand his shrewish wife; the invalid lady with her largefamily of boisterous children, and the three old maidswho were patterns of propriety and stiffness to every onein the street. But her eye always rested longest on twoyoung females, daily governesses, who with commendablepunctuality went to and fro every day. How she enviedthem—how she longed to take up her books, too, and toilwith the proud satisfaction of knowing that her meedwould be the glittering coins of which she so often felt anabsolute need.

But Mr. Heriton was prouder than in the days of hisprosperity. He was always dreaming of retrieving thepast by some stroke of good luck, and he insisted that hisheiress should do nothing that would degrade him. Ahint that she was anxious to make some use of her accomplishmentsthrew him into such a fit of passion that hisfrightened daughter never dared repeat it. But it was aweary life for one so young. Without a piano—a luxuryshe had long ago been forced to deny herself—withoutbooks, save those she had read till she wearied of them—forbiddento walk out because it was indecorous for Miss[Pg 30]Heriton to be seen without an attendant—the days wentby as slowly and sadly as Mariana’s in the moated grange.

Mr. Heriton—dressed with punctilious care—alwayssallied forth after he had breakfasted, and did not returnuntil evening, when Florence was expected to be ready toreceive him with smiles. He never asked how she hadspent the long interval; nor did he seem to guess howoften it was passed in weeping over the pages of her onegreat treasure—a little journal her mother had kept, andwhich she jealously guarded from every eye, for was notthe last entry about Frank Dormer?—that dear, kind,gentle Frank, more thought of, more loved and regrettednow than even in the first days of his absence. Mrs.Heriton’s feeble hand had traced these words only a fewhours before she died:

“Thursday, May, 18—.—Mr. Dormer left us yesterdayfor India. Even as I imagined, he loves my darling, andhopes to return some day rich enough to wed her. Heavenbless and prosper him! For he is a good young man,and it comforts and strengthens me to think that there issome one in this wide world who will protect her when Iam gone. Perhaps I am too romantic in hoping this, butso pure a love will surely outlast the sad changes whichI am compelled to dread. My poor Richard—my poorlittle Florence!”

And here the writer had suddenly ceased, as if herfears overcame her. But when Florence grew very sadshe would take out her mother’s journal, ponder over thislast page, and, with hope lighting up her eye and a soft[Pg 31]blush o’erspreading her delicate cheek, whisper to herself:“It will be all right when Frank comes back to me;I shall never know sorrow more when he is here!”

Still, as the years sped on and he returned not, the deferredhope became an additional sorrow. He had writtento Mr. Heriton twice after the tidings of Mrs. Heriton’sdeath had reached him, and each time the packet hadcontained a voluminous inclosure for Florence. Butthese letters were tossed into the fire half read, with suchfierce execrations at the writer’s insolence that she darednot ask the nature of their contents.

At the close of a day in November, when the eveningwas setting in with a misting rain, the dinner hour hadalmost passed without Mr. Heriton making his appearance.Florence had shaken up the pillows of his easy-chair,coaxed the fire into a bright blaze, and rectified allthe omissions of the slatternly servant—who complainedbitterly of the airs miss’ pa gave himself if the tableclothwasn’t quite straight, or the knives dull—and had thengone backward and forward to the window many timesto watch for his coming.

The governesses, shielded with umbrellas and waterproofs,had returned home half an hour previously, andas they stood at the door waiting to be admitted, hadcaught a glimpse of the pretty, anxious face peeringthrough the opposite window. They must have surmisedher fears, for their own blind was raised once or twice,and by and by one of them, with a shawl thrown overher head, tripped out of the house, picked her way across[Pg 32]the muddy road, and, standing under the lamp-post,looked up and waved her hand to attract Florence’s attention.

She threw up the sash immediately, and a cheerful voiceexclaimed:

“Pardonnez, mademoiselle, but you are uneasy—is itnot so? Monsieur your papa has not returned?”

“No, he has not,” was the hurried reply. “Tell me—doyou know if anything has happened to him?”

“No, he was well and safe when I passed through PallMall on my way home. He had just encountered an oldfriend, whom he was warmly greeting.”

Florence’s heart bounded. Could it be Frank Dormer?Unlikely as it was, her spirits rose, and she gratefullythanked the young lady for the information.

“Do not speak of it,” she answered. “The suggestionwas Susan’s, my cousin’s. Good night—good night!”And she sped back to her own cozy fireside.

“How kind to interest themselves about me—a stranger!”murmured Florence. “How I wish papa would letme make their acquaintance! Who can he be stayingwith? An old friend whom he greeted warmly! Ah, wehave so few friends left, it is difficult to guess who thisone can be.”

Another hour had almost elapsed ere her suspense wasended. Mr. Heriton came in, rubbing his hands and complainingof the cold, but evidently in the highest possiblespirits.

“What a wretched fire you keep, my love! Ring for[Pg 33]more coals! Is dinner ready? Have I kept you waiting?”

“A little, sir. I should have been very uneasy aboutyou if one of our neighbors had not kindly assured me ofyour safety.”

Mr. Heriton lifted his eyebrows.

“Rather impertinent, I think, of such people to troublethemselves about our affairs! We must get out of thismiserable hole, my love, as soon as we can. It is scarcelyrespectable.”

He took his seat at the table without waiting for areply, and began uncovering the dishes.

“Nothing but a sole and hashed mutton! Do you callthis a dinner?”

Florence colored painfully.

“Dear papa, I reminded you a week ago that my housekeepingpurse was empty, and Mrs. Jones is—is dissatisfiedat the length of our bill.”

She did not add that she had sold a pair of pearl braceletsto quiet the woman with a partial payment.

Mr. Heriton frowned angrily.

“You must be a very bad manager. However, I shallengage a thorough housekeeper as soon as we leave here,and then there will be a prospect of having a meal fit to sitdown to. Why are there no wineglasses here?” he askedof the girl who waited.

She answered rather saucily that it worn’t no use toput them if there worn’t no wine to drink out of them;[Pg 34]and missus said she shouldn’t order no more till the lastdozen was paid for.

“Quit the room!” Mr. Heriton exclaimed, with dignity.“And tell your mistress to send me her account in themorning. I shall seek other apartments!”

The girl, who had gone through many such scenes, andonly refrained from a pert answer for Florence’s sake,flounced away, and the father and daughter finished theirmeal in silence.

Florence longed to know what had happened to detainhim, but feared to ask, till, as he drew his chair to thefire, he put his arm lovingly across her shoulder.

“My darling, you look pale and thin, and your dressesare shabby; but I shall alter all this soon, and my prettyheiress shall take her proper place in society again. Whodo you think I have seen to-day?”

“I am a miserable guesser. Pray tell me, papa.”

“Have you forgotten Lady Mason, an acquaintance ofyour poor mother?”

“Forgotten her! Oh, no, sir! A tall, thin, serious lady,whose grave looks used to make me dislike her, untilmamma explained that they were occasioned by the badconduct of her only son, who was a very profligate man.”

Mr. Heriton stirred the fire vigorously.

“Pooh! Nonsense! Robert Mason is no Puritan, buthe’s a remarkably clever fellow; a citizen of the world,child, with a marvelous faculty for business. He is thesecretary of a company that is the most prosperous andbest-managed one in London.”

[Pg 35]

“Indeed, sir?” said Florence doubtfully.

“Yes,” he sharply retorted. “Why do you speak in thatsneering, unladylike tone? Do you think I am an idiot tobe duped by any tale I hear? Am I not old enough andexperienced enough to judge for myself whether it is so?I tell you Lieutenant Mason is a clever man, and myvery good friend. How dare you doubt my word!”

“Forgive me, papa; I did not mean to vex you,”pleaded Florence tearfully.

He softened as he saw her regret.

“You are a silly child. My sister Margaret has infectedyou with her own suspicious disposition. My prettyFloy,” he added fondly, “my only blessing—is it not foryou that I strive to regain our lost wealth? Shall I everbe happy until I have restored to you your inheritance?”

Florence slid down on her knees beside him.

“Papa, don’t think of it—don’t strive for what I havefreely yielded. Only love me, and let me work for you,and I ask nothing else.”

He kissed her forehead.

“Pooh, you foolish little thing! You don’t know whatyou are talking about. Our prospects are brightening,and ere long we shall buy back the priory, and my daughtershall keep open house there to all comers to celebrateour return.”

Florence sighed drearily. She had heard this predictedso often! But Mr. Heriton did not notice it, and went ontalking in the same animated manner.

“Mason was delighted to see me. He entered warmly[Pg 36]into my affairs, and has put me in the way of a good thingor two already. You see, my dear, I have been unfortunatehitherto in having to deal with artful persons whotook no real interest in me. Now, Mason is quite a differentman, and will not let me run any risks. Do youcomprehend my meaning?”

“Not quite, papa; but I hope he is all you think him.Does he thoroughly understand”—and now Florencespoke hesitatingly—“that—that we have no ready moneyleft to—to speculate with?”

Mr. Heriton frowned.

“How oddly you express yourself! Of course, Ifrankly told him that all my available capital is locked upin various investments. It is very unfortunate that itshould be so, for I cannot buy some shares he has recommendedme until I can put my hand on a few hundreds.”

Florence thought in her heart that it was quite as wellas it was; but she did not venture to say so, and her fatherrose and paced the room for some few minutes. When hecame back to his seat he said irritably:

“How it wounds me to see you so careless of our interests!Really, Florence, it is cruelly disheartening tofind you so utterly indifferent.”

“But indeed, papa,” she said affectionately, “I havebeen listening to all you have said, and wishing it were inmy power to give you back the priory.”

He drew his chair closer to hers.

“And it is in your power to assist me greatly, Florence.You can let me have the money I require. That legacy[Pg 37]my sister Margaret’s husband left you will be ample, andI will return it ere long.”

Florence grew very pale. Mrs. Margaret Blunden—whoknew and condemned her brother’s follies—had exactedfrom her a promise never to be tempted to touchthis bequest; and her niece had freely given it, for it wastheir little all. She knew but too well that there wasnothing else left to them, and she held it sacred, for itwas her steadfast purpose when Mr. Heriton saw thehopelessness of his speculations to devote it to the purchaseof an annuity for him. The more madly helaunched into fresh schemes the more firmly Florenceclung to this sum of money for his sake. With this, andwhat she could earn, her father’s old age could at least besecured from want.

She had long dreaded such a request, and now summonedup all her fortitude to refuse it.

“Dearest papa, if I had reserved Uncle Blunden’s legacyfor my own uses I would willingly give it to you, but Ihave a special purpose for it. Don’t ask me to part withit, please, for I dare not.”

“Pooh! Florence—this is so childish! I do but ask itas a loan; a few weeks or months at the farthest, andyou shall have it again, doubled.”

Florence was very pale, but her resolution was not tobe shaken.

“I cannot give it you, papa—I cannot, indeed! We havenothing else left, and if this were lost, too, what wouldbecome of us?”

[Pg 38]

Mr. Heriton began to grow angry at her firmness.

“Child, it will not be lost, I tell you. Think what youare doing by your obstinacy; you are depriving me ofwhat may be my last chance of recovering myself. Withthose few hundreds in my possession, I see my way tofortune.”

“But, alas, dear papa, you have thought the same thingso often.”

Mr. Heriton started up and pushed her violently fromhim.

“Unfeeling girl! After all I have risked on your account—thedays and nights of mental anxiety I have endured—theinsults I have submitted to from men whoformerly were ready to humble themselves before me—afterall that I have encountered and borne with for yoursake—yes—all—all for you—you are the first to reproachme with my unfortunate failures.”

“Don’t mistake me so, papa; indeed, I did not mean toreproach you!” said Florence, now in tears at his harshness.

“Prove it—prove it!” he answered vehemently. “Ifyou really repent your injustice, sign me a check on thebanker with whom the money is deposited.”

She had never actually disobeyed any wish of her fatheruntil now, and it was not without a terrible pang that sherepeated her refusal.

“I cannot, sir! Forgive me, but I cannot!”

Mr. Heriton struck his forehead with his hand.

[Pg 39]

“Am I a villain, that my only child refuses to trust me?Go, Florence—leave me; I can bear no more.”

But instead of quitting the room, she threw her armsaround his neck, beseeching him to pardon her if sheseemed unkind.

“I do not doubt you, my own dear papa. How couldI? Are we not all in all to each other? Let me workfor you—let me earn money for you! I should be thehappiest of the happy if your little comforts were purchasedby my exertions. But don’t ask me again forUncle Blunden’s bequest; I have promised Aunt Margaretthat I will not touch it, and you would despise your daughterif she broke her word.”

Mr. Heriton, quivering with passion, put her forciblyfrom him.

“I believe, Miss Heriton, that Mrs. Blunden has onmore than one occasion expressed a wish that you shouldtake up your residence with her. I withdraw my oppositionto her request; you are perfectly at liberty to gowhenever you please. You have forfeited my affectionby your selfish and deceitful conduct; you have chosen tobe guided by an illiberal woman, who has no sisterlyaffection for me. Go to her, and forget that you have afather, as I shall try to forget that I have ever had achild!”

“Papa, you cannot mean this!” she faltered. “Youknow that I would not leave you for Aunt Margaret orany one else.”

[Pg 40]

With freezing politeness he walked to the door andopened it for her.

“This discussion is very painful to me, Miss Heriton; Imust beg that you will not prolong it. As you may departbefore I rise in the morning, I will say my adieusnow.”

Florence tried to answer him, but she had been feelingpoorly all day with a feverish cold; and, thoroughly upsetby the scene she had gone through, she dropped into achair, half fainting.

Greatly alarmed by her pale face and closed eyes, herfather rang the bell and hurried to support her.

“Look up, my darling—speak to me! Great heavens!Have I killed her—have I killed her?”

Florence made an effort to answer him, but was too illto do more than murmur an affectionate “Dear—dearpapa!” And his alarm increasing, he called loudly forassistance. The mistress of the house, who cherisheda great liking for “poor, pretty Miss Heriton,” and dislikedher consequential father, came bustling in and carried heroff to bed, assiduously nursing her during the days thatshe lay in the alternate chills and delirium of a low fever.

Mr. Heriton was extremely attentive during this time,and seemed anxious to atone for the past, fussily hoveringabout his daughter’s bed, and entreating her to tellhim if there was any delicacy she could fancy—a pineapple,for instance, or peaches, or guava jelly—till poorFlorence, who knew that all these things were beyond his[Pg 41]reach, grew worried and unhappy at his thoughtless wayof talking.

Partly to put an end to it she left the room as soon asher weakened limbs would support her, and her longingfor fresh air led her to wrap herself up on the first sunnyday, and stroll languidly up and down the street. Thebright, frosty atmosphere braced and revived her. Therewas even a pale tint of the rose on her cheek as she turnedher steps homeward, but she was so fragile-looking thatone of the governesses, coming briskly from her dailyavocation, stopped, and, after a moment’s hesitation, cameand spoke to her with sympathizing kindness.

“I am afraid you have been ill, Miss Heriton? We hadmissed you from the window. Will you accept my armdown the street?”

Florence took it as frankly as it was offered. The pale,oval face, the smoothly braided brown hair, and neat graydress of this gentlewoman irresistibly attracted her.

“I have been ill, but I am better, thank you; and it issuch a treat to breathe the air once more!”

“Cannot you prolong your stroll as far as the park?The walks are dry, and there are seats where you couldrest for a few minutes if warmly clothed.”

“I should like it much; but papa does not approve ofmy going there alone,” Florence replied, and her newfriend was too delicate to say more.

They sauntered together to the door of Mr. Heriton’slodgings, and then the governess, moved by an impulse ofpity for the young creature who seemed so lonely, said:

[Pg 42]

“My name is Denham—Susan Denham. My cousinand I rarely receive any visitors, but we are generally athome on Thursday afternoon, and if you will come andread or work with us we shall be pleased to see you.”

Florence pressed her hand warmly.

“I shall like it so much. I will be sure to come.”

It was not until she was in her own room, taking offher wraps, that she remembered Mr. Heriton’s exordiumsagainst forming any low connections. She timidly mentionedthe invitation as they sat together in the evening,adding:

“I should much like to go, papa, if you will let me.”

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

“You don’t seem to see the drift of this attention, mydear. These governesses would like the name of havingfinished the education of Miss Heriton, of the priory. Ifthey are really talented women you may engage theirservices. I have noticed that your Italian is imperfect.I will inquire the price of a piano for you.”

Florence wisely raised no objections, but resolved toevade compliance with injunctions that would only involveher in a fresh anxiety. How could she repay thekindness of Miss Denham by asking for lessons for whichshe knew her father had no means of paying? It wassuch things as these which made her miserable andwounded her best feelings.

At first she was half inclined to renounce the visit, buther longing for a change from the monotony of her lifeand thoughts overcame this resolution; and, dressing[Pg 43]carefully on the appointed afternoon, she was just startingfor Miss Denham’s lodging, when a carriage stoppedat the door and Mrs. Margaret Blunden was announced.

Owing to the antagonistic temperaments of the brotherand sister, they rarely met. Mrs. Blunden was as economicalas Mr. Heriton was extravagant, and she hadalways so strenuously opposed and predicted the consequencesof his speculations that her very name was unpleasantin his ears. But his daughter, who recognizedher aunt’s warm, generous nature, really loved her, andwas always pleased when they met.

Mrs. Blunden was a tall, stout, florid lady, so full ofhealth and vigor that Florence looked thinner and palerthan ever as she hurried to meet her. Her aunt, insteadof bestowing upon her the customary embrace, put backthe arms extended to her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t play the hypocrite with me,Florence Heriton!”

Astonished at her manner, her niece drew back and surveyedher wonderingly. Mrs. Blunden threw back hershawl as if its soft folds choked her.

“What had I done that you should willfully deceiveme, child? For your dead mother’s sake I have lovedyou dearly. Was it worth your while to lie to me?”

“Aunt Margaret, you must be laboring under somestrange mistake,” Florence replied.

“A mistake!” was the vehement retort. “Is it a mistakethat you wrote to me yesterday, assuring me that you hadnot and would not meddle with your legacy? Was it[Pg 44]worth while, I ask, to send me this assurance, when youhad withdrawn it some days ago? Attempt no furtherdenials, for I have been to the banker, and seen your letterauthorizing the withdrawal. Hush! I don’t want tohear any evasions. You have deceived me, and I havedone with you forever!”

Before Florence could attempt a reply she had givenher one more reproachful look and swept out of theroom.

THE GOVERNESSES.

For some time after Mrs. Blunden’s carriage rolledaway from the door, Florence remained like one stupefied.As her aunt’s words resounded in her ears, a terrible suspiciongrew upon her that there was truth in the tale, andthat the money was actually withdrawn.

She had a hazy recollection of her father coming toher bedside one evening, when her head was wandering,and asking her to sign a paper he held in his hand. Sheremembered, too, how, when the circ*mstance recurred toher memory, she had asked him what he had wished herto write. Ah, and it was this that troubled her more, farmore, than the loss she had sustained, for, without theslightest hesitation, he had carelessly answered:

“I told you—did I not—that your Aunt Margaret hadsent a note of inquiry? If she had not seen your ownsignature to the reply I have written in your name, weshould have had her fussing here to nurse you.”

Florence, weak and wanting quiet, had felt gratefulto him at the time for his thoughtful consideration. Couldit really be that he had been deceiving her at the momentshe kissed and thanked him thus warmly? Had he takenadvantage of her helplessness to rob her of the bequestshe had guarded so jealously for his sake?

Starting up with an anguished cry, she told herself it[Pg 46]could not be true. Her father, a gentleman by birth andof unimpeachable honor, could not be guilty of this paltrydeed. No, no—it was impossible; she had been foolishto believe it so readily—she should have demanded furtherparticulars from Mrs. Blunden, and not let her gountil she had explained herself. Now nothing remainedbut to wait until Mr. Heriton came home, and thenfrankly tell him what she had heard.

But what a task for a loving daughter! If the accusationwere false, with what just indignation he wouldmeet it! If he had indeed possessed himself of thismoney—— At the mere thought Florence covered herface with her hands, and sank down in her former position.

All idea of visiting Miss Denham was abandoned. Theafternoon glided away, and the servant came in to lay thecloth; but Florence did not seem conscious of her presenceuntil, with a pitying touch on her arm, the girl said:

“You’re not so well, are you, miss? Let me ask missusfor a glass of wine for you; she never begrudges nothingyou has.”

Without waiting for a refusal, she went for the cordial,and stood over the pale, exhausted girl until she had swallowedit. Then Florence laid her head back on the pillows,and tried by perfect stillness to baffle the heavyaching in her head and heart.

Mr. Heriton came in with his usual air of self-importance,a roll of papers in his hand, at which he glancedoccasionally as he muttered some calculations.

[Pg 47]

“Fifty-two and fifty—no, fifty and a half—is—— Ah,my dear, not so well to-day? You must have a few weeksby the sea to set you up. Fifty and a half—— Why,whose is this?”

As he spoke he picked up a silk scarf which his daughterhad seen around Mrs. Blunden’s neck when she cameinto the room.

“It belongs to Aunt Margaret, sir.”

“What! Has she been here?” he asked, with knittedbrows. “I wish you would not encourage her visits! Ihave repeatedly told you that I would rather not haveany communication with such a coarse-minded, unfeelingwoman as my sister has shown herself of late years.”

Florence raised herself, and plunged desperately intothe subject that troubled her.

“My aunt will not come here again, sir; she is veryangry with me.”

“Had she the impertinence to tell you so?”

“She is angry,” Florence went on, in tones that faltereddespite her utmost efforts, “because she thinks Ihave deceived her. She has been—on business of herown, I suppose—to the banker of her late husband,and——”

“Well?” queried her father, finding that she paused;his own face flushing and eyes sinking as they met herwistful gaze.

“And she tells me that my legacy has been drawn out.Oh, papa!” Florence flung herself into his arms, sobbing.[Pg 48]“It is not true, is it? Do tell me that it isn’ttrue!”

“And if it is, what then?” he retorted. “If it had notbeen for my meddling, mischief-making sister you wouldhave known nothing of the circ*mstance until I was preparedto return the loan. You don’t suppose I mean torob you, child, do you?”

Without replying, she turned from him and wept as ifher heart would break. Nothing angered him more thanthe sight of her tears, and he soon worked himself intothe belief that he was an ill-used man.

“Are you mad, Florence, that you go on in this ridiculousmanner? Have done, I say! I’ll not put up with it!I consider that I have an undoubted right, as your fatherand guardian, to invest your money for your benefit. Youmust be of an avaricious disposition, or you would not actin this way.”

Still she made no reply, but her silent grief eventuallysoftened him, and, sitting down beside her, he said, withmore feeling:

“My dear, dear child, don’t weep like this! I cannotbear to see it; and, indeed, my love, you are wrong toentertain such fears—you are, really.”

“Papa, it was our little all. It was a provision for yourold age,” she murmured. “While that was safe I couldbear the anxiety of the present.”

“I know, dear—yes, I know. I did not mean what Isaid when I called you avaricious. You have been the tenderest,the most self-denying of daughters to me. Heaven[Pg 49]bless you for it! And don’t—don’t mistrust me, Florry,my darling! I meant no wrong to you in taking thatmoney. I saw such a splendid opportunity of doubling it—foryou, love—for you. And it is as you say, our all—ourlast venture. Surely Heaven will not let this tinybark be wrecked, like the rest!”

Startled by the passionate anguish in his broken accents,Florence looked in his face. For the first time itwore a frightened aspect: for the first time his ownsanguine faith in his success was shaken.

“I should go mad,” he muttered, “if Mason failed meand I was obliged to know that I had ruined my child pastredemption. Florence,” he added, almost wildly, “don’ttorture me with doubts and reproaches. Mason has assuredme that the money is safe, and he would not deceiveme; he dare not, I tell you—he dare not!”

“Hush, papa!” said Florence gently. “We’ll nevermention it again. I’m sure you meant well, so we’ll waitand hope.”

His looks cleared.

“Yes, yes, love, we’ll hope. Now you are my kind, sensiblechild once more. We’ll hope, Florry; and when thehope becomes a certainty, and we go back to Northumberland,my darling shall have a tiara of pearls for her prettybrown hair, from her fond father. How well such anornament would become you! Which would you likebest—pearls alone, or mixed with sapphires? Not talkabout it now, do you say? Very well, love; but it shallnot be forgotten.”

[Pg 50]

Florence waited on her father that night with a kindof protecting tenderness in her voice and manner. Thislast rash act of his had set the seal on their ruin, and shemust nerve herself to that darksome future which wasinevitably coming upon them. He had no one but her tocare for him. Then she must be brave and energetic, andprepare herself for the worst. Taking up the occupationof her new acquaintances over the way seemed the mostfeasible method of helping herself when the crash cameand Mr. Heriton was forced to acknowledge the necessity.And Florence waited impatiently till the week cameround and she could call upon them.

Susan Denham was alone when she entered, but hercordial greeting had scarcely been spoken when her cousinjoined them. She was a tall, handsome woman, two orthree years Florence’s senior, with commanding deportmentand an indescribable fascination about her, whichshe used to laughingly declare was inherited from herParisian mother.

Susan was thrown in the shade beside her handsome,imperious cousin; yet there was something so sweet, or,rather, so good and true in her every look and gesture,that to know her was to love her. You felt instinctivelythat she was to be depended upon; and that, although noscriptural quotations ever passed her lips, her religion wasthe guiding principle of her blameless life.

After she had taken Florence’s hat and mantle, andgiven her the softest seat in the bright little room, shesat smilingly by, while Julia talked to their visitor. Florence[Pg 51]was quietly amused at the candor with which, aftertheir mutual reserve wore off, both the cousins confessedthat they had long wished to make her acquaintance.

“Not from precisely similar motives,” Julia acknowledged.“I wanted to know you because you were evidentlya lady, intelligent and accomplished; while Susan’smotives were——”

She stopped herself in a little confusion, but Florencefinished the sentence for her.

“Benevolent ones, were they not? She saw me verylonely and friendless, and was eager to do me good. It isprecisely because I think she will help me that I havecome to you now.”

Susan Denham dropped her work in her lap, and listenedwith grave and encouraging attention.

The blood rushed to Florence’s cheeks and temples, butshe would not play the coward, and, after a very shortpause, she said:

“I must frankly tell you that I fear a change for theworse in our circ*mstances. I must work for papa andmyself, and—I want to be a governess.”

Susan Denham sighed, and Julia impulsively exclaimed:

“Oh, choose any life but ours, Miss Heriton! You littleknow the slights you would have to contend with—allyour best feelings trampled on—all your aspirationscrushed beneath the contempt or indifference of yoursordid employers. You must be a lady in appearance, ineducation, in tastes and sympathies, or you are not fitto be the instructress of their children. But you must[Pg 52]not consider yourself their equal; you must neither associatewith them, nor expect consideration from them;and, above all,” she added, with a bitter laugh, “you mustnot permit their sons to fall in love with you.”

“On the other hand,” said Susan gently, “you are fairlypaid for your labor. By consistent conduct you cannotfail to win the respect and esteem of your employers; thechildren you teach often become very dear to you, and,on the whole, the hardships of a governess’ lot are notgreater than those of any other profession.”

“Look on this picture, and on that,” laughed Julia,“and then say, Miss Heriton, which strikes you most forcibly.Both are colored with truth, but I think mine isaccording to the rule, and Susan’s forms the exception.”

“If I were embarking in this new undertaking solelyon my own account,” Florence replied, after a few minutes’consideration, “I think your sketch of its difficultieswould frighten me. But it is for papa; and howevertoilsome or wearying the day might prove, I should beable to return to him at night, should I not?”

Susan Denham pressed the hand Florence had laid onhers, as she instinctively turned to read encouragement inthose soft brown eyes.

“You will succeed, I think. A work begun in a rightspirit rarely fails. Now tell us what we can do to helpyou.”

“Yes, speak openly,” added Julia. “If it is a decidedthing, I withdraw my opposition, and will do my best toget you pupils. Shall you teach under your own name?”

[Pg 53]

Florence’s face flushed this time with a little pride.

“I had not thought of that. Perhaps papa would notapprove of it, and yet I should not like to assume a falseone.

“No slurs upon me, if you please,” cried Julia gayly.“But that surprised look proclaims your innocence.Know, then, that although at home I am simply JuliaDenham, at the houses of my pupils I am La DemoiselleJulie, and my French is far more correct than my English.Susan shakes her head at me, but ladies will have foreigngovernesses if they can get them, and they pay themmuch more liberally than their own countrywomen. Thesubstitution of Mademoiselle for plain Miss pays for mykid gloves and collars.”

“Miss Heriton, I fancy, will be content with her ownEnglish appellation,” said Susan, who never approved ofanything that savored of trickery. And she began toquestion and counsel Florence with as much tact as kindness.

It was then arranged that she should study assiduouslythose subjects in which she knew herself deficient, andavail herself of the cousins’ piano to get up her long-neglectedmusic. While Susan went in search of amanual which she thought would prove useful, Julia carelesslyobserved:

“You are intimate with Lieutenant Mason, are younot?”

Surprised at the question, Florence answered:

“Papa is; but I have only seen him once at his mother’s.[Pg 54]What made you ask me?” she demanded, her fearsaroused directly.

“I don’t know; mere curiosity, I believe. LieutenantMason is distantly related to a family in which I teach,and I have seen him occasionally—that is all, Miss Heriton.”

“I wish I did know more of him,” said Florence anxiously.“I wish I knew whether he is to be trusted.”

Julia looked at her with surprise, not unmingled withdispleasure.

“Of course he is! Who doubts Lieutenant Mason’shonor?”

“I’m so glad to hear you say this!” Florence cried joyfully.“Papa has had some business transactions withhim, and I could not help feeling uneasy as to the results.”

“The lieutenant would not be very much pleased if heknew the suspicions you entertain,” said Julia. “At least,I should think not.”

“If I have done him injustice, I am very sorry,” wasthe earnest reply.

She was heard with a laughing reminder that it is thefate of public men to hear themselves maligned; and withthis retort Julia’s annoyance seemed to vanish, for as hercousin reëntered the room she began to talk gayly ofsomething else.

AN UNPLEASANT ERRAND.

Two or three weeks passed away, during which Florencestudied assiduously. She had an incentive to exertionin her father’s haggard looks and increasing uneasiness.Although he tried to hide it from her, he was evidentlydissatisfied with the progress of affairs.

“Mason assured me that I should receive interest onthe money invested, and have a certain number of sharesmade over to me before this time,” he said, upon oneoccasion. “But nothing is done, and he puts me off withvexatious excuses. Not but what it’s all right, my dear,only I’m a little impatient, and shan’t feel easy until thatlegacy is restored to you. Where is your Aunt Margaret?”he added abruptly.

“She has gone to Nice for the remainder of the winter,I believe, sir. I saw her name among the arrivals there,in a newspaper you brought home.”

“Humph! I should like her to know that you wereinnocent of deceiving her in that matter of the legacy,Florence.”

Florence passed her hand lovingly down the face thatwas aging so fast.

“Never mind that, papa, dear. Aunt Margaret does notretain her wrath long. I thought we agreed to talk of itno more.”

[Pg 56]

He sighed, took his hat, and went out for his customarylounge about the city; and his daughter, after writing along Italian theme, went over to Miss Denham’s rooms topractice for an hour.

Susan had given her a key, with injunctions to use itwhenever she had time or inclination. Accordingly sheentered without ceremony, and to her great surprise shefound Julia lying on the sofa, sobbing convulsively.

Before Florence could retreat she had looked up andseen her. With the strong will of a proud woman, shesat up directly and composed herself.

“My dear Miss Heriton, don’t go away. I have had toexcuse myself from lessons this morning, for my headaches intolerably. I’m fit for nothing but to lie here andlisten while you play soft, dreamy melodies.”

“First let me bathe your temples with cold water, andpull down the blinds,” said Florence, proceeding to carryout her kind intentions without heeding the faint refusal.And Julia grew calmer under those soft, gentle hands thattouched her hot brows so tenderly.

“You are very good-natured, Miss Heriton, and youare something more—you are an excellent sympathizer.Susan is too good to be that.”

“Rather a doubtful compliment this—is it not?” askedFlorence, with a smile.

“I did not intend it for one at all. I only gave honestutterance to my feelings. I mean that Susan, never beingtempted to step out of the regular routine she has made[Pg 57]for herself, cannot understand those who stand less firmlynor pity their weaknesses.”

“I have formed a very different estimate of your cousin’scharacter,” said Florence, rather surprised at the toneof Julia’s remarks. “I should think she was very pitifulto all who need her compassion.”

“Yes; if any one had actually done wrong, Susan wouldbe an invaluable friend—so merciful, yet so just. Butshe cannot sympathize with my chafings against all thepetty annoyances of poverty. If I were to say how I longto be rich, to wear pretty dresses and jewelry, to ride, todrive, and have no contemptible cares about the fewpounds, more or less, which I spend, she would answerwith something about being content with what we havegot. And I’m not contented. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Florence, looking at her thoughtfully. “I,too, often wish to be independent of the wearing anxietyabout money that oppresses all those who have not enoughof it. But I don’t think it is for my own sake—it is onpapa’s account.”

Julia turned her head away.

“Neither do I crave riches solely for myself,” she said,in low tones. “But I’m not as free from ambition as youare, and so I’ll not deny it. Sit down, Miss Heriton,will you? I want to talk to you—I want you to tell mewhat sort of a person Lady Mason is.”

“A very sad, serious lady outwardly, but her dependentsand the cottagers near her residence adore her.”

“Is your expression, ‘sad and serious,’ a polite way of[Pg 58]hinting that she is a stern and unforgiving mother?” askedJulia, after a short silence.

“Certainly not. I have heard mamma say that her onlyfault as a parent was overindulgence to a very recklessand undutiful son.”

Julia shivered and put her hands to her head, affirmingthat the pain was becoming intense again. Yet the nextmoment she resumed her questioning remarks.

“How bitterly you speak of this handsome lieutenant!Do you know that half the ladies who know him arecontesting for the honor of his hand?”

“I know nothing more of him than I have already toldyou,” Florence rather frigidly replied. “I am not awarethat I spoke of Lieutenant Mason more harshly than Ishould of any one else who has been so bad a son to anexcellent mother. I think I will reserve my practicing tillto-morrow, Miss Denham.”

Somehow, the conversation was distasteful to her, andshe was glad to make her escape. She detected beneathJulia’s apparent carelessness a deep interest in all thatconcerned this young man—an interest she was not disposedto foster by listening while she dilated upon hisfascinations.

Julia made no further efforts to detain her; but, sayinga cold adieu, drew her shawl over her face, and Florencereturned home.

She had not had time to settle to any occupation whenMr. Heriton came in, breathless and excited. He sorarely returned before evening that his daughter expressed[Pg 59]her surprise. But, taking no notice of her, he opened hisdesk and began to write a note. After several attempts,which his impatience and shaking hand rendered abortive,he succeeded in composing one to his satisfaction. Whenit was finished and addressed, he turned to Florence.

“My dear, you must go out for me; you can take a cab.I want this note delivered—personally, remember—toLieutenant Mason, at his chambers, in the Albany.”

“Papa!” exclaimed the astonished girl, looking fromthe letter he held toward her, to his agitated face.

“Yes, Florence—yes, it must be done. There are rumorsafloat in the city that perplex and frighten me. Yes,I’ll be candid with you—they frighten me. And I musthave his assurance that they are false before I can rest.”

“But, dear papa, would it not be better to have an interviewwith him yourself?”

Mr. Heriton struck his hands together.

“I cannot get it, child. I have been to his chamberstwo—three times, and the cringing, fawning, lying servanttells me always that he is out, although others are admitted.They are weary, I suppose, of the sight of theold man who haunts them so persistently. But I cannotrest, Florence—I cannot rest until I know that our moneyis safe.”

She tried to soothe him—to persuade him to regard thisventure as a mistake that it were better to forget; for herown conviction of the uselessness of hoping had long beendeeply rooted. But he would not listen, and his excitementincreased.

[Pg 60]

“I’ll not believe that he has played me false. Mason’sa gentleman and a man of honor. It’s I who am to blamefor doubting him. Only take this note to him; insist onseeing him, and explain and smooth away my folly inbeing so fearful. Remind him that I am old, and havebeen terribly tried and played upon by designing men.He will listen to you, Florry, my darling, and my mindwill be at ease. Only go, dear, quickly!”

It was impossible to refuse this pitiful appeal, and,though much against her will, Florence went. She didnot take a cab, for the simple reason that she had notsufficient silver in her purse to pay for it, but walked asbriskly as she could, devising as she went the best way ofaddressing the lieutenant so as to draw from him thetruth.

The manservant who answered her inquiry for his masterbore out Mr. Heriton’s description of him, for hiscountenance was a villainous one. But he was extremelyrespectful, begging the young lady to take a chair in anantechamber while he went to see whether LieutenantMason was in.

Florence, who declined his civility and remained standing,had heard voices in an inner room. These werehushed when the man entered, and then some one audiblyasked:

“Good-looking, did you say?”

“One of the prettiest creatures I’ve seen for a longtime, sir,” she heard the man answer.

Instinctively she drew her veil over the face that was[Pg 61]crimsoning with resentment, and stepped nearer the door.But the man was already returning to ask her name.

She gave it with reluctance, and while awaiting theissue the door behind her opened, and a gentleman, whosebronzed face was half concealed by an Oriental-lookingbeard, entered the room, glanced at its veiled occupant,bowed, and retreated to the window.

The lieutenant’s servant came back with his fawningcivility fast changing into insolence.

“My master really cannot see you to-night, miss. Heis particularly engaged. You can leave a message if youlike.”

In the presence of a stranger Florence felt herself compelledto curb her indignation at this rude treatment.

“Take this note to Lieutenant Mason,” she said haughtily,“and tell him that I am waiting for a reply to it. Imust again request an interview with him.”

The man began to mutter something, but she checkedhim with an imperious “Deliver my message, sir!” And,a scowl settling down on his face, he obeyed.

The stranger had turned round at the sound of hervoice, and was eying her so keenly that she was glad tobend over the leaves of a pamphlet lying on the tablebefore her to avoid his scrutiny.

In a very short space of time the man came back,saucier than ever.

“My master really cannot see you to-night, Miss Heriton,so it’s no use your staying. I’m to tell you that he’llwrite or come to you in the morning.”

[Pg 62]

Too angry to trust her voice to reply, Florence instantlyquitted the room. As she passed through the doorshe heard the strange gentleman eagerly demand:

“Who did you say? What did you call that lady?”

The answer was inaudible. But Florence, in passionateanger that her name should be repeated by the lips of thevile pander to his master’s vices, clenched her hands, andwished herself a man, that she might punish his insolenceas it merited.

Then a feeling of annoyance at her father’s thoughtlessnessin exposing her to such rudeness came across her;but that was quickly forgotten as she recollected howutterly her errand had failed, and the disappointment hewould suffer in consequence.

Pausing and retracing her steps, she looked up at thebrightly lighted windows, and began to ask herself if shehad been sufficiently urgent in her efforts to see the lieutenant.As she thought this, some one came from thehouse. It was the stranger; and, ashamed to have beenseen by any one lingering there, Florence hurried away,nor relaxed her quick pace till, with sinking heart, sheentered the dull street where her father was anxiouslyawaiting her.

SHATTERED HOPES.

It would be as useless as unpleasant to dilate on Mr.Heriton’s disappointment and anger when Florence relatedthe issue of her visit to Lieutenant Mason. He hadanticipated so much from the interview that his vexationwas excessive. Perhaps he scarcely acknowledged tohimself the whole of the motives which influenced himwhen he insisted that his daughter should be the bearerof his note; but certain it is that he had secretly hopedmuch from the effect that he expected Florence’s beautyand grace would have upon the gay and dissipated lieutenant.

His angry speeches, full of childish petulance, wereheard in pitying silence, for Florence clearly saw whatthe end must be, and in her deep compassion for the utterwreck of his hopes forgot her annoyance at the folly withwhich he had suffered himself to be duped by every knavewith whom he came in contact. But her forbearing affectionwould not calm his restless misery, and when twodays elapsed without Lieutenant Mason fulfilling hispromise of calling or writing, Mr. Heriton took to hisbed, worn out with suspense and anxiety.

“You must go to him again, my darling,” he said imploringly,as Florence stood by his bedside, trying tosoothe him into a calmer mood. “Don’t draw back and[Pg 64]look at me so! I must know how I am situated withhim. If I were but young and strong as I used to be, Iwould take him by the throat and compel him to refundthe money. Go to him, Florence. He is making thousandsby this company; he has acknowledged as muchmore than once; and our pitiful hundreds are nothing inhis eyes. Go and bid him return them. I know of a betterinvestment, and you shall yet have your legacydoubled, my poor child.”

“Dear papa, have patience!” pleaded his daughter. “Hemay come yet. If not, were it not better to submit ourselvesto the loss?”

“Pshaw! You have preached these words to me till Iam sick of hearing you! Go to Lieutenant Mason. Atsuch an early hour as this he must be at home; and ifyou choose to persevere, I am sure you will be able tosee him.”

“But, dear papa, remember how uselessly I strove before,”said Florence, shrinking from the hateful task.

He started up in bed, every limb quivering with rage.

“Ungenerous girl, have you no feeling for me? Willyou let me lie here and die with the anguish and miseryof such uncertitude? But I am a fool to ask you this.What do you care for my sufferings? If you dared youwould tell me, as my sister Margaret does, that they aremy own fault. Leave the room, that I may dress, anddo my errand myself!”

“You are too weak to attempt it, sir,” cried Florence,[Pg 65]restraining him as he was about to rise. “Only tell mewhat you wish me to say, and I will go.”

Pacified by this assurance, he gave her ample directions;and, hurrying on her hat and mantle, she trod theway to the Albany once more. She would not think ofherself or of the annoyance she underwent on the formeroccasion, but passed steadily on, intent only upon gettingsuch an explanation from the lieutenant as should set thevexed question of the money at rest forever.

“He will palter with me, perhaps,” she said to herself,“or try to put me off with vague promises, as he has donepoor papa; but I must be quietly firm, and refuse to besatisfied with anything but the plain facts of the case.Papa said I was not persevering enough before. He shallnot have to say this again. For his sake I will be wary,and obstinate even to rudeness.”

Her courage rose with the occasion, and when her tapat the outer door of the chambers was answered with acareless “Come in,” she stepped forward resolutely.

The servant of Lieutenant Mason was sitting at thetable, looking over some accounts. He stared at her insolently,but neither rose nor offered her a seat.

“Your master has not fulfilled his promise of visitingor writing to us,” said Florence. “I will thank you to tellhim that I am here. I will not detain him long, but mybusiness is too urgent to be delayed again.”

The man dipped his pen in the ink, and answered, withan impertinent sneer:

“Dear me! Ladies are always in such a hurry that[Pg 66]everything must serve their turn. But unfortunately,miss, you’ll have to wait, whether you like it or no, formaster’s not in.”

“Then I will wait till he returns,” she said firmly.

A sinister smile passed over his face.

“Well, really, miss, it won’t be worth your while, for Iheard him say as he went that he should contrive to makeBrompton in his round. He’s more than one person waitingthere to see him—some near neighbors of yours, forinstance.”

Disdaining to notice this insinuation, Florence hesitateda moment.

“Are you quite sure that he intended calling this morning?”

“Positive,” the man answered glibly. “He says, sayshe——”

Before he could finish his sentence, the door of theinner room was thrown open. The foreign-looking strangerFlorence had seen on her previous visit emerged fromit, and, seizing the fellow by the collar, shook him till heshrieked for mercy, and then flung him on the ground.

“Scoundrel!” he exclaimed furiously. “Villain withouta heart! Did you forget that there was some one athand to refute your falsehoods? Has not your wretchedmaster worked evil enough, that you make use of hisname to hatch more?”

The man cowered in the corner where he had beenthrown—shielding his head with his arm, as if he fearedanother attack.

[Pg 67]

“’Pon my word, sir,” he answered servilely, “’pon myword, you are too hard upon me—you are indeed! I’monly doing as I was bid.”

With a contemptuous execration, the gentleman turnedfrom him to Florence, whom his unexpected appearancehad stupefied. His voice lowered to tones of the utmostgentleness and compassion as he addressed her.

“I regret that I have alarmed you, but this rascal’saudacity put me into such a passion that I could not controlmyself. I am sorry to say that he has been willfullydeceiving you.”

She could not speak; but her startled glance wanderedfrom his bronzed face to the crouching figure of the servant,who had gathered himself farther from the powerfularm of the indignant stranger.

“Can you bear to hear the truth,” he asked, “even if itbe worse—far worse, perhaps, than you have ever anticipated?”

“Yes,” she faltered; “yes.”

Studiously averting his looks so that he might not distressher by appearing to watch the effect of his words,he said slowly:

“Lieutenant Mason is no longer in London—in fact, hehas quitted England. Coming here this morning to takepossession of these chambers, which their former tenantvacated yesterday, I accidentally learned that he had leftthe country, solely, I fear, to avoid the reproaches ofthe unfortunates who have invested their money in thebankrupt company of which he was secretary. And this[Pg 68]rascal, it appears to me, has been bribed to tell spurioustales accounting for his absence, until he is beyond all fearof pursuit.”

Long as Florence had foreboded evil, the shock washard to bear when it actually came; and, putting out herhand, she tried to grasp at the table for support. Thestranger was by her side directly. He placed her in achair, and fetched her a glass of water. When he cameback with it she had covered her pale face with her handsand found relief in tears. Her poor father! How wouldhe bear these tidings?

Ashamed to have given way to her emotions beforeindifferent persons, Florence silently rejected the water,bowed her thanks, and, drawing her veil more closely overher features, rose to depart; but the gentleman attemptedto detain her.

“You are not fit to go alone. This news, which itgrieved me to tell, has quite overcome you. Pardon me,but have you no friend I could send for whose presencewould be a comfort to you now?”

She shook her head, and made another attempt to passhim.

“Your father?” he said hesitatingly. “Your father?”

Her tears burst forth afresh, and she could no longercontrol them. With nerves weakened by constant anxiety,and harassed by Mr. Heriton’s incessant calls uponher time and sympathy, she was ill fitted to bear this confirmationof her worst fears.

Clasping her hands, she murmured:

[Pg 69]

“Poor, dear papa! Who shall tell him this?”

And then struggled for composure till her sobs becamehysterical.

She was in no condition to walk home, and at the commandof the stranger the lieutenant’s servant fetched acab, to which, with the respectful tenderness of a brother,he supported her trembling steps.

She tried to command her voice to thank him, but invain. He understood her, however.

“Hush—hush! I have done nothing. I came too late.But if Godfrey Mason ever crosses my path, I will avengeyour wrongs, Miss Heriton, and my own!”

Startled by the emphasis with which he spoke, and acertain something in his tones which thrilled through herand awoke long-forgotten memories, Florence for the firsttime looked fully in his face; but those knitted brows, thatdark skin, and the profuse masses of curly beard andmustache which covered the lower part of it, baffled herendeavor to recall when and where she had seen it before.And the gentleman, as soon as he caught her quick, eagerglance, drew his low-crowned hat down over his eyes,and, signaling the driver to proceed quickly, retreated, asif desirous of avoiding recognition.

Once on her way home, the bitter energy of his lastwords and all else concerning him was forgotten in themore pressing thought of how Lieutenant Mason’s flightwas to be revealed to her father.

She grew sick with dread as she pictured the state ofmind into which he would be thrown when no longer able[Pg 70]to delude himself with false hopes. Dismissing the vehicleat the end of the street, she walked slowly toward her ownresidence; but when her hand would have raised theknocker her heart sank again, and, crossing the road, shewent to the lodgings of Susan Denham.

Here she could bathe her eyes, and, perhaps, from thatkind friend’s sympathy and counsels, gain strength tobear with her father’s passionate grief.

The cousins were sitting at needlework when she entered—Julia’stasteful fingers devising new trimmingsfor one of the pretty Parisian costumes so becoming toher fine figure, while Susan was altering one of her graymerinos for an orphan girl in whom she was interested.

They both arose, uttering expressions of concern, whenthey saw the jaded looks of their visitor.

“Something has happened!” cried Julia, with a startledair. “Something terrible! What is it—what is it?”

“Give her time to recover herself,” interposed her moreconsiderate cousin. “Sit down, dear Miss Heriton, andlet me unfasten your cloak.”

But Julia, as if goaded by some fear that made patientwaiting an impossibility, put her aside, and, throwing herselfon her knees beside the silent Florence, seized hercold hands in her own feverish palms.

“Speak at once, Miss Heriton! Let us know the worst!You have been out—you have heard tidings which concernus—me—as well as yourself, else you would not behere!”

“I am more selfish than you imagine,” was the reply.[Pg 71]“I came to Susan, because I am in great distress. I hope—ah,I hope it is a trouble which will not affect you.”

But there was a doubt and a question in Florence’sunsteady accents, and Julia felt it.

“Tell me where you have been and what you haveheard,” she said, so imperiously that Susan, with a lookof grave reproof, touched her shoulder.

“I have been to the Albany—to Lieutenant Mason’schambers.”

“Ha! To tell him your doubts of his honor and honesty,”cried Julia, rising to her feet and looking proudlydown upon Florence’s sad face, “to hear him indignantlyrefute your suspicions, and come away ashamed of yourinjustice. That is why you are here, is it not? You cometo us to confess how cruelly you have wronged him.”

Were there no gathering doubts of his truth in her ownhighly strained voice? No inward conviction that shewas about to hear some appalling truth making itselfvisible in her dilated eye, her quivering lips? Frightenedat the insight she suddenly gained into this troubled heart,and at the misery she must inflict here as well as at home,Florence essayed to rise, but those hot hands held herdown.

“She will not answer!” cried Julia wildly. “She is torturingme, and she knows it! Miss Heriton, what hashappened? Tell me!” she added fiercely. “You shalltell me! Is he dead?”

Susan again interposed.

[Pg 72]

“Julia, you are terrifying Miss Heriton! Are youmad?”

But the kneeling girl only repeated the question: “Is hedead?” and the depth of terror in her dark orbs constrainedFlorence to reply:

“If you mean Lieutenant Mason, he lives; but he hasfled the country to avoid his creditors.”

“Who fabricated this?” demanded her startled hearer.

“It was told to me in the presence of his manservant,who did not contradict it.”

Without speaking another word, Julia Denham passedinto her bedroom, and in little more than a minuteemerged in her walking attire. Her face was crimson,her lips tightly compressed, and from the wild expressionof her eyes Florence shrank with terror.

Susan threw herself before her cousin.

“Dear Julia, where are you going?”

Receiving no reply, she cried more urgently than before:

“Julia, what are you about to do? What is this LieutenantMason to you?”

“My husband!” she answered, as she repulsed her gentlecousin, and swept proudly from the room.

DESERTED.

With a silent grasp of the hand, Susan and Florenceparted, for the latter did not feel that her intimacy warrantedany inquiries into Julia’s affairs, and she was consciousthat she had stayed from her father’s side too longalready. He had been sleeping for some time, the servanttold her when she entered the house; and she never knewwhether he thoroughly comprehended the faltering taleshe told him when he awoke, for the illness he had longstriven to keep at bay now prostrated him, and he layfor weeks in a distressing state of weakness. From thishe slowly recovered, beneath the unwearying care of hisdaughter; but his mind was irreparably affected, and hismemory of the past so confused that it is difficult to saywhat he remembered and what he had forgotten.

The lonely Florence bore up bravely through this timeof trial. If saddening thoughts of those happy days whenshe wandered hand in hand with Frank Dormer besidethe Coquet ever came to trouble her, they were quicklybanished; and even her mother’s journal, which had solong fed her hopes of his return, was laid at the bottom ofher desk, that she might not be tempted to read and ponderover it.

As soon as Mr. Heriton was sufficiently recovered tobear the change which his medical man prescribed as[Pg 74]absolutely necessary for his complete restoration tohealth, Florence went to consult her friend Susan Denham.She must choose some locality for her new homewhere there was a prospect of employment, and in herutter inexperience she gladly availed herself of Susan’sgreater knowledge of the world.

They had seen very little of each other during theselast few weeks, for Miss Denham had increased the numberof her pupils, and was now rarely to be found athome. She had stolen over sometimes to inquire afterMr. Heriton; and once, when he was considered in danger,had insisted on sharing his daughter’s night watch;but she looked so harassed and fatigued that Florencewould not permit her to do this again. The name of hercousin never passed her lips; and though surprised at herreticence Florence was too delicate not to imitate it.

With the shrewdness and tact which made her an invaluableadviser, Miss Denham had already thought overthe half-formed plans of her friend, and was ready toenter into and assist them as soon as the subject wasbroached.

“You will want to get a few miles from town, and yourlodgings must be cheap, yet respectable; the owners of thehouse must also be persons with whom you could safelyleave Mr. Heriton during your own enforced absences.”

“Certainly. But will it not be difficult to procure sucha home? I have looked down the columns of the dailypapers to try and find something to suit us, until I amquite tired of the useless endeavors.”

[Pg 75]

Susan smiled slightly.

“Dear Miss Heriton, you must not expect too much.The ‘moderate terms’ of advertisers would still be, Ifear, far beyond your limited means.”

“I will not be too particular,” cried Florence, coloring.“Indeed, it is only for papa’s sake that I am anxious tohave rooms that will not too forcibly remind him of ourchanged fortunes. In fact, I must be prudent. Some one—Ithink it must have been Aunt Margaret—sent meanonymously a hundred pounds soon after papa was takenill. Carefully as I have husbanded this sum, the daily expensesare fast reducing it; so, you see, I must learn toeconomize and make no wry faces about it.”

This was said so cheerfully that Susan gave her a littleapproving nod, and went on:

“I have been thinking that you might settle in the neighborhoodof Kirton-on-the-Thames. It is a pleasantlysituated market town, and I have written to a lady livingin the vicinity whose children I used to teach. Mrs. Railtonis in want of a morning governess, and will try you onmy recommendation.”

“And must I go and look for lodgings in that neighborhood?”asked Florence, her heart failing her at the ideaof the task.

“I think not, if you can content yourself with the accommodationyou can have at a cottage about a mile fromMrs. Railton’s villa. The old couple it belongs to areeccentric, but thoroughly kind-hearted; and Mrs. Bicknursed me so tenderly through an attack of scarlet fever[Pg 76]that I am always grateful to her, and have more thanonce spent my summer holidays beneath her roof. Doyou think you can content yourself in a tiny country cottage,Miss Heriton?”

“Dear Susan, you shall see that I will put aside all myfastidious likes and dislikes. Indeed, I am more inearnest than you seem to imagine,” said Florence gravely.

“I do not doubt your earnestness; I only ask myselfhow you will bear with the difficulties of the career youhave chosen—with the requirements of exacting mothers,the obstinacy or pettishness of their children. Can you,who have been accustomed to see yourself obeyed, learnto pay respect and obedience to persons in rank and educationfar your inferiors?”

“It is for papa’s sake. Surely I shall never forget that!Don’t dishearten me, Susan,” poor Florence pleaded.

“I do not wish to do so; only it is necessary that youshould thoroughly comprehend what you are about toundertake.”

“Well, on the score of the cottage you may be easy,”was the reply; “for our apartments over the way areneither so elegant nor spacious that we shall have causeto regret them; besides which, Mrs. Jones daily muttersin my hearing that she can’t be bothered much longer withthe trouble of sick people.”

As Susan was writing a note to Mrs. Bick, and jottingdown a few hints for the journey likely to be useful tosuch inexperienced travelers, she suddenly looked up toinquire:

[Pg 77]

“Have you written to your aunt, Mrs. Blunden, lately?Will she not interfere to prevent the necessity of thisstep?”

“I think not—in fact, I scarcely wish it. I have writtenand thanked her for the timely assistance of the bank note,but I could not see papa subjected to her harsh speechesnow that he is no longer able to defend himself,” Andtears sprang into Florence’s eyes at the mere thought.

The note was finished, and the friends were partingwith a grateful “Thanks, dear Susan!” and a fervent“Heaven prosper you, Miss Heriton!” when a step washeard on the stair.

Such a slow, listless step, as if the very exertion ofdragging the weary limbs along was too toilsome to beendured. And then the door opened, Julia Denham camein, and Florence could scarcely repress a cry of pityingastonishment.

The well-rounded figure had sharpened and wasted,the bright color had fled her cheek, and her mouth, despiteits resolute set, was drawn down at the corners, andevery feature lined with suffering. Her fine, dark eyeswere fuller, brighter than of old, but the light in them wasso hard and fierce that those who encountered her quickglances involuntarily shrank from them.

Susan gave a sigh, and murmured to Florence: “Go,dear—go!” But before she could move to obey, Julia’seyes fell upon her. Drawing herself up more proudlythan ever, she disdainfully rejected the hand Miss Heritonproffered, saying:

[Pg 78]

“Have you come to exult over me? Has Susan beenregaling your ears with all the last items of scandal?”

“I have told Miss Heriton nothing,” her cousin quietlyobserved. “Do me more justice than to imagine that Ishould make your position a subject for gossip.”

“My position!” Julia angrily repeated. “What do youintend Miss Heriton to understand by that expression?Is she to join the throng of my accusers who dare to hintthat I am no wife? That I invent the tale to cover myshame? As if,” she added, with increasing bitterness, “asif it were not the greatest disgrace of all to have giventhis hand”—dashing it violently against the table—“to afalse and scheming profligate!”

Feeling the awkwardness of remaining, Florence repeatedher farewells, and had nearly reached the doorwhen Julia, with more gentleness, asked her to stay.

“Susan, perhaps, will not advise your compliance withmy request, Miss Heriton; for, like the shocked matronswho no longer consider me worthy to teach their hopefulprogeny, she distrusts every word I utter.

“You do—you do!” she added vehemently, when Susangently denied this. “When you asked me where our marriagewas celebrated, and I answered that I could nottell, that—trusting implicitly to his assurances that secrecywas necessary until he had established himself—I wentwhere he chose to take me, and left the certificate of therite in his care, you sighed and shook your head.”

“Not because I doubted your assertions, Julia; only[Pg 79]from regret that your confidence had been so rashly givenand so terribly misplaced.”

“Yes, yes—I know,” was the impatient retort. “Youwould like to lecture and pity me. It is to avoid this thatI go out and wander in the streets and parks till utterexhaustion drives me home. I do not need you to tellme that I have my deserts. I know that my eagerness tomarry a man who would make me wealthy, and give meall the social advantages I craved for, has brought me towhat I am. Is there a person I pass in my wanderingswho does not stare after me and whisper: ‘There goesthe woman who tries to prove herself the wife of Mason,the defaulter—Mason, the rogue’?”

Susan would have spoken, but she was checked withan imperative:

“Hush! I want Miss Heriton to tell me all she heardthat morning.”

Florence instantly related every detail connected withher visit to Lieutenant Mason’s chambers, feeling thewhile that the deserted wife would gain no informationfrom this bare narrative, yet unwilling to offend her byappearing to withhold anything.

“Gilbert—the servant you saw—has disappeared,” commentedJulia, when she paused. “There is nothing to belearned from him. But this gentleman—who is he?”

“I cannot tell you,” was the truthful answer.

“But you heard his name—surely you heard his name?Don’t deceive me, Miss Heriton.”

“I would not do so for worlds! But when I tell you[Pg 80]that there was a certain something about his voice andgestures which seemed familiar to me, I have told all Iknow. I did not hear his name mentioned.”

Julia’s lips quivered, and the large drops of mentalsuffering stood upon her brow.

“I could have borne desertion, for my husband hastaught me to despise him; but he has left the brand ofshame upon me, and I cannot shake it off. He knew thatI could not prove our marriage.”

There was such profound misery in her accents thatFlorence and Susan both moved toward her—indeed, thelatter had been always gentle and patient with her waywardrelative, striving by increasing her own labors toprevent Julia enduring any straits from the loss of herpupils—but they were coldly repulsed.

“There is only one thing in the world you can eitherof you do for me now, and that is to prove my innocenceto those who have maligned me, if ever it lies in yourpower.”

The promise was readily given, Florence adding:

“But let us hope that Lieutenant Mason will yet repenthis conduct, and return to you.”

“I have left off hoping,” said Julia, with a wan smile,as she threw her shawl over her arm and retreated tothe inner room.

She came back directly with a tiny locket in her hand.

“I think I heard that you are going to leave this neighborhood,Miss Heriton. Will you wear this sometimes inremembrance of Julia Mason?”

[Pg 81]

Before Florence could accept or reject the gift she hadpassed to her cousin, and, laying her hands on her shoulders,looked sorrowfully in her face.

“If I were only like you, Susan—only good, patient,and contented as you have been!”

The next moment she had gone, and they heard herturn the key in the lock. Susan Denham had lost all herusual composure now, and was trembling excessively.

“Pray for her, Florence,” she whispered, “for herstrange manner terrifies me. If she would weep or acceptmy sympathy, I should have hope of its wearing off; asit is, I know not what to do or say, and I begin to dreadthe result.”

Florence essayed to comfort and cheer her; but it waswith more sorrow than surprise that she learned on thefollowing morning that Julia Denham had disappeared.

Her grieved cousin sought for her fruitlessly in alldirections—inserted advertisem*nts in the newspapers,and even enlisted the services of the detectives. ButJulia had glided away in her ordinary costume, takingnothing in her hand that might lead to her identification,and was as thoroughly lost as if the earth had openedand received her.

A NEW HOME.

It was a bright morning in the early spring whenFlorence Heriton, accompanied by her father, left thedull, dirty street in Brompton to pay her first visit to thebusy and pleasantly situated market town of Kirton-on-the-Thames.

Mr. Heriton, clinging to his daughter’s arm for supportand guidance, was childishly gratified by the prospectof a railway journey. He began to complain of theporter for putting him into a second-class carriage, butFlorence slipping a daily paper into his hand, all othergrievances were forgotten in an eager inspection of thestate of the money market.

When they were fairly out of sight of the tall rowsof houses, amid which she had been so long immured,Florence began to breathe more freely, and her spiritsto recover their natural elasticity. Work would not seemso toilsome, privations so hard to endure, when the greenfields and trees were once more around her; and whenthey alighted at the Kirton Station, and her father beganto complain of the length of the walk that followed, hersmiles and merry sallies wiled him into forgetfulness ofhis fatigue.

Near the summit of a gentle acclivity, some two milesfrom the town, stood the cottage to which Susan Denham[Pg 83]had directed them. It was close to the highroad, butno other habitation stood within some considerable distance,and a fine clump of elm trees growing in an adjacentfield sheltered it from the shrill blasts of the northerlywind. It was a most unpretending building, butthe ivy that had crept over the front and side, twiningits tendrils even around the old brick chimney, gave itan air of comfort; and the lozenge-shaped panes of thelittle casem*nts shone brightly in the morning sun.

But what most attracted the eyes of Florence were thetrimly kept beds in the small forecourt or garden. Earlyas it was, they were gay with the gayest of spring flowers.The crocus, in its every variety of hue, from orangepurple and to the palest of blue, sprang up everywhere;large clusters of snowdrops, mingled with hepaticas andearly tulips; and the air was redolent with the perfume ofthe white and blue violets which peeped from every shelteredcorner.

As Florence pressed forward to gaze upon the brightblossoms she saw that the owner of the cottage had becomeaware of her approach, and was standing at thegate peering at her curiously. From the description shehad received, it was easy to recognize directly the goodwoman of whose kindness of heart Susan Denham hadspoken so warmly; yet so queer was her appearance thatit was scarcely possible to resist a smile.

Mrs. Bick was so tall and largely framed that shelooked out of all proportion with her tiny dwelling, andher list-slippered feet, which the curtness of her narrow[Pg 84]skirts well displayed, were positively enormous. Heronly sacrifice to the Graces consisted of two bunches ofbright-brown curls, which were surmounted by a net cap,surrounded by double quillings of lace. As these borderswere very limp, and the curls had a tendency to slip overMrs. Bick’s forehead whenever she stooped, they weregenerally awry, and the gray hairs they were intended toconceal stuck out in little fuzzy bunches above or belowthem.

Florence introduced herself by presenting Susan’s note.It was turned over and over dubiously, and then thrustback into her hand.

“Just read it, will ye? Dannle’s out at work, and myspeckittles is indoors.”

Mrs. Bick nodded her head gravely when she had heardthe contents of the missive.

“Susan Denham! Ha! that’s the quiet un. A decentyoung woman she was, too—very different to that highty-flightycousin that used to pluck Dannle’s best flowers withnever a ‘by your leave,’ at all. So you wants my rooms,do ye?”

“I should like to look at them and see whether theywould suit me,” answered Florence, a little perplexed betweenthe easy familiarity of Mrs. Bick’s address and thegathering frowns with which Mr. Heriton was listeningto it.

“Look and welcome. My place is clean if ’tain’t nothingelse. Have ye got ere a pin about ye to pin up themlong skirts? For Dannle’s ginger (Virginia) stock is[Pg 85]a-coming out in the borders, and he can’t abide to see itbroken off.”

Florence humored the woman by drawing her dresscarefully around her as she followed her tall form up thenarrow pathway.

“It’s a silly fancy, them flowers, for poor folks like we,”said Mrs. Bick, turning round when she reached the porchand confidentially addressing her visitors, “and so I’vetold Dannle times out o’ mind. If he took to anything, hemight ha’ took to a pig or fowls; or even rabbits’d beenbetter than nothing, for there’s many a good meal to behad off of them; but there’s neither vittles nor drink inflowers, and they’re here to-day and gone to-morrow,aren’t they? Such rubbidge for poor folk like we to takeup wi’, ain’t it?”

She saved them the trouble of replying by throwingopen the door of a small and sparely furnished but exquisitelyclean sitting room. The sun shone in pleasantly,the broad window seats were filled with luxuriant andchoice plants, and the little parlor wore altogether such asnug, cheerful aspect that Mr. Heriton seated himself in achintz-covered easy-chair in the sunniest corner, andsmiled contentedly.

The chambers above were equally neat, and Mrs. Bick’sterms so unusually moderate that Florence closed withher at once. It would be easier to begin her new life inthis secluded spot than in the dense atmosphere and depressinginfluences of town lodgings; and even Mrs.Bick’s rustic familiarity galled her far less than the vulgar[Pg 86]sympathy of the London landlady, who never broughtup her bill or receipted it without telling Florence thatshe had known what it was to be better off herself, andso she could feel for other people.

“Then I shall expect ye to-morrow,” said Mrs. Bick,with a nod that brought her brown curls nearly into hereyebrows. “The old gentleman don’t look very strong.Wait while I fetches him a drop o’ my currant wine to sethim up afore he goes.”

Mr. Heriton graciously accepted the simple refreshment.And while their hostess again strode away to cuthim a slice of plain cake his daughter fondly asked:

“Dear papa, do you think you can be happy here for alittle while?”

“Well, yes, child,” he answered briskly. “While youwere looking at the rooms above I have been talking to alaborer at work in the adjoining ground, and I learn thatit is the property of a building society, and that the membersare willing to dispose of it on reasonable terms.”

“But this is nothing to us, dear papa,” said Florence,her spirits sinking, “nothing to us, remember.”

“Nonsense, child! Don’t you see what an excellentspeculation it will be to take this ground on a long lease,and build a terrace of handsome houses upon it?”

For a few minutes his daughter was inclined to give upall thought of coming here to reside, lest he should reallyattempt to carry out this new idea. But rememberingthat his utterly penniless condition rendered it an impossibility,[Pg 87]she took heart again, and contented herself withobserving:

“This must be an after consideration, papa. Rememberthat we are not provided with the requisite cash forsuch an undertaking.”

He answered her peevishly:

“Of course—of course; I remember all this. But somethingwill turn up, or I shall find a friend to advance themoney. You shall sketch me your idea of the frontage,Florence. I’ll go and pace the ground while you finishyour chat with the good woman.”

It was a comfort to learn in answer to her inquiries thatthe property in question was in the hands of a warylawyer, not likely to be easily persuaded into parting withit; and, reminding herself that Mr. Heriton’s ruling passionwas likely to crop out, go wherever she would, Florenceconcluded her arrangements, and prepared to depart.

As she waited at the gate for her father, who was immersedin measurements and calculations, Mrs. Bicknodded the brown ringlets in the direction of a very feeblelittle old man who was tottering toward them.

“That’s my Dannle. Poor old chap! He be a’mostpast work, and yet he will potter about his garden everyspare minute. Dannle,” she shrieked, as soon as he camewithin hearing, “I’ve let the rooms to miss here and herpa; and there’s two buds on the white rangium; I seen ’emjust now for the first time.”

Daniel Bick took off his hat to the young lady, andsmiled pleasantly at his wife’s information. But he was a[Pg 88]man of few words; and his gratification at Florence’sgentle commendation of his flowers was only shown by hisgathering a lovely little bouquet of violets and snowdrops,and silently putting them into her hand.

“Well, now,” was his wife’s comment, “’tain’t oftenDannle does that for anybody. I reckon he likes youa’ready. I’ll have the beds well aired, trust me; and nowI must go and see to my old man’s dinner.”

As Florence turned at the foot of the hill to nod anotheradieu to the old man, who still stood at the gatewatching her graceful figure, a gentleman rode rapidlytoward them on a spirited bay mare.

Mr. Heriton was so deeply absorbed in his contemplationof the eligible investment that as he walked backwardhe would have been run over but for his daughter’swarning cry and the promptness of the rider, who sharplywheeled his animal aside as soon as he saw the danger.

As, with a polite expression of regret, he lifted his hat,their eyes met, and Florence recognized the beardedstranger of the Albany. He, too, knew her again, andseemed disposed to address her; but, checking the impulse,he bowed low, and rode on again more rapidly thanbefore.

ALONE IN THE WORLD.

A few days found Florence settled in her new home,and recognized as the instructress of Mrs. Railton’sdaughters. It was fortunate for her that Susan Denhamhad warned her to expect many anxieties and unpleasantriesin the duties she had undertaken, otherwise herinexperience and natural sensitiveness to slights and unkindnesswould have made her throw them up in disgust.As it was, both her patience and fortitude were greatlytried; for Mrs. Railton—a most indulgent mother—hadno control over her unruly offspring; and the schoolroomwas a scene of noise and contention that had made morethan one governess resign in despair. Perhaps Florence’sinnate dignity assisted in awing the young rebels withwhom she found herself brought into contact; and the determinationto persevere, let her difficulties be as greatas they might, was ultimately crowned with success.

But ere the hour arrived when she could aver with truththat her pupils were docile and even affectionate, she hadpassed through a long and fatiguing ordeal. The springhad been followed by summer, and summer, in its turn,was merging into the deep-russet tints of autumn.

Mr. Heriton had never thoroughly recovered strength;but he was able to wander about the fields adjoining Mrs.Bick’s cottage, and plan out the villa residences withwhich he intended to adorn it as soon as he could find[Pg 90]money for the purpose. Those few persons he encountered,and to whom he divulged his intentions, and talkedlargely of his former grandeur, came to regard him as aharmless lunatic, and either humored his fancies oravoided him. Mrs. Bick, who saw the reluctance withwhich his daughter left him to attend her pupils, and thealarm she felt if he were missing at her return, good-naturedlyendured many a long detail to keep him quietlyat home. Mr. Heriton, pleased to have so patient a listener,would fetch out his papers, and sketch, and plan,and lose himself in endless calculations, while Mrs. Bick,knitting in hand, would sit by and nod and doze until thecurls dropped over the bridge of her nose and awoke her.

When the glorious harvest moon arose, and nightlyflooded the fair earth with her radiance, it seemed toobeautiful to stay indoors, and Florence would wander upand down the garden, while her father joined Daniel Bickin the porch. There was a seat on either side, and thetwo old men would rest there, sometimes chatting sociably,but more frequently silent, for there was little in commonbetween them but their feebleness. Sometimes whenFlorence drew near she would hear her father talking inthe eager, restless way she so disliked, about the fortunehe yet intended to amass, and the best manner of accomplishingit. If an answer were demanded, old Daniel generallygave it in some quaint proverb or text from theonly book he ever read—his Bible.

“It may be a great thing to be rich, master,” she heardhim say one evening in his shrill, quavering voice, “but[Pg 91]enough’s as good as a feast; and if the Almighty be withus, what more should we want?”

“True—true. You are a well-meaning man,” Mr. Heritonmade answer; “but you have no one’s future to beanxious about as I have. Think of my daughter, theheiress and sole representative of the Heritons! Do yousuppose I can be contented until I have restored her to herproper position in society?”

“Heaven bless her!” said Daniel. “I dunno why yeneed be troubled about her, master. She’s a good daughterto your old age, and ye know there’s a promise forthem as honor their father and mother.”

“True—true. But if I could realize a few thousandsand invest them in her name——” Mr. Heriton began, butDaniel’s tremulous accents again checked him.

“Excuse me, master, but don’t ye think ye turn yourmind too much to the gold and silver and forget the moreprecious things that’s laid up for all on us in heaven?”

There was a silence; and Florence stayed her lightfootstep on the gravel to listen for her father’s reply. Itwas spoken with unusual earnestness:

“My friend, I’m afraid you are right. I’m terriblyafraid that I have not thought half so much of thesethings as I ought to have done. But I’ll alter, Heavenhelping me. I tell you what we’ll do, my good Daniel:every night before we sleep my daughter shall read tous all. It will do me good. I always sleep better whenher sweet voice is the last sound in my ears.”

Florence moved noiselessly away, and, lifting her face[Pg 92]to the calm sky above, prayed that her father’s resolvesmight not be futile ones, but that the simple remonstranceof old Daniel might induce him to try and subduethe feverish craving for wealth which blighted their otherwisepeaceful existence.

Mrs. Bick, who had been to Kirton on an errand, cameto the gate as she approached it, and, leaning her armsupon it, stood there to rest.

“It’s been a terrible hot walk,” she panted. “I wasglad enough to get back again; but I heerd a bit o’ newsin the town as’ll s’prise my Dannle. Orwell Court’s let—thatbig house through the turnpike as I told ye Dannleused to work at when he were a boy.”

Florence remembered it directly, for in one of the fewwalks she had persuaded her father to take they had approachedthis untenanted mansion, and had been civillyinvited to enter the grounds by the person in charge.Orwell Court was an old house of most irregular form,for it had been originally a mere cottage, to which oneafter another of its owners had made additions. But thesituation was excellent, and the half orchard, half parkwhich surrounded it was so full of exquisite bits of scenerythat Florence regretted her inability to stay and sketchthem.

“I am glad to hear that it is let. It was a thousandpities for so charming a spot to remain empty. Who hastaken it?”

She smiled at herself for asking this question, as shewas not likely to recognize any name Mrs. Bick might[Pg 93]mention; but the answer had an unexpected interest ofits own.

“He’s a Mr. Ayl——something—Ayling or Aylwinne;yes, that’s it—Aylwinne. He’s a very rich Ingyman, anda friend o’ Mr. Lumley’s at the little church in the villagejust beyond. He’s a dark-faced gentleman, with a beardas thick and as dark as I dunno what, and such a pair ofeyes! You’ve seen him, ain’t ye?”

“When?” asked Florence, rather confusedly.

“Why, a-riding by on a big brown horse. I ha’ seenhim two or three times when I’ve been pottering abouthere among Dannle’s flowers; an’ he always looks andlooks at one as he goes by just as though he wanted tospeak and didn’t like. I guessed as this was the Ingymanas soon as they began talking about him in the shop whereI went for my tea and sugar.”

Leaving Mrs. Bick still resting at the gate, Florencestrolled along the path, musing as she went on the curiouscirc*mstance of this stranger taking up his residencein the neighborhood of her own. It seemed as if it weretheir fate to encounter each other. At all events, shemight reasonably expect to see him frequently, for thechurch near Orwell Court was the one she regularly attended,in preference to the more crowded one in Kirton,partly because the walk to it was through pleasant, shadylanes, and by the side of a little river, and partly becauseshe liked the clergyman—a quiet, earnest man, who hadcalled frequently on Mr. Heriton, and testified a friendlyinterest in him.

[Pg 94]

As Florence drew near the silent figures in the porch,a cloud swept over the moon, and the rising wind sighedso mournfully that a shiver crept through her frame.

Laying her hand on her father’s arm, she said:

“It grows cold, papa, dear. Will you not come in?”

He neither moved nor replied, but continued to sit asbefore, leaning forward, and apparently gazing intentlyat old Daniel, whose pipe had dropped from his hand, andwhose head had fallen back against the trelliswork thatsupported the honeysuckle growing over it.

Startled, she scarce knew why, Florence also leanedforward, and, the moon just then emerging from theshadowing cloud, she saw the old man’s features distinctly.It was the face of the dead! Without sign orstruggle, Daniel Bick’s life had passed away, and the unconsciouspartner of its joys and sorrows was a widow.

Florence’s first impulse was to shriek for help; hernext, to try and arouse her father, whose strange immobilityadded to her terror.

“Come away, papa—come away! We must break thenews gently to the poor wife. Papa, do you not hearme? Speak—pray speak!”

But Mr. Heriton remained insensible to her tears andprayers. The shock of Daniel Bick’s sudden decease,acting on his own weakened frame, had brought on anattack of paralysis; and between his terrible state ofhelpless unconsciousness and the noisy grief of Mrs. Bick,Florence was almost distracted.

[Pg 95]

The doctor, whom a compassionate neighbor hurried tofetch, inquired if Miss Heriton had no friend who couldcome to her, and she gave him the address of Susan Denham.But Susan had been drawn from London by areport that her unhappy cousin had been seen at Portsmouth,and, owing to an illness brought on by her longand fruitless quest, did not receive the letter until someweeks after it was written.

Before the expiration of that time Florence was fatherless.Mr. Heriton recovered consciousness about an hourbefore his death; and, as if for the first time really recognizingthe depth of his child’s affection, he laid his handon her bowed head and blessed her in words that sent agrateful throb through her heart long afterward.

Mr. Lumley, the clergyman already mentioned, waswith him in that last hour; and he came daily to the cottagetill he saw that Florence had overcome the first violenceof her grief.

Mrs. Bick refused to be comforted under her bereavementby anything he could urge.

“I knows Dannle’s better off, sir,” she would answer,“and I knows that if he’s only near enough to the Lord’sgarden to see them flowers as never fades he’s happyenough; but this ’ere’s the place I’ve lived in all my daysalong wi’ he, and nobody’ll never make me believe as Ican settle down comferable anywhere else.”

“Then why leave your cottage?” Mr. Lumley inquired.

“Because I’ve got to. I can’t live upon nothing, an’there’s a home for me along wi’ my sister; but it’s like[Pg 96]being prisoned or emegrated; and I must fret, for I can’thelp it.”

“Then Mrs. Bick’s change of residence will involveyour removal, Miss Heriton?” the clergyman observed.

“I suppose so,” answered Florence dejectedly. “Indeed,I must have left under any circ*mstances, for Ihave here a note from Mrs. Railton stating that her childrenwere so intolerably troublesome that she was obligedto fill up my place directly, and the young lady seems tosuit so well that she shall not like to dismiss her.”

“May I inquire what you propose doing?”

Florence put her hands to her brow.

“I scarcely know. I suppose I must return to London;but it is of little consequence—I have no one to exertmyself for now.”

Mr. Lumley waited till the sobs that burst forth as shesaid this had been checked; then he said gently:

“Will you promise to come to no decision respectingyour movements until I have seen you again? I fancy Iknow of something that will suit you. Will you waituntil I can tell you more?”

Grateful for his kindness, Florence gave the requiredpromise. A new phase in her checkered life was aboutto commence. Who can wonder if she gladly clung to theonly friendly hand held forth to guide her in it, or thather mother’s diary was again brought forth and the pagethat held out the long-deferred hope of Frank Dormer’sreturn blistered with her tears?

MRS. WILSON.

Mr. Lumley called on the following day, accompaniedby a very small, slight lady, in the deep mourning of awidow. She was evidently of a nervous temperament,and the excitement of driving herself and the clergymanin a little pony carriage had flushed and agitated her somuch that it took her a few minutes to recover breathand composure before she could go through the ceremonyof introduction. Then she discovered that a small blackbag, which contained her cardcase and handkerchief, wasmissing, and Mr. Lumley good-naturedly offered to relieveher distress by going and searching for it in the carriage.

When he had gone, Florence, who, in compassion to thelady’s tremors, had kept aloof from the armchair inwhich she sat sniffing hard at a vinaigrette, ventured toquietly approach.

“Will you let me take your bonnet for a few minutes?This room is so warm.”

“Thank you—thank you!” was the answer, spokengratefully, though in the same hurried, faltering manner.“You are very kind! But my hair—I’m afraid my hairis scarcely——” And then she made an awkward pause,but went on again in another minute: “I think I’ll loosenmy shawl while I stay.”

[Pg 98]

And her fluttering hands began to drag at the broochthat secured it, but with such evident obliviousness ofwhere the fastening began and ended that Florencestooped down and took it off for her.

This simple action did much toward restoring the lady’sequanimity, and when Florence proceeded to put a stoolunder her feet and arrange the window curtains so thatthe sun should not shine too fully into the flushed faceof her visitor, she was thanked quite warmly.

“My dear, I’m giving you a great deal of trouble. Andat such a time as this, too!”

And the lady’s troubled, sympathetic look rested onFlorence’s black dress.

“It does me good to forget myself a while,” she answeredgently. “Will you have a little water, or a glassof wine?”

“No, thank you. Pray sit down; I cannot bear to seeyou stand. You are so different to what I expected tofind you that I think I shall be able to talk quite freelyto you.”

Florence smiled faintly at this frank confession.

“What did you expect me to be like?”

The lady fidgeted with the folds of her dress.

“Oh, pray forgive me for making such a foolish remark;but Mr. Lumley had impressed it upon me so muchthat you had been—been differently circ*mstanced, thatI could not help getting worried and uneasy lest I shouldhurt your feelings. I hope,” she added anxiously, “that Iam not doing so now.”

[Pg 99]

“Not at all, dear madam. I am sure you are here withthe kindest intentions.”

The little lady looked inexpressibly relieved.

“Thank you—thank you! If ever a doubt of my meaningshould arise, pray set it down to my foolish nervousness,and not to deliberate unkindness, for I had a daughteronce.” Her voice quivered a little as she said this, and herthin white fingers clutched Florence’s arm. “I can veryseldom trust myself to speak of her, but for her sake myheart yearns to the young and—and sorrowful.”

Moved by an irresistible impulse, Florence put her lipsto the hand that had now slid into her own, and the littlelady, warned by the tears gathering in the orphan’s eyes,began to talk more cheerfully.

“I quite hope we shall understand and like each other.My name is Wilson, and I have come to you——”

Mr. Lumley’s entrance interrupted her. He had foundthe missing bag, and nodded good-humoredly when hesaw the confidential attitude the ladies had taken.

“Then you have introduced yourself, Mrs. Wilson!That’s right! And is Miss Heriton inclined to acceptyour proposals?”

“I don’t know yet. I have scarcely had time to askher.”

Mr. Lumley looked at his watch; his leisure was limited,and he had purposely lingered outside to give Mrs.Wilson an opportunity of speaking openly. She saw hisimpatient glance, and rose directly.

“I am keeping you waiting. I am so sorry! Perhaps it[Pg 100]would be better, as I am such a timid driver, for you totake the carriage back, and let me walk. I am sure I canmanage it, and I would not waste your valuable time forthe world!”

“I have still ten minutes to spare, and I could not thinkof letting you walk back such a distance,” Mr. Lumleydecidedly replied. “If you will kindly say what you wishto Miss Heriton at once, I shall be glad.”

But she was in such a state of confusion between heruneasiness on his account and the difficulty of rearrangingher shawl, that he had to make the necessary explanationof their errand himself.

“Mrs. Wilson wishes to know, Miss Heriton, if youare inclined to take upon yourself the charge of twochildren now on their way from India, to be placed inher motherly care? Their guardian offers a liberal salary,and I think I can promise you on his part all properrespect and consideration.”

“Should I be required to reside in the house?” askedFlorence. “For I must confess that I should prefer ahome of my own, even though it will be but a lonelyone.”

Mrs. Wilson now interposed.

“My dear, you are too young to do this. I am afraidyou think I am fidgety, and might be too interfering;but you would have your own sitting room, and I am verymuch taken up with my housekeeping duties. I shouldnever think of coming into your apartments unless youwere ill or low-spirited. And anything you can propose—any[Pg 101]stipulations you like to make—shall certainly beadhered to.”

“You speak as if you would be the obliged party, dearmadam, instead of me,” Florence answered, after a fewmoments given to consideration. “You are very good,and if you and Mr. Lumley think me fitted for the situationyou offer, I shall be pleased to accept it.”

She did not say this without an effort. To enter afamily as resident governess was renouncing the littleremnant of independence she had been cherishing, but inher isolated position it would have been both rash andungrateful to refuse.

“Then it is settled?” asked Mrs. Wilson. “I am veryglad. And when will you come to me, my dear Miss Heriton?I am very busy getting the house into order—OrwellCourt, you know. And your advice and suggestionsin the arrangement of the books and pictures will besuch an assistance to me. Could you come to-morrow?”

“Orwell Court!” Florence repeated. “I thought—thatis, I understood——” And then, ashamed to repeat Mrs.Bick’s gossiping and apparently mistaken details, she hastilysaid: “Not to-morrow, but the following day, if youlike. Mrs. Bick’s sister will be here by that time; I shouldnot care to leave her alone.”

“Very well. Then a carriage shall be sent for you andyour trunks at whatever hour will suit you,” Mrs. Wilsonanswered. When this point was settled she turned to Mr.Lumley, who was waiting to hand her into their vehicle,and said, with a little air of triumph: “You can’t think[Pg 102]how glad I am that we have arranged this business sonicely. I was quite worried about it, and have wishedover and over again that Mr. Aylwinne had not delegatedit to me.”

Florence, who was fastening her brooch, looked up soinquiringly that the lady saw it and kindly asked:

“What is it, my dear? Is there anything I have forgottento say?”

“Only that I do not know who Mr. Aylwinne is, orwhat he has to do with our arrangements.”

Mrs. Wilson looked dreadfully perplexed, and arrestedMr. Lumley’s movements as he was leading her to thedoor.

“Haven’t you told Miss Heriton? Haven’t you explainedto her?”

“My dear madam,” answered the clergyman, whosepatience was fast waning, “I have had no opportunity forexplanation. I left all that sort of thing to you.”

“And she does not even know who Mr. Aylwinne is!”cried Mrs. Wilson, in dismay.

“That I can soon tell her. Miss Heriton, Mr. Aylwinneis an old college friend of mine, who has lately purchasedOrwell Court. And I have such certain knowledge of hisgoodness of heart that I think I can fairly promise you ahappy home beneath his roof. Now, my dear Mrs. Wilson,we really must go, for I have visits to pay to somesick persons that cannot be put off.”

With another apology for her tardiness, Mrs. Wilsonmade such a hurried exit that she forgot to bid Florence[Pg 103]adieu; but remembered the omission as she was steppinginto the carriage, and ran back to rectify it.

“Good-by, my dear—good-by! How rude you mustthink me! I will send for you punctually to the hour, somind and be ready.”

The next minute she was gone, and Florence, a littlebewildered by her visit and its consequences, sat down tothink. Then Mrs. Bick was right, after all, and the dark,bearded stranger of the Albany was the Mr. Aylwinnewho had taken Orwell Court. If she had known thissooner, nothing would have induced her to accept thesituation which she had just agreed to fill; and even asit was she was very much disposed to write and declineit. She felt an invincible repugnance to encounter againa person in some degree connected with her painful visitsto Lieutenant Mason’s chambers. Yet on what plea couldshe now draw back? Mrs. Wilson might be easily put offwith some plausible excuse, but to the more keen andpenetrating Mr. Lumley she must give the actual reasonfor her change of mind. And how paltry it would appearto confess that she disliked meeting a person from whomshe had received nothing but the most considerate kindness.

“I am afraid,” mused Florence, “that this is a remnantof the foolish pride of birth I have often promised myselfto subdue. I wish I had Susan Denham here to adviseme.”

Ignorant of her friend’s absence from London, she hadbeen looking daily for an answer to the letter she had[Pg 104]written announcing her father’s decease, and the changeswhich had consequently arisen in her plans. Florencehad been secretly expecting that Susan would write andpress her to share her apartments; and with a lingeringhope that this long-looked-for missive would come by themorning’s post, and afford her a plausible pretext fordeclining the situation at Orwell Court, she went to rest,still undecided and dissatisfied.

THE STRANGER FROM INDIA.

No letter came from Susan Denham; and after waveringuntil there was scarcely time left for the necessarypacking, Florence resolved to put pride steadily under herfeet, and enter cheerfully upon her new duties.

It cost her a pang to leave the little cottage where herfather’s stormy, restless life had found a haven; and Mrs.Bick wept noisily at their parting.

“I dunno, after all, whether I ain’t glad I’m goingright away,” said the poor old woman, “for I could neverabide the place when there’s nobody in it as I caresabout. Master Weddell have took to it, and he havepromised he won’t root up Dannle’s flowers. Ye’ll havea look in as ye goes by sometimes, miss, won’t ye, and seeif he keep his word?”

This Florence readily consented to do, and then theyparted—the old woman blessing the young with a ruggedeloquence that came from the heart.

“I’ll never forget ye, miss. I ain’t much of a hand atsaying what I thinks, but I’ll never forget your name inmy prayers. I shall always think them was my happiesttimes when I see your sweet face every day.”

As Florence stepped into the carriage sent from OrwellCourt, with Mrs. Bick’s last words ringing in her ears, herspirits became greatly depressed. Those had been happy[Pg 106]days—those days of actual poverty and daily labor; andshe might well ask herself what would be her lot in thefuture to which she had no clue. Never before had herloneliness been felt so thoroughly as now, and despite herutmost efforts to appear composed, Mrs. Wilson’s warmgreeting on her arrival was met with a burst of hystericaltears.

The little lady’s nervousness vanished as soon as shesaw the agitation of her young guest, and with thesoothing tenderness of a mother she led her into her ownroom, where, with the most unobtrusive kindness, shecontrived to win back her calmness. Then she had somepatterns to select for hangings for the bedrooms, inwhich grave matter she consulted Florence, who, pleasedto be of service, roused herself to assist in the choice,and write some letters to the tradespeople by whom theywere supplied.

With the tact supplied by kindness of heart, Mrs. Wilsonquickly comprehended that the way to make Florencecontented was to give her employment. Accordingly, assoon as they had breakfasted on the following morning,she led her into the library, and pointed to the bareshelves, and the packing cases that bestrewed the floor.

“My dear, I haven’t a notion how books should beplaced, and Mr. Aylwinne sent me word that I had betterleave these alone till he came, unless I could find someone competent to arrange and catalogue them. Now, itwould be a great relief to my mind if this could be donebefore his arrival.”

[Pg 107]

“I shall be delighted to undertake it,” Florence replied,and Mrs. Wilson was satisfied. The owner of OrwellCourt had gone to Southampton to await there the comingof the ship in which his wards had sailed from India. Hisreturn was not expected for several days, and this intervalwas one of real rest and refreshment to the governess-elect.

The library at Orwell Court was a fine, old-fashionedroom, with deep bay windows looking far away over thegreensward and clumps of trees dotting the park to along range of chalk hills beyond.

Florence—whether at her desk or on the library stepswith some engrossing volume on her lap—always contrivedto perch herself where she could see the sun setbehind these distant hills, and enjoy the beauty of theview.

Mrs. Wilson passed in and out all day long, to detaillittle vexations, or ask advice on some—to her—veryimportant point. If she found Florence at work, shestayed, but if she had forgotten herself in the pages ofThierry or Macaulay, Mrs. Wilson smiled, and slippedaway again in silence.

The days glided on only too quickly, and one chillyevening, as Florence and her friend sat over the fire inthe morning room, the sounds of wheels were heard onthe carriage drive.

Mrs. Wilson started up; joy at Mr. Aylwinne’s arrivalmingling with her nervous dread that he would not find[Pg 108]everything in the perfect order and good taste she hadbeen worrying herself and every one about her to attain.

“It’s he—it’s Mr. Aylwinne!” she panted. “I’m sopleased! But, oh, Miss Heriton, do you think he’ll approveof the way we’ve hung the pictures? And there arethose statuettes—I’m terribly afraid they’re not placed inthe right niches!”

“Mr. Aylwinne must be of a very exacting dispositionif he is not satisfied,” Florence answered, her pulses beatingmore quickly than usual as she anticipated her ownintroduction. “But will you not go to meet him?”

“Of course—of course!” And Mrs. Wilson hurriedaway, forgetting in her haste to close the door after her.

It was rather awkward to be thus made a hearer oftheir meeting; but it was unavoidable, for Florence didnot like to cross the room and shut the door, lest theyshould approach and detect her in the act.

Thus she heard a manly voice exclaim heartily:

“Well, Mrs. Wilson, here I am at last; but I scarcelyknow yet whether this is Orwell Court or not. How youhave transmogrified the place, to be sure!”

“Not for the worse, I hope. I assure you I have triedto remember your wishes and tastes, and act up to themas far as I could.”

“And you have succeeded admirably. Nothing couldbe better than the effect of the lamplight on that marblegroup. Why, Mrs. Wilson, your taste is exquisite!”

“Oh, pray don’t give me credit for what I don’t possess!I should not have thought of such a thing. In fact,[Pg 109]that group was quite a trouble to me, for I could not finda corner it fitted. It was Miss Heriton who suggestedputting it there.”

“Who?” Mr. Aylwinne’s voice took such a startledtone that a shiver ran through the frame of the listeningFlorence, and involuntarily she retreated still farther fromthe speakers.

“Miss Heriton—Florence Heriton. Is it not a prettyname? I must tell you”—Mrs. Wilson chattered on,quite in a glow of elation at his praises—“I must tell youthat it was a real anxiety to me when you wrote and bademe find a governess for your poor little wards; and so Idid as you had advised me to do in any real difficulty:I carried your letter to that excellent Mr. Lumley. Butyou won’t catch cold standing here, will you, sir? I amso dreadfully thoughtless, and there is a fire in the morningroom.”

“I shall not catch cold,” he answered curtly. “Youwent to Mr. Lumley? Quite right. Well, and then?”

“And then he told me he knew a young lady whom hecould recommend; and we went together and secured her.But I’m sure you feel chilly, Mr. Aylwinne; you look sopale about the lips.”

“You secured her services, did you say? And herfather—what about him?”

“Dear me, didn’t I tell you?” And Mrs. Wilson loweredher voice to an awed whisper, which, to Florence’sgreat relief, made it inaudible where she stood. “He’sdead, you know, sir; taken off quite suddenly, Mr. Lumley[Pg 110]said, with paralysis. And she was such an excellentdaughter! It was very touching to see her sitting therealone, in her deep mourning—so patient, poor dear, andso resigned!”

“And you secured—that is, you engaged her? And sheis coming here, to Orwell Court?” Mr. Aylwinne askedunsteadily.

“Dear me—how badly I must express myself!” criedMrs. Wilson. “I thought you quite understood that sheis here.”

“Florence Heriton here, in my house?”

So strangely were these words spoken that the nervouslittle housekeeper began to get into a state of great perturbation.

“I hope I have not been too hasty in my arrangements,sir. But Mr. Lumley advised, and seemed to think—andI am so unaccustomed to such responsibility—that——”

But Mr. Aylwinne had by this time quite recovered himself,and interrupted her by saying, in his usually firm, decidedaccents:

“You have done quite right, my good friend. There is afate in these things which overrules our wisest intentions.Come, you must introduce me to—the governess of mywards.”

Florence, embarrassed by what she had overheard,knew not whether to advance or retain her position whenMr. Aylwinne followed Mrs. Wilson into the room. Shehad withdrawn to the most distant window, and as sheturned at their entrance the deep-crimson draperies behind[Pg 111]her threw out her slight figure and delicate profile in vividrelief.

With just the nice degree of empressem*nt the occasionwarranted, Mr. Aylwinne held out his hand, and hopedthat Miss Heriton would be comfortable at Orwell Courtwith his worthy friend Mrs. Wilson.

There was not a fault to be found with his words ormanner. It was just what a generous employer’s shouldbe to the lady whose services he accepted. But the handthat touched Florence’s was cold and trembling, and hertimid glance at his dark face showed her that he neverlooked up while addressing her.

Mrs. Wilson would have bustled away to order somerefreshments; but, putting her into her chair, he rang thebell himself for a cup of coffee and a biscuit; he wantednothing more, he said.

And then, leaning his elbow on the end of the mantel-piece,he glided into general remarks about the weather,and one or two of the topics of the day, with an easypoliteness before which the remaining traces of Florence’sembarrassment disappeared.

He seemed disposed to ignore the fact that this was nottheir first interview, and for this she was extremely thankful.It enabled her to bear her share in the conversationwith greater ease; although she was not sorry when Mrs.Wilson’s anxiety to know whether this room was furnishedcorrectly, or that one arranged as Mr. Aylwinneintended, kept him employed in answering her questions.

[Pg 112]

Florence, though her fingers were busy with some work,was a keen observer of all that was passing.

She liked to watch Mr. Aylwinne’s demeanor to thefussy little lady. While it was evident enough that thesehousekeeping matters were boring him, and his thoughtshad often flown far away when she came to the end ofsome description or explanation, yet he was always patientand kind, listening to and commending her as an affectionateson would bear with the infirmities of a mother.

Once, when he lowered his voice in replying to somequery she put to him, Florence started, and her workdropped on her lap, for those softly modulated tones, withsomething plaintive thrilling through their music, went toher own heart.

Surely she had heard them before! But when?

She looked at him scrutinizingly. His forehead andeyes were concealed by the hand that shaded them fromthe lamp, and the luxuriant beard and mustache, whichwere quite Oriental in their profusion, effectually concealedthe contour of the lower part of his countenance.

Her scrutiny baffled, Florence resumed her work; butagain and again the same memories were evoked, thoughstill she vainly taxed her brain for answers to the questions:

“Who is he, and how connected with the far-distantpast?”

When she again listened to Mrs. Wilson’s babble, thelittle lady was speaking of the library.

“You’ve not seen it yet, Mr. Aylwinne; but I’m sure[Pg 113]you’ll be delighted. It looks so nice now it’s carpeted,and the easy-chairs in the snuggest nooks; but I’m terriblyafraid you’ll think the carpet too dark, and the pattern ofthe largest.”

“It’s not likely to interfere with my studies, is it?” heasked, with a smile.

“Well, no, I suppose these little things do not catchyour eye and fidget you. Did I tell you that we have putall the books in order?”

“I hope not,” said Mr. Aylwinne; then, as he saw herblank glance, he added laughingly: “I mean that I hopeyou have not been arranging them according to the sizeand binding instead of the contents.”

“Would it signify?” Mrs. Wilson asked innocently.“I’m no reader myself, but I like to see books put on theirshelves uniformly; it makes them look so nice and neat.However, I have left it to Miss Heriton. She will tell youwhat she has done.”

“I cannot pretend to have made a satisfactory classificationof so many volumes,” Florence replied, “but I havearranged them to the best of my judgment.”

“You are very good,” said Mr. Aylwinne, a little stiffly.“I have no doubt they will do very well. Where have youput my ‘Carlo Dolce,’ Mrs. Wilson?”

“Your what, sir?”

“Picture, madam—a small painting of two femaleheads.”

“Oh, I know now,” said the housekeeper briskly. “It[Pg 114]is in the study. That picture, you know, Miss Heriton,that you said reminded you so much of your mother.”

Mr. Aylwinne started from his lounging attitude andwalked quickly to the door. As he opened it he seemed torecollect himself, and came back again.

“I beg your pardon, ladies. I had forgotten to say thatmy wards will be here early to-morrow. They were sofatigued with their voyage that I left them with a motherlylandlady at a hotel in Kirton, and promised to fetchthem in the morning. Good night!”

“I am afraid he is very tired himself by his going awayso abruptly,” said Mrs. Wilson uneasily. “I never sawhim look so before. Did you see how white he hadturned, Miss Heriton?”

“I was not noticing Mr. Aylwinne’s looks,” Florenceanswered quietly. “Perhaps it was only his manner.”

“Oh, no; he was always so courteous to every one!”Mrs. Wilson declared. She wondered whether she mightventure to send something nice and hot to his dressingroom—just a tray with a morsel of fricasseed chickenand some mulled wine.

“How long have you known Mr. Aylwinne?” askedFlorence, so abruptly that Mrs. Wilson regarded her withopen eyes.

“How long? Ever since he first came to England totake possession of his property. That was before hewent to Egypt. He has been the best and truest friend Iever had in my life, Miss Heriton. I cannot think of hisgoodness without reproaching myself for not doing more[Pg 115]to testify my gratitude. I’ll go and send up that tray, Ithink, if you’ll excuse my running away.”

“Tell me before you go,” said Florence, detaining her,“tell me where Mr. Aylwinne had been residing before hecame to England.”

“In India, my dear, of course. I thought you knew thathe was there for some years. What wine would youadvise me to mull? Port? Or do you think that wouldbe too heavy?”

Putting her off with an evasive answer, Florence escapedto her own chamber.

She was pale, and trembling with irrepressible agitation.At one moment she reproached herself for giving way toridiculous fancies, and told herself it was absurd to imaginethat beneath the bronzed and bearded skin of thewealthy owner of Orwell Court she recognized thesmooth-faced Frank Dormer, with whom she parted somany long years ago; yet, reason as she would, the fancyreturned. Every strange speech he had made this nightwas pondered over, only to increase her perplexity, forin the softened tones that had replied to Mrs. Wilson sheseemed to detect the echo of that voice last heard in thehappy home of her childhood.

FLORENCE’S PUPILS.

Still doubtful and embarrassed, Florence Heriton descendedto the breakfast table on the following morning,resolved, by a closer observation of Mr. Aylwinne, todiscover whether she had any reasonable grounds forthe fancies that troubled her.

But the gentleman was not visible. Early as it was, hehad gone to Kirton to fetch his wards; and Mrs. Wilsonwas so engrossed in the sundry preparations she thoughtit necessary to make for the comfort of these children thatshe kept jumping up and down every minute to give freshorders, or rescind the last ones.

Florence was glad to get away from her endless appeals,and shut herself up in the library with her own thoughts,painful though they were. The prevailing one was alwaysthis: If her suppositions were correct, and she indeedbeheld in Mr. Aylwinne the Frank Dormer she had onceknown, it was very certain that he had no desire to courther recognition. All the romance of her nature waswounded and humiliated by this fact. Those hopes hermother’s diary had cherished must now be forgotten, andshe was ready to despise herself for having believed thatthe thoughts of any one could be constant all these yearsto the girlish, unformed Florence of the priory.

Her own course, she proudly told herself, was plain[Pg 117]enough: neither by word nor look must she ever givehim reason to suspect that she guessed his secret, and shewould be careful to seize the first plausible pretext forthrowing up a situation which she heartily regretted havingaccepted.

As she sat at a desk, trying to fix her attention on thecatalogue she was completing, she heard a little bustlein the hall, and Mrs. Wilson’s voice mingling with moreyouthful tones.

Her pupils had arrived, but she did not go to meetthem till Mr. Aylwinne was heard asking where shewas.

Then, half reluctant to encounter him, yet inwardlylonging to have her doubts resolved, Florence put downher pen and rose. The next moment the door opened, andMr. Aylwinne entered, leading with him two little boys.

They were delicate-featured, slim children, with astrange look about their large, dark eyes not easy to define.It was as if they had suffered some great shock,which had so deeply impressed itself on their memories asto leave an abiding and unconquerable terror. Theirages were, perhaps, ten and twelve; but though theirlimbs were well proportioned, they had not the fearless,healthy look of English lads of the same age; and theyclung to the arms of their guardian with almost girlishtimidity and dependence.

Florence was not so much impressed at first with theappearance of her pupils as their sex; and she kept herplace, not a little vexed at her own want of thought in[Pg 118]having neglected to make more particular inquiries concerningthem.

“Walter—Fred,” said Mr. Aylwinne, “this is the younglady I have been telling you about. Go and shake handswith her.”

But the lads hesitated to leave his side, and Florencepromptly said:

“Pardon me, sir—I cannot undertake the education ofboys. I supposed that your wards were little girls.”

“Is it of any consequence so long as they are docile andintelligent?” asked Mr. Aylwinne, lifting his eyebrows.

“Certainly it is, sir,” replied Florence, who began tofeel annoyed.

He saw this, and apologized gracefully for his owncarelessness in not mentioning their sex before. Then,placing a portfolio of colored views before the silent boys,he came to her side.

“Miss Heriton, you may, and doubtless do, think itstrange that I should select a female instructor for thesepoor children. I will tell you why I have done so. Theirfather was an English officer, whose duties had fixed hisresidence at a small station not far from Meerut. It wasa dull life for a man of active habits; but his wife—apretty, gentle woman—shared it; and to make it still lessirksome, they had kept their children with them instead ofsending them to England for their education. You rememberthe fearful mutiny that broke out at Meerut?Captain Denison was one of the first victims the brutal[Pg 119]sepoys pounced upon, and his wretched wife barely savedherself and these two boys by flight.”

Florence began to look with awakening interest onthe delicate lads of whom he spoke.

“Yes,” Mr. Aylwinne went on, “she fled; and bravingall other dangers, hid in the jungle. But she was trackedthere by the insatiate shedders of blood. When shefound that they drew near her hiding place, she commandedher children to be still, whatever might happen;and then, with a mother’s devotion, started up and fledto lead her pursuers away ere they discovered that shewas not alone.

“She was seen—followed—hacked limb from limb, withthese wretched, powerless children looking on—theirfaculties so chilled with horror that for days, nay, weeks,they were speechless and almost idiotic. But you arefaint. Let me give you a chair.”

He waited till Florence had somewhat recovered thesickening sensation his tale had induced, and then wenton:

“An aged Hindu woman found these boys, and, movedwith compassion, took them to her hut, and hid them thereuntil the first fury of the mutineers was allayed. Thenshe contrived to pass them from one to another of her acquaintancestill, by a fortunate accident, they fell into myhands. I have done my best with them, but they arestill sickly, timid children: their dreams visited by visionsof the scene they saw in the jungle, their nerves unstrungby trifles at which most boys of their age would laugh.[Pg 120]An attempt to harden them by the companionship ofother lads in a large school has failed. Miss Heriton”—andnow Mr. Aylwinne’s voice was low and faltering—“youare an orphan yourself; you have known what it isto lose the best and dearest of earthly friends. Can younot pity these still more sadly bereft ones?”

Although unable to hear what their guardian was saying,the boys had closed the portfolio, and sat mutelystudying the beautiful face of Florence. She saw this,and, deeply moved by Mr. Aylwinne’s recital, forgoteverything else. She went toward them with extendedhands, and they nestled to her side with confiding smiles.She was so fair, so gentle, that they could not fear her.And Mr. Aylwinne was satisfied.

“Before I leave you to get better acquainted,” he said,“I ought to mention that Mr. Lumley, who has otherpupils, will take these boys of mine for so many hourseach day.”

“That resolves my office into a sinecure,” Florencethoughtfully observed.

“Not at all!” he retorted. “Are mathematics and Latinall that they will require to fit them for active life? Iwould have them grow up not only clever but good men;not boors, whose own selfish requirements are all theyhave been encouraged to consider; but early taught toexercise forbearance and courtesy and those gentle virtueswhich can only be acquired in feminine society. No,no,” he added, with unconcealed emotion, “my wards shallnever be the homeless creatures that I was in my youth.[Pg 121]They shall have some one to come to with their childishtroubles—some one to fill, however inadequately, thevacant place of their mother.”

“Mrs. Wilson would do this,” Florence suggested, witha natural shrinking from the grave responsibilities heseemed to be imposing on her. “She is a kind, goodwoman.”

Mr. Aylwinne smiled.

“She is the best and kindest of women. May I begyou to take especial care that she does not throw theminto a fever with her generous attentions?”

Florence looked gravely from one to the other of thelads, who returned her glances fearlessly, and only wanteda little encouragement to talk to her freely. Raising hereyes to Mr. Aylwinne’s, she said:

“Am I old enough and experienced enough to take thischarge upon me?”

“Is it such a very onerous one?” he asked, a little impatiently.

“If I read all it involves rightly—yes. I must be more—muchmore than the mere teacher of a certain numberof accomplishments to these orphans.”

“Undoubtedly. I hold accomplishments as secondaryto other things. I have already told you so.”

Florence made no reply to this for some few minutes.Wearied with the long strain her powers had undergoneduring the last few years of her father’s life, she hadcome to Orwell Court expecting to find repose—to havecertain daily duties to fulfill which, when done, her time[Pg 122]would be her own, her cares ended; but to fulfill Mr.Aylwinne’s wishes involved much more than this.

It was Mr. Aylwinne’s voice that broke the silence.

“You are afraid that I shall demand too much—morethan I have a right to expect. Well, perhaps I do. PerhapsI have explained my views more fully to you thanI should have done to another. But while I spoke I wasthinking of a generous, tender woman, who would havetaken these desolate boys to her heart, and forgotten thegravity of the charge in the deepness of her compassion.Miss Heriton, what would your mother have counseledyou to do in this case?”

The question was a startling one, and it was with somedifficulty that she steadied her voice to answer it.

“She would have bidden me take up the work that presenteditself, whether it was what I should have chosenor not. But——Is this my duty?” she was about toadd if he had not interrupted her.

“I knew you would come to this decision; it was notin your nature to do otherwise. And—and I am glad,although—although——”

For a moment his eye rested on the face of Florencewith an expression of overpowering regret; and he heldout his hand as if he would have taken hers. But theemotion was so transitory that before she had scarcelydetected it he had conquered himself, and, with a wordto his wards, left the room.

Resolutely subduing her wish to run away, too, andthink over what he had been saying, Florence devoted[Pg 123]herself to Walter and Fred. Won out of their timidity byher gentle cheerfulness, they soon talked with all thefrankness of their age; and as she was careful to avoidany painful subjects, their spirits rose more and more.

It was with increasing respect for Mr. Aylwinne’s dispositionthat she casually learned that these boys had noclaim upon him beyond his compassion, for the only relativestheir parents possessed had hesitated to burdenthemselves with two penniless orphans. Only once didFlorence find it necessary to turn the current of theirthoughts quickly, and that was when Fred, gulping downa great sob, timidly drew his hand over her glossy hair,saying:

“It was just like mamma’s—dear, dear mamma’s!”

Tears glittered in her own eyes as she kissed the boy;but, starting up, she pointed to a grassy eminence visiblefrom the window, and, declaring there was just time toclimb it before lunch, bade them fetch their hats. Inhigh glee, they obeyed, and ere their walk was overWalter’s delight in her companionship broke out in a boyishassurance that everything here was jolly, but she wasthe jolliest of it all.

Leaving them in the courtyard to make friends withthe good-tempered old house dog, Florence went into theroom where luncheon was generally spread. She couldnot resist smiling and remembering Mr. Aylwinne’s warningas she saw the profusion of dainties Mrs. Wilson hadprepared to tempt the appetites of her young charges.That lady herself, instead of being, as in general, employed[Pg 124]in fussily altering the place of this dish andlamenting over the appearance of another, was standingat a window with a very serious visage.

She turned round, however, when Florence demandedwhether they had kept her waiting.

“No, my dear; nor would it have been of any consequenceif you had. We will always lunch at whateverhour suits you and the dear children best.”

“And Mr. Aylwinne?” asked Florence, with a littlesurprise at her apparent forgetfulness of his claims to beconsidered.

“My dear, he’s gone. That’s what troubles me now,for I am sure he can’t be well.”

“Gone!” Florence could not help repeating, in herastonishment at the unexpected announcement.

“Yes, my dear. He came in here and sat down, withhis head on his hands, for ever so long; and I asked himtwice if he were ill, but he did not seem to hear me; onlyafter a while he got up, and said that he believed MissHeriton had consented to take charge of his boys, andhe thought we should get on a great deal better withouthim, and so he should go to Scotland for some shooting.And there was just five minutes to say everything, andthen he mounted his horse and rode away; and I don’t believe,”she added, with real vexation, “I don’t believe hehas been over the house or seen half of what we havedone to it!”

THE DISCOVERY.

Christmas had come and gone before Mr. Aylwinnereturned to Orwell Court. The change those months hadwrought in his wards was almost marvelous. Theirframes, like their intellects, had expanded in the bracingair and healthy companionship they had been enjoying;and the shrinking nervousness of the past was scarcelyever discernible now.

Working out her own ideas of what was best for them,Florence had wisely made much of her teaching of thesimplest kind. Nothing was ever allowed to interferewith the preparation of their lessons for Mr. Lumley;but when this was done, she walked with them, playedcroquet, and entered into their sports and plans with aheartiness that infused additional spirit into them. Fora long time they could not conquer their dread of the dailyvisit to the vicarage and the sly taunts leveled at them bylads of their own age whose acquirements were far beyondtheir own. But Florence walked to Mr. Lumley’swith them, often awaited their return, and had so muchsympathy for their troubles mingled with such brave,hopeful auguries for their future, that Walter grew toomanly to fret over little difficulties, and Fred had toomuch boyish pride not to imitate him.

The winter had set in with some severity, and the delicate[Pg 126]East Indians had been disposed at first to cowerover the fires, and permit Mrs. Wilson to cosset them toher heart’s content. But, incited by Florence’s example,they were gradually induced to try the hardening system;and a few merry games at snowballing, a few afternoonson the ice of the pretty lake in the park, made thempronounce an English winter delightful. Florence herselfgrew rosier and stronger than she had been for years nowthat she shared in these outdoor amusem*nts, and the triowere all panting and glowing with pleasurable excitementwhen they came into the house at the close of a Januaryday to find Mr. Aylwinne standing on the hearthrug inthe dining room, talking to Mrs. Wilson.

He bowed rather stiffly to Florence, and held out a handto each of her pupils.

“Well, boys, this is something like! Where have youbeen to get such apple faces?”

“Skating, sir,” they answered, both together. “Canyou skate, Mr. Aylwinne? It is such jolly fun! We’vebeen at it these two hours.”

“And what did you do with Miss Heriton the while?Let her stand shivering on the bank to watch your performances?”

“I should rather think not!” cried Walter, looking veryindignant. “She skated with us, or else we pushed herin the sleigh the gardener helped us make.”

Mr. Aylwinne gave an approving nod, and Florencewent away to take off her wrappings. When she cameback, the boys were still talking, for they had much to tell[Pg 127]about what they had done and learned since he had beenaway.

“But you’ll not leave Orwell Court again, will you?”she heard Fred inquire.

“I think not. I am tired of being a wanderer, myboy.”

“It’s very comfortable here,” said Walter, surveying thebright fire with a meditative air.

“You think so because Mrs. Wilson pampers your appetites,and spoils you,” his guardian retorted, amused at theboy’s earnestness.

Walter reddened.

“No, it’s not that, I’m sure; for I don’t think half somuch of her cakes and pies as Fred does. It’s because—because——Well,I don’t hardly know why, except”—and,catching sight of Florence, who had just come, heslid his fingers into hers—“except it’s because you arehere, Donna.”

His guardian frowned.

“Does Miss Heriton permit you to call her by a stupidnickname?”

Walter was silent, but Fred ventured to stand up forhis pet appellation.

“I don’t think it’s a stupid one, Mr. Aylwinne. Itmeans a lady, and I’m sure Miss Heriton’s one.”

“The more reason, my boy, why you should call her byher own name.”

“But it sounds so long and stiff, and we like the other[Pg 128]best,” pouted Fred. “And she don’t mind it a bit, forshe says so.”

“Before such very conclusive arguments my own opinionmust give way,” retorted his guardian dryly. “Buttake care that you never for a moment forget the respectdue to Miss Heriton, unless you would incur my seriousdispleasure.”

The sternness with which this speech was concludedawed the sensitive boys; and nothing was said until Fredseized an opportunity of whispering in Florence’s ear:

“You do not think us rude, do you?”

“Certainly not! I am sure you love me too well totreat me discourteously.”

“But how crossly he spoke!”

“Hush, dear boy!” said Florence, who saw by theglance of that gentleman’s penetrating eye that he overheardwhat was passing. “Mr. Aylwinne is tired to-night.To-morrow he will understand you better.”

But the morrow did not bring with it the anticipatedchange in his manner, and Mrs. Wilson was the only onewho was at her ease with him. Perhaps he thought thatWalter and Fred would be none the worse for standingin some fear of his anger; anyhow, he was distant to theirgoverness, and sufficiently stern to her pupils to makethem careful of offending him. From his favorite cornerin the drawing-room, where he sat every evening withhis papers and books, an imperative reminder would issueif ever the boys showed any disposition to resist Florence’s[Pg 129]mild rule; and although he rarely addressed herafter the courtesies of the morning had been exchanged,she knew that his eye often followed her movements, andthat he watched her closely and continually.

It might be in the interest of her young charges thathe did this. Certainly, his demeanor betokened no recollectionof an earlier acquaintance—no kindly feelings suchas pleasant memories of the past evoke; and yet Florence’sconviction that in her wealthy employer she beheldFrank Dormer gained ground instead of decreasing.

Though careful to conceal this, she often caught herselflistening to his voice, furtively scanning his features, andrecalling everything he had said that tended to strengthenher supposition. Many an idle hour was spent in conjecturingwhat could have changed the gentle, affectionateFrank into the cold, reserved man who seemed often inclinedto ignore her very existence.

Yet, as time went on, traces of a different feelingpeeped out. When she heard with regret and alarm thather Aunt Margaret, traveling across the Apennines, hadbeen attacked by brigands, Mr. Aylwinne, unasked, madeinquiries for her concerning the report, nor rested untilhe had ascertained that it was exaggerated, and Mrs.Blunden safely on her way to Paris.

The books she preferred always found their way to hertable; the boys would be warned to avoid walks whichwould prove too wet or long for their gentle companion,and the only time that Mrs. Wilson fell under Mr. Aylwinne’sdispleasure was when he detected her feeding the[Pg 130]sweet-toothed Fred with some dainty Florence had forbidden.

Still he was outwardly so careful to keep the same impassabledistance between them that Florence began tochafe at it and ask herself if her changed fortunes occasionedit—if his accession to great wealth had hardenedthe heart once so tender and true.

With a haughty gesture, she told herself that she wouldbrave his selfish coldness, and let him see that, thoughshe had lost all else, her pride steeled her against aughthe could do or say.

From this time she imitated his reserve. If he wascold, she was still colder; if he relaxed sufficiently to proposeanything for her pleasure, she was either deaf to thesuggestion, or with curt thanks refused to avail herself ofit. She rigidly adhered to her duties as governess to hiswards, and with proud humility accepted the stipulatedpayment for her services; but when Walter and Fred, ina little speech taught them for the occasion, begged heracceptance of a desk far too elegant to have been purchasedwith their pocket money, the gift was steadily refused.Mr. Aylwinne was piqued, though he said nothing,and for some days looked more somber than ever.

It was soon after this that Walter, who progressedadmirably under Mr. Lumley’s tuition, began Euclid, andwas dreadfully puzzled with the dry problems, which hisyoung head refused to retain. Pitying the boy, who wasreally anxious to master his work, Florence nightly wentover it with him, and together they succeeded in conquering[Pg 131]many of the early difficulties he encountered. But oneevening, after long study, they were both nonplused, andWalter fell from vexation into despair. Laying his headon the book, he began to sob:

“I shall never, never understand it! It’s horrible stuff!You see, you can’t make anything of it, Donna, and theboys will all laugh at me, and Mr. Lumley will be socross!”

Mrs. Wilson put down her knitting and spectacles witha pitying “Dear me!” and trotted away to the storeroomfor some almonds and raisins to console the weeper, butFred exclaimed:

“What, blubbering! Oh, Wal, you are a big baby!” andthen subsided again into the agreeable study of “RobinsonCrusoe.”

The angry Walter aimed a blow at him, which heducked and evaded; and Florence glanced uncertainly inthe direction of Mr. Aylwinne, half inclined to bid the boyask his assistance.

She met his eye gazing fully at her, and ere she couldspeak he queried:

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

Instead of replying, she turned to Walter.

“Go to Mr. Aylwinne—he will explain what it is thatpuzzles you so much.”

The boy started up joyfully, but his guardian’s nextwords checked his approach.

“I did not say so. I think the weakness of characterthat sits down and laments over a difficulty, instead of trying[Pg 132]to overcome it, deserves no encouragement. But ifMiss Heriton asks this as a favor to herself I will do it.”

This Florence would not do. Drawing the book towardher, she began to study it more determinately than ever.

Mr. Aylwinne watched her in silence for a few minutes,and then said:

“Will you accept nothing at my hands, Miss Heriton?”

“It is Walter, sir, who needs your help—not I.”

“So be it, then,” he said, with a half sigh. “I had nobusiness to be so overofficious. Come here, youngster!”

With alacrity, Walter obeyed, and put the book into hisguardian’s hand.

“Blockhead that you are!” was the comment. “Do younot see this, and this? Give me a piece of paper—now apencil; no, I have one here in my pocket.”

Despite his grumbling at the boy’s stupidity, he patientlywent over the proposition till the rejoiced lad hadthoroughly mastered it.

“Now take yourself off to bed!” said Mr. Aylwinne, ashe returned the book. “No, don’t thank me; I only cameto your aid because I saw that you were boring MissHeriton most unmercifully. She is too good-natured toyou.”

“Oh, no, she isn’t!” cried Fred, running up to give herhis good-night kiss before he followed his brother fromthe room.

“Seriously,” said Mr. Aylwinne, as Florence was puttingbooks and papers together preparatory to followingher pupils, “seriously, I never contemplated your taking[Pg 133]so much unnecessary trouble with these boys, and I begthat you will not do it any more.”

“Their love amply repays me for it,” she replied.

“Ha!” he said gloomily. “Can you still build upon anythingso delusive? Is it not a folly that always ends indisappointment?”

Florence did not answer. In taking the pencil from hispocket, Mr. Aylwinne had dropped something, and nowa restless movement of his foot pushed it toward her.

She stooped for it, and, as she raised herself, saw withindescribable feelings that it was a tiny ivory cardcase, hermother’s gift to Frank Dormer before he quitted HeritonPriory.

TOO LATE!

Without a word Florence held the cardcase toward itsowner. As he took it from her hand he raised it reverentlyto his lips with apparent unconsciousness of thewounded pride that she was silently struggling to subdue.

“You remember this?” he said. “And the night onwhich it was given to me?”

“Why do you speak of it?” Florence retorted, after apause. “It is among the things of the past.”

“True!” he answered mournfully. “And she whosegentle hands bestowed the gift little dreamed of thechanged times those she left have seen.”

Florence winced. There was something cruel in thisremark, coming as it did from one who had been the firstto alter.

“Are the times changed more than the faces of thosewho then called themselves our friends?” she cried, withbitterness.

For a moment Mr. Aylwinne was silent; then, with gentleearnestness, he said:

“Forget those who have been so false to their best feelings,Miss Heriton, and remember only that there aresome who would still claim that title if you would permitit.”

For a moment her reproachful eyes were raised to his.

“Where?”

[Pg 135]

He looked hurt.

“What have I done that you should utter this reproachto me? Why have you so persistently avoided every littlekindness I have attempted to show you? Florence—MissHeriton—for your dear mother’s sake let me redeem thepromise I made when I bade her farewell. Let me bethe friend, or, if need be, the protector, of her orphanchild.”

“The promises made by our guest, Mr. Dormer, arenot supposed to be binding on Mr. Aylwinne,” answeredFlorence haughtily. “Since when has he thought properto remember them?”

“Always. Never has a word spoken in that last interviewwith Mrs. Heriton left my memory, although thehopes she permitted me to cherish you have destroyed.”

Astonished and confounded, Florence looked at himinquiringly. What did he—what could he mean? Hedid not seem in any haste to explain himself, and withincreasing stateliness she said:

“Pardon me, sir, if I remind you that such retrospectionis as painful as unpleasant. And rest assured Ishould never have provoked it by coming to Orwell Courthad I known whom I should recognize in its owner.”

Bowing slightly, she moved toward the door; but ereshe reached it Mr. Aylwinne, in great agitation, placedhimself before her.

“Miss Heriton, what am I to understand by this? Is it—canit be possible that you did not know me?”

There was such intense earnestness in his manner that[Pg 136]Florence faltered something about the lapse of time andthe change in his appearance, and yet more in his name.

“Yes, yes—I am aware of all this. But Mr. Heritonknew that I had assumed my uncle’s name. I wrote tohim both before and after leaving India.”

“I did not see those letters,” said Florence, with somereluctance.

“You did not?” he cried excitedly. “But they containedothers for you. Surely—surely Mr. Heriton did not withholdthose!”

Florence could not speak a word that reproached herfather’s memory, but her silence was sufficient reply.

Mr. Aylwinne struck his hands together and paced theroom in great disorder.

“It was cruel—it was dishonorable! Yes, it was dishonorable!How dared he use me so?”

“Hush, sir! You are speaking of my father!” saidFlorence, whose hand was now on the door, though shefelt unwilling to leave him without further explanation.

“Forgive me!” he exclaimed, leading her gently backto the fireplace. “Forgive me! I know I am scarcelyjustified in saying this before you; but now that I know somuch I must be fully satisfied. Were you aware that Mr.Heriton answered my last letter?”

Florence murmured a negative, and then looked at himeagerly.

“Answered it in his name and yours—answered it asthough it was your wish that guided his pen.”

[Pg 137]

While her eyes fell consciously beneath the steady gazeof his, he went on:

“You did not know this. I see it all now, now that itis too late—too late! Florence, as soon as a brighteningfortune warranted the act, I asked Mr. Heriton for yourhand. I received a curt and decided refusal. The wordsare still engraven on my memory. ‘Miss Heriton regrettedthat Mr. Dormer should have imagined her sofoolishly romantic as to remember anything connectedwith Mr. Dormer’s visit to Heriton Priory, except that shedid her best to amuse her father’s guest.’ And the letterconcluded with a definite assurance that Miss Heriton’shand was already disposed of.”

A sigh of shame and distress burst from Florence’s lipsas he ceased. She well remembered that at the time ofwhich Mr. Aylwinne spoke, her father’s expectations hadbeen raised to a pitch of the highest extravagance by thefair-seeming speculation he had embarked in; and a fewflattering speeches whispered in her ears by a needynobleman who had lent his name to the scheme had inspiredMr. Heriton with a belief that he should soon seehis daughter a peeress.

For such wild and unfounded hopes as these he hadsacrificed her happiness—and not hers only, but another’s.For a moment the conflict in her mind between filial loveand her sense of having been cruelly wronged wassevere. But the better feeling soon predominated, andshe murmured:

“Forgive him—forgive him! He was unhappy in his[Pg 138]advisers, and his impatience to retrieve his position ledhim to do many things his better judgment condemned.”

Mr. Aylwinne made no immediate reply to this appeal.He could not judge Mr. Heriton’s conduct as leniently ashis daughter was doing. At last he said hoarsely:

“We are taught to believe that our greatest sorrows anddisappointments tend to some good purpose. But knowingwhat I know, and remembering from what a depth oftrouble and humiliation I might have been able to saveyou, Florence, it is difficult to think so.”

She turned from him with burning cheek.

“Forgive me,” he went on, “if I have pained you. Iwill never recur to this subject again. Perhaps it wouldhave been better if I had never learned the truth—if I hadalways believed that it was your own will that separatedus. But, Florence, though I may never ask more—thoughthere is a barrier between us I may not attempt to remove—youwill give me your friendship, will you not? Youwill let me have the satisfaction of knowing that you havefound a safe shelter beneath my roof? That, as far asFate has left it in my power, I have fulfilled my pledge tothe gentle woman so dear to both of us?”

Before she could reply, Mrs. Wilson, who had been detainedby some petitioner from the village, came hurryingin to know Mr. Aylwinne’s wishes about the relief sheproposed sending. Florence thankfully availed herself ofthe opportunity thus afforded her of quitting the room.Her brain was in a whirl that effectually banished sleepfrom her pillow for the greater part of the night.

[Pg 139]

Frank Dormer had been true to her! Oh, joyfulthought! He had returned to make her his, as her belovedmother had fondly expected that he would. And thenher head dropped on her hands, and she wept bitterly, tothink that for the mere love of wealth and rank her fatherhad separated them. A yet deeper grief lay at the root ofFlorence’s tears. She had heard with a thrill of pain Mr.Aylwinne’s voice passionately declare that the discoveryhad been made too late! He had asked for her friendship—hehad hinted at a barrier that totally precluded his askingmore; and this it was that made her heart sink morethan all she had hitherto undergone. She had learnedthat his youthful fancy had strengthened and ripened beneaththe hot suns of India—that he had hastened homein all the flush of joy to claim her; the letters she hadthought it so hard not to be permitted to read had beenfull of devotion to her whose only earthly hope had beenthat such an hour would come; and now that at last sheknew this, and saw him worthy in all points of her affection,his own lips had declared that it was too late! Theirlove must be forgotten, and they must be content to befriends.

Florence rebelled against this conclusion. Young,warm-hearted, and free, she felt that she could have lovedhim devotedly. What, she asked herself, could it be thatintervened to keep them apart? Could it be that Frank, inhis vexation at Mr. Heriton’s refusal, had betrothed himselfto another?

In vague conjectures like this, the hours passed away,[Pg 140]until, thoroughly exhausted, she threw herself on the bedin her clothes, and sank into a heavy sleep.

It was Mrs. Wilson who awakened her, and Florencestarted up in affright to find the sun high in the heavens,and the usual hour for breakfast long over.

“I’ve been in before,” Mrs. Wilson explained, “for it’ssuch an unusual thing for you to sleep late that I felt sureyou were not well. And when I saw how pale youlooked, I could not bear to wake you till there was somefresh tea made. Do sit up and drink it, my dear! Notundressed, too! How very ill you must have felt! Whydid you not call me?”

In silence, Florence swallowed the contents of the cupso kindly held to her lips, and then got rid of Mrs. Wilsonwith the assurance that she felt much better, and onlywanted a bath to be quite herself again.

When alone, she tried to decide upon the best course ofaction she could adopt. Not all Mr. Aylwinne’s generositycould reconcile her to remaining beneath his roofwhile unable to regard him with indifference. At thesame time, she felt that she owed it to him to receive hiskindness with gratitude, and neither withdraw herselfrudely nor hastily, lest he suspect the true reason.

“I will write to my Aunt Margaret,” she decided. “Sheis the only relative I possess, and I have a just claim uponher protection. With all her faults she is affectionate, andwill not refuse me a home.”

She opened her desk directly, and had just commencedher epistle, when Mrs. Wilson tapped at the door.

[Pg 141]

“I’m sorry to disturb you, my dear, but here is a noteMr. Aylwinne asked me to give you. He has been waitingfor more than an hour to see you, but could not staylonger.”

“Has he left Orwell Court again?” asked Florence, witha dismayed conviction that if it were so he went to avoidher.

“Yes, my dear. Business in the north has called himaway. Very unfortunate, isn’t it, just as he was so comfortablewith us? However, I’ll not keep you from readingyour note.”

But it laid before her unopened long after Mrs. Wilsonquitted the room. With eyes fixed on the bold superscription,she sat, as if unable to nerve herself to learnwhat lay beneath. At last she seized and tore it open.

Florence dashed away a tear as she folded this letterand put it away in her desk, but her cheek was crimsonwith resentment.

“He is too careful to make me comprehend that the oldaffection has entirely died out. He means to stay awayuntil I have accustomed myself to this; perhaps till I havereconciled myself to seeing a fairer and wealthier bridebrought here to fill the place that should have been mine.But he shall never know how much this costs me. I willgo to Aunt Margaret as soon as she consents to receiveme, and see him no more.”

THE STORM.

When Florence’s letter to Mrs. Blunden had been writtenand dispatched, she felt calmer, and was able to gothrough her daily duties with an appearance of cheerfulness.No one guessed the soreness at her heart whenthe boys spoke of their absent guardian, or Mrs. Wilsonlamented his erratic habits, concluding with: “It’s such apity he doesn’t marry, isn’t it? So fond of children as heis, and so generous and gentle with all women, he wouldmake an excellent husband, wouldn’t he?”

“Perhaps Mr. Aylwinne is already engaged,” Florencesuggested, with her head bent over her work.

Mrs. Wilson meditated.

“Well, it may be so, my dear, for I remember when hefirst came to England that he used to ride out sometimeswith a Major Dawson and his daughters. Pretty youngcreatures they were! Too young then for anything ofthe kind, but they must be growing quite fine womennow.”

After hearing such remarks as these, Florence wouldgrow eager for her aunt’s reply; and she certainly hadsome cause for her impatience in the length of time shehad to wait before it arrived. Mrs. Blunden was inParis, and apologized for her silence by saying that shehad been greatly worried by the loss of her jewel box andthe subsequent arrest of the thief.

[Pg 144]

“I could not settle down to anything,” she said, “untilthis matter was over, for between my dread of an innocentperson being falsely accused and unwillingness to letthe guilty one escape unpunished, my mind has beengreatly excited. I’m very angry with you, Florence; it’smy duty to be so, for though I freely forgive you for thewicked falsehoods you wrote to me about your poor uncle’slegacy, I cannot pardon the folly that has made you pennilessand a dependent. As to coming to me, it is what youought to have done directly upon the decease of my poor,foolish brother. But as I am in dear and uncomfortablelodgings, and fully resolved to leave this nasty, frivolouscity as soon as the weather permits of the journey, why,don’t come. You are in good hands, and can stay quietlyat Orwell Court until I join you there. You don’t seemto be aware that I know Mr. Aylwinne. I met him inItaly when I was on my way to Nice, and fairly harassedto death with the extortions of the innkeepers. I had providedmyself with a tariff of the charges made at a respectableLondon hotel, and I was as firmly resolved toabide by this as the horrid, chattering Italians were tocheat me. After I had explained myself to Mr. Aylwinne,I had no more trouble, as he paid the bills for me. Theycould not take the same advantage of a resolute man asthey had been attempting with an unprotected female.How did you make Mr. Aylwinne’s acquaintance? Ifound that he knew your father, but he so evidentlyavoided speaking of him that I was obliged to concludehe had lost money through some of my brother’s madspeculations. Is it so? And to what amount? And whydo you thank me for sending you a hundred pounds whileyour father was ill at Brompton? I did not send it. Noone had the grace to write and acquaint me with his illness.I shall come to England as soon as I can; so aurevoir,” etc.

[Pg 145]

There was nothing for it, then, but to await Mrs. Blunden’sarrival. Ardently Florence hoped that it mighttake place before Mr. Aylwinne came back, and alreadyshe had mentally written that note of thanks which wouldtell him that she had quitted his roof. She would notthink of the real sorrow it would cost her to do this, norof the blank her life would be when the loving faces ofher young pupils no longer met hers, and she could nevermorelinger stealthily in the corner where stood theirguardian’s favorite chair, and draw her fingers withtender touch over the books he had last read, or the paperknife he used, or sit in the twilight dreamily fancying thathis earnest eyes were following her movements, as shehad so often detected them in doing when he thought himselfunobserved.

Meanwhile time fleeted on. The spring was merginginto summer, and she was often glad to forget herself inlong walks to the many lovely spots in the neighborhood.In these her pupils were generally her companions, andthey had been urging her for some time to indulge themwith a trip to an isolated hill some three or four miles distant,celebrated for the beauty of the views to be obtainedfrom its summit.

Mrs. Wilson made many objections on the score of thelength of the walk, the fatigue they would undergo inclimbing so steep an eminence, and the danger of rain, orof encountering tramps or gypsies. But the eager Walteroverruled them all; and on a brilliantly sunny morningthe trio started, accompanied by a lad in Mr. Aylwinne’s[Pg 146]service, who was a favorite with both the boys,and who carried a good-sized basket of edibles.

Avoiding the dusty highroad, they permitted Tom, towhom every part of the country was familiar, to guidethem across fields, through copses, and over strips ofmoorland until they reached the foot of Insley Hill. Herethe ground was so thickly covered with bluebells andorchids that it was not until huge bunches had been gatheredthat the delighted boys could be prevailed upon tocommence the ascent. It proved more difficult than Florencehad anticipated, for there was no actual path to befound, and it was one continued and steep climb, till, hotand breathless, they threw themselves on the dry mossbeneath the fir trees that crowned the flat top of the hill.

But the glorious prospects amply repaid their toil; andthe sweet odor emitted by the resinous trees, the freshnessof the air, and the soft murmur of the breeze thatsoughed through the treetops, were all delicious. Theirluncheon, washed down as it was by the water from aspring in the hillside, was discussed with a relish; andthen Tom was sent back to Orwell Court with the emptybasket, to carry Mrs. Wilson the tidings of their safearrival at their destination, and a renewal of their promiseto be home before evening set in.

When they had rambled round the top of the hill, andFlorence had sketched one of the prettiest points of view,a favorite book was brought out, and the boys seatedthemselves at her feet to listen while she read aloud.

They had perched themselves on a part of the hill[Pg 147]that jutted out, commanding an uninterrupted prospect ofthe highroad, which wound round the foot immediatelybeneath them; and it was at first an amusem*nt to Fredto note how small the few figures looked which had passedalong it.

By and by the little fellows’ heads drooped heavily onFlorence’s knee; but, absorbed in the book, she noticednothing unusual, till Walter said in her ear:

“Donna, there’s a storm coming up; I can feel it on theair.”

“So can I,” added Fred plaintively. “My poor head isaching so badly I don’t know what to do.”

Florence looked anxiously around. She knew thatWalter, with boyish enthusiasm, liked to watch the warringelements, but she had heard Fred pathetically describehis sufferings during the tempests he had witnessedin India. The child’s nervous temperament, always delicate,was severely affected by the change in the weather;and when she tried to arouse him that they might seek ashelter ere the storm overtook them, he sank on theground, moaning with the acute pain in his temples.

There was not a cottage near, and for a few minutesshe knelt beside her helpless charge in great perplexity.

“Let me run to the Court and ask Mrs. Wilson to sendthe pony chaise for you and Fred,” suggested his braverbrother.

Florence glanced at the threatening sky above them.

“My dear boy, it is such a distance to let you goalone.”

[Pg 148]

“Nonsense, Donna! I don’t mind it a bit. It’s no useto stay here, for it will be hours before Fred is better.”

This seemed too feasible to be denied.

“I’ll run all the way,” Walter added eagerly. “And oldJohn will soon rattle the chaise here, with plenty of cloaksand umbrellas.”

Reluctantly Florence consented to let him go. But nosooner had she given a faint consent than, delighted toprove his courage by the undertaking, Walter boundeddown the hill. He stopped a moment at the foot to wavehis cap, then vaulted over the stile, and she saw himrun swiftly toward the field path by which they came, justas a deafening clap of thunder was followed by a fewlarge drops of rain.

Afraid to take refuge beneath the trees at the summit,and incapable of effecting Fred’s removal to the foot,Florence laid him beneath the projecting bank which hadformed their seat, and tried to revive him by bathing hisforehead with the cool water from the spring. But erelong all her efforts had to be centered in sheltering himfrom a pelting shower that came down fast and furiously.By wrapping her own mantle around the child she succeededin keeping him tolerably safe; but her own dressof some thin material was soon drenched, and she beganto reckon the moments since Walter’s departure, and longimpatiently for the appearance of the chaise.

As she stood up to gaze along the silent highway, agentleman, riding in the opposite direction, came in sight,and his eye was caught by her figure. It was something[Pg 149]so entirely out of the common way to see a lady in thissolitary spot, especially with a storm raging around her,that he checked his steed and looked again. This minutersurvey of the graceful form on the heights ended in hisdismounting, securing his reins to a sapling, and commencingthe ascent of the hill.

Florence neither saw nor heard his approach. She hadbeen too much absorbed in her own chilly condition andthe plaints of Fred; and, returning to the boy, she waskneeling by his side, trying to soothe the terrors whichmade him cry and tremble every time the hoarse mutteringof the thunder was audible.

The first thing that made her aware that they were nolonger alone was the snapping of some branches beneath aheavy foot. The next moment the bushes were parted,and Mr. Aylwinne appeared.

Too much astonished to speak, she rose and stood beforehim like a beautiful statue of silence—her parted lips,her varying color, alone betraying the pleasure she couldnot help feeling at his coming.

But when he drew nearer and began to ask with solicitudethe reason he found her here, she remembered herself,and, withdrawing the hand he had taken, gave a curtexplanation.

He bent compassionately over Fred, and then eyed hermore steadfastly than before.

“But your dress is wet, your shoulders quite unprotected!How long do you say Walter has started? Youmust let me put my coat around you.”

[Pg 150]

But this Florence would not permit, and made light ofthe fears he expressed.

“I shall catch a cold, perhaps, but it is unavoidable; or,rather, I have nothing to blame for it but my own folly innot watching the weather more carefully.”

Mr. Aylwinne’s uneasiness on her account was not appeasedby this careless speech; and Florence, whom italternately vexed and flattered, was thankful when thepony carriage came in sight.

Wrapping Fred in the coat she had refused, Mr. Aylwinneraised the boy in his arms to carry him down thehill, and Florence prepared to follow; but after takingtwo or three steps he looked back, and warned her not toattempt it.

“The rain has made the dry, short moss as slippery asglass,” he said. “And it will be impossible for you tokeep your feet without assistance. Pray stay where youare until I can return.”

She obeyed so far as to stand still until he had passedout of sight, but her pride revolting against the idea ofaccepting his aid, or of leaning on his arm, she resolvedto essay the descent without it.

Mr. Aylwinne had in no wise exaggerated the difficulty.Florence’s thin boots, with their flat soles, afforded noresistance to the glassy earth. She was fain to snatchdesperately at the trees to save herself from being throwndown; and at last, in one long glissade, she was impelledforward until she was on the very brink of a sand pit,and only saved from being hurried into it by the projecting[Pg 151]roots of an old ash tree, which she succeeded in grasping.

Frightened at the danger so narrowly escaped, andconscious that she must have wandered from the directroute, she tried to return to the spot where Mr. Aylwinnehad left her. With difficulty she raised herself to herfeet, for the fury of the lightning, and the beating of therain in her face, dizzied her. Catching at the tufts ofheather and the brushwood for support, she had nearlysucceeded in returning to the path, when a flash, morevivid than any of the previous ones, lit up the murky air.A venerable tree, struck by the electric fluid, waveredand fell so immediately in the direction she was pursuing,that, shrieking and cowering down, she hid her face.Those mighty branches threatened to crush her beneaththem, but she had no power to avert her doom. Sheknew that a fearful death was at hand, but time andstrength to escape seemed alike to have left her. With amighty crash the old tree measured its length upon theearth, that trembled beneath the shock; but Florence feltherself snatched from her dangerous position, and knewthat she was safe and in the arms of Mr. Aylwinne.

A MAN OF MYSTERY.

For some few moments the awed Florence could notcollect her senses sufficiently to know more than that shewas saved. When she began to recover herself a little,Mr. Aylwinne was hurrying her down the hill; nor didhe pause until they stood beside the carriage in whichFred was already comfortably laid.

“Miss Heriton must not ride home—she is too wet torun the risk,” said Mr. Aylwinne authoritatively. “Takemy horse with you, John, and I will walk with her acrossthe fields.”

Without giving her time to raise any objection, he ledher away, and the exceeding gravity of his face kept Florencemute and embarrassed, until he paused a moment toinquire if he was walking too fast.

“I owe you my life,” she faltered. “This is the secondtime you have saved me from a fearful death. How canI thank you?”

“Hush!” he replied, his lip quivering a little. “Neverspeak of it again! Only let me treasure among my fewpleasant recollections the remembrance that I have beenable to be of use to you.”

“You must also let me be grateful,” said Florence,chilled by something in his speech. “My life is of littleworth to any one but myself, yet I shudder at the thoughtsof losing it so fearfully and suddenly.”

[Pg 153]

Mr. Aylwinne walked on a few paces without speaking;then, bending toward her, he said softly:

“Poor little Florence! Has the past left such a darkcloud that you cannot shake it off? I hoped in the peacefulseclusion of Orwell Court, where every one whoknows you loves you, your natural cheerfulness would return.”

She did not reply. She could not tell him that it wasthe inexplicable barrier between them which robbed herlife of its sunshine.

“You must have a change,” Mr. Aylwinne went on.“You shall go to the seaside for a few weeks or longer.The boys will like it, and I shall give you all carte blancheto enjoy yourselves. Let it be a long holiday, and lessonsset entirely aside till you all feel disposed to resume them.Mrs. Wilson shall go, too. I shall leave you to decide foryourselves where it shall be. Choose which part of thecoast you prefer, and I will see about a house theredirectly.”

“I have no doubt that Walter and Fred will be delightedwith your proposal,” Florence coldly answered.“And Mrs. Wilson has not been well lately, so that thechange will be acceptable to her also. But for myself——”

She paused a moment, for Mr. Aylwinne was looking ather so earnestly that in spite of herself her voice faltered.

“Why do you stop?” he demanded.

“Because your kindness makes me regret to do anything[Pg 154]that interferes with your plans. But I have merelybeen waiting for such an opportunity as this, to tell youthat I shall not be able to retain my office much longer.”

“If you say this because I have returned home soonerthan I said I should,” Mr. Aylwinne exclaimed, “prayunderstand at once that I am simply here for a few hours,because my presence was necessary for the signing ofsome leases.”

“If my residence at Orwell Court involves its owner’sabsence,” retorted Florence, rather resentfully, “I havean additional motive for quitting it. But my movementsactually depend on my Aunt Margaret, with whom I amto take up my abode immediately on her return to England.”

Again Mr. Aylwinne walked on in silence, until heabruptly put the query:

“From whom did this proposal emanate? From Mrs.Blunden herself?”

Florence would have preferred evading this question,but as he was waiting for a reply, she said truthfully:

“From myself. As she is my nearest relative, I considerthat I have a claim upon Aunt Margaret’s protection;and this she has cheerfully conceded.”

He sighed.

“Perhaps you have acted wisely—yes, I must acknowledgethat you are right. And yet I hoped you would havebeen contented to remain with us.”

Florence did not reply, and the conversation was notresumed until they were within sight of the house. Then,[Pg 155]as he held her for a moment in his arms while lifting herover an awkward stile, he said tenderly:

“Florence, if you have any perception of what is passingin my heart, you must know how keenly I shall feelyour loss—how sharp a pang it inflicts to know that I cannotsay: ‘Stay with me forever—be the dear companion ofmy life!’”

Trembling from head to foot, she turned from him, andleaned against the stile, too much agitated to sustain herself.

He saw this, and began to reproach himself as thecause.

“I am an unmanly, selfish wretch! I cannot justify myconduct—nothing can excuse it! Yet forgive me, MissHeriton—pray forgive me!”

Instead of answering, she began to hurry on. Whatcould she say that would not in some measure betraythe bitter pain she suffered whenever he made these mysteriousallusions?

But he followed her closely.

“Miss Heriton, you are greatly fatigued—pray takemy arm, and I promise on my honor not to offend youagain. You will not? Florence, had I felt less deeply, Icould have better borne the disappointment of my besthopes.”

Florence let him draw her hand through his arm. Oh,if he would but explain himself more fully—if he wouldbut tell her frankly what this barrier was whose existencehe so deplored! He loved her! Yes, she could not doubt[Pg 156]that, veil it as he might under the colder name of friendship.What was it that made a confession of his lovesinful or impossible?

But apparently satisfied with this mute token of herforgiveness, he silently led her to the house. At the doorwas Mrs. Wilson, who had been watching for their arrival.

She held up her hands in dismay as she saw Florence’swhite face and dripping garments, and began to exclaim:“Dear me! How dreadful! My poor, dear child, thiswill give you your death!”

“Not if proper precautions are promptly taken,” saidMr. Aylwinne significantly; and his kind-hearted housekeeperacted on the hint with such dispatch that the wearygirl was soon undressed and laid in a warm bed, withdirections to have a long, comfortable sleep and not makeherself uneasy about Fred, who was getting better already.

Exhausted both in mind and body by the flood of hystericaltears she shed as soon as she was alone, she triedto obey the injunction, and was sinking into a fitful dozewhen her door was softly opened.

Imagining that it was only Mrs. Wilson coming in toinquire how she felt, and in no humor to be talked to,Florence lay perfectly still, with closed eyes, while the intrudercame on tiptoe to the bedside and leaned over her.

As the curtain was again dropped, she heard Mrs. Wilsonsay, in cautious, lowered tones:

“I told you she must be sleeping.”

[Pg 157]

“I know,” said a fuller and louder voice. “But I couldnot resist coming at once to look at her. Dear child, sheis the image of her sweet, gentle mother!”

Florence started up in bed, and threw back the drapery.Her ear had not deceived her, and she was warmly claspedto the capacious bosom of her hot-tempered but affectionateAunt Margaret.

THE NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH.

Mrs. Blunden, ill skilled in analyzing the feelings ofthose about her, never suspected the mingled ones thatprompted the sobs Florence could not repress. She attributedthem entirely to the recollections naturally arisingon this their first meeting since Mr. Heriton’s death.In the same breath she reproached her niece as havingby her deceitful conduct occasioned their estrangement,and called herself hard-hearted for not having soonerforgiven her.

“You were a very naughty girl, Florence. I must callyou so. I’ll never say one thing and mean another. Theword of the Heritons has always been their bond; andnothing can excuse you for breaking yours. But I oughtto have considered the circ*mstances in which you wereplaced. I’m afraid I’ve been dreadfully unfeeling. Praydon’t fret any more—I can’t bear it! And I’ve come toyou with the kindest intentions. You shall take my name,and I’ll introduce you into society, and take care that youmarry well. You shall never again know what trouble oranxiety means, my dear.”

Florence tried to smile her thanks; but ventured toremind her aunt that she had not yet thrown off hermourning for her father. The very idea of mixing in thefrivolities of fashion was so distasteful to one who had[Pg 159]for the last few years been making acquaintance with lifein its sternest realities, that she could not wholly concealher repugnance.

Mrs. Blunden, however, pooh-poohed the objection. Itwas her will that was to be Florence’s law from henceforth,and she was beginning to dictate already.

“That will be of no consequence. If you assume myname no one need know that you were my poor, foolishbrother’s daughter, and any large establishment in Londonwill supply us with the dresses you require at a day’snotice.”

“I will never put off the name of Heriton as though Iwere ashamed of it!” cried Florence proudly.

Mrs. Blunden reddened.

“As though you were ashamed of it! And so you oughtto be ashamed of it! I don’t say the fault is yours, child;but I’m sure my poor brother’s follies have made it sonotorious that I’m only too glad I no longer bear it.There! Now I’ve made you cry again. Dear me! Youcan’t be well to be so easily upset.”

“I don’t think I am very strong-nerved just now,” Florencereplied, trying to speak cheerfully. “Suppose wewaive any further discussion of your wishes for a day ortwo. And, dear Aunt Margaret, do try to remember thatwhatever papa may have done, to me he was a dear andfondly loved parent. If you had heard him bless me erehe died, or listened to his regrets that he could not seeyou once more and awake your protection for his child,you would not cherish such unkind recollections.”

[Pg 160]

Mrs. Blunden melted directly.

“I’m a very unfeeling, unchristianly old woman, mydear, to speak in such terms of my only brother. Poor,dear Richard! whom I remember the handsomest andmost-popular man in Northumberland. Kiss me, and forgiveme, Florence. I’ll never say such cruel things again,and you shall keep your name. It’s one of the oldest inEngland. There is not a more ancient or honorable familyanywhere than the Heritons, let who will say to thecontrary.”

Florence gave her impulsive relative the kiss she asked,and then inquired what Mrs. Blunden’s arrangementswere, and when she proposed that they should take theirdeparture from Orwell Court.

“Oh, my dear, I’ve come for a month at least! Youneed not look so surprised. I promised Mr. Aylwinnethat my first visit in England should be to him, and sohere I am. I have seen him while you were sleeping, andhe has pressed me to stay as long as I feel comfortable.”

“I thought we should have gone away at once,” saidFlorence, to whose heart these weeks of close intimacywith Mr. Aylwinne would be a greater trial than an immediateparting.

“Why? Where do you wish to go?” Mrs. Blundenasked sharply.

“Anywhere you please; I have no choice.”

“Then why do you wish to hurry me away from here?Unless, indeed, you have not been well used. Tell me,child, has Mr. Aylwinne treated you ill in any way?”[Pg 161]And the lady’s color began to rise and her eyes to sparkledefiantly.

“No, aunt—no; he has been most kind—most considerate!”was the answer, given with a sigh.

Mrs. Blunden still looked unsatisfied.

“But you must have a motive for proposing to go awaybefore I have scarcely had time to say half a dozen sentencesto my host.”

“Yes,” said Florence sadly, “and my principal one isthat I dread the pang of parting, and long to have itover.”

Mrs. Blunden gave herself a cross shake.

“Really, child, you are too sentimental! You don’tmean to tell me that you shall half break your heart atsaying good-by to two troublesome little boys and a fidgetyold lady?”

“No,” Florence replied, with an effort at indifference.“I’ll not break my heart at parting with any one. I’msorry I said anything about it; and we will go or stay,just as you please, Aunt Margaret.”

“As for Mr. Aylwinne, you have seen too little of himto feel any regrets on his account,” Mrs. Blunden went on,answering her own thoughts more than her niece’s words.“Neither is he the sort of man to captivate a young girl’sfancy. He is too staid—too reserved; besides, I have mydoubts about him.”

“Doubts, Aunt Margaret?” cried Florence breathlessly.“What do you know? What have you heard?”

“Pooh! Nothing tangible, so never repeat it. But[Pg 162]there’s no denying that he’s very eccentric; and it’s myown opinion that his brain is slightly affected. You knowhe had been in India for some years, which might accountfor it.”

Florence turned away from her in a pet. Mr. Aylwinne—thekeen observer, the profound scholar, the man ofbusiness habits—declared not only eccentric, but somethingworse! It was a few minutes before she could answerher aunt’s remarks without betraying her annoyance.

She went, however, with Mrs. Blunden to the roomsprepared for her, and assisted her maid in unpacking,putting the lady in such a good humor by her attentionsthat she descended to dinner prepared to like every one.

Fred was not well enough to rise again that day, butFlorence had found time ere she joined the party belowto pay him a short visit, and promise him a longer one inthe course of the evening.

As she was leaving him he grasped her dress and drewher back.

“Mrs. Wilson was saying something to Jane just nowabout an aunt of yours coming here to fetch you away,Donna. But you’ll not leave us, will you?”

Florence stooped and kissed him without replying, forshe had seen Mr. Aylwinne enter the room while the boywas speaking, and knew that he, too, was listening to hearwhat she would say.

When he found that she was silent, he came forward,and Fred in great tribulation turned to his guardian.

“Mr. Aylwinne, she is going away! What shall we do[Pg 163]without her? There isn’t any one who has been so goodto us since we lost mamma! Can’t you get her to stay?Oh, do, sir—do try! She’d listen to you if you asked her.”

But he, too, was silent; and Florence, to end the awkwardpause, said to the excited child soothingly:

“Dear Fred, I am not going yet. Lie down and bequiet, or you will make your head worse. I may notleave you for some weeks to come.”

“But I don’t want you to go at all!” sobbed the boy,and Mr. Aylwinne walked quietly away.

With some trouble Florence reconciled her pupil tothe necessity of their separation, and sat by him till he fellasleep.

When she entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Wilson wasabsent. Her anxiety that the dinner should be perfectionto the palates of her employer and his lady guest madeher fidget in and out of the kitchen incessantly, until thecook was thrown into a state of desperation, and declaredto her sympathizing assistants an intention of sitting downand leaving “missus” to finish the cooking herself.

Mrs. Blunden, unconscious of the turmoil her visit hadcreated in the lower regions, was conversing with Mr.Aylwinne, and recalling some of her traveling experiencesfor the amusem*nt of Walter, whose bright, intelligentface had taken her fancy. But after her niece entered,the depressed manner she could not shake off attractedher aunt’s notice; and although Florence was not nearenough to hear her half-whispered remarks, she was painfullyconscious that Mrs. Blunden was adverting to it.[Pg 164]Mr. Aylwinne, too, though politeness compelled him tolend an ear, was evidently embarrassed, and anxious tochange the subject. This he succeeded in doing whendinner was announced. But in the evening Mrs. Blundenfastened upon him again, and consoled herself for thesilence she had promised to observe to Florence, by makinghim a confidant of all the vexation her poor brother’sfolly had cost her.

Growing desperate at last, Florence challenged her auntto a game at chess, as the only means of quieting her.

“Presently, love. Arrange the men, and I will be withyou before you are ready.”

Walter ran to fetch the board and bring a little tablecloser to the center lamp, and Florence followed him to it.This brought her nearer the talkers, if Mr. Aylwinne canbe so named, whose conversational efforts had been vainlydirected to turning his companion’s thoughts into anotherchannel.

Mrs. Blunden had not the delicacy to understand orappreciate this. Mr. Heriton’s speculations and losseswere patent to the whole world, and she saw no reasonwhy she should not describe her own feelings in connectionwith them.

“Yes,” Florence heard her say, “though the act was thatfoolish child’s, I’m sure, from what my solicitor has sincetold me, that it was at my brother’s pressing solicitations;and I know it was drawn out to put into the hands of thatwicked rogue we were speaking about. Florence,” sheadded, in louder tones, “Florence, my dear, am I not[Pg 165]right? Didn’t your legacy go to swell Lieutenant Mason’sgains?”

Mr. Aylwinne, who had striven to prevent the puttingof the question, started up and left the room; but as hewent he saw Florence redden to the temples, and heardher indignant and reproachful exclamation: “Aunt Margaret!”

“Well, my dear,” was the placid reply, “what harmhave I done in alluding to this? You forget that everyone knows it, and I chose Mr. Aylwinne to understandthat I never gave your poor father any encouragement inhis follies.”

Florence could have cried with vexation. Instead ofher aunt’s presence being a comfort to her, her feelingshad been tried already more than they had been formonths. But Mrs. Blunden could not be made to see this.The only hope was that, as she had relieved herself bysaying all she thought upon the painful subject, she wouldnow be contented to let it rest.

Mr. Aylwinne came back no more that night, sendingan apology for his absence, which was graciously received;and Florence, with aching head and troubled mind,played chess with Mrs. Blunden till the latter grew out ofpatience with her careless moves, and proposed that theyshould go to bed.

After this first day Aunt Margaret proved more agreeableand manageable than her niece had anticipated. Mrs.Wilson, to whom her activity and decision were somethingremarkable, deferred to her visitor continually, and Mrs.[Pg 166]Blunden, always pleased to be made of consequence,arranged her store closet for her, set her books in order,and advised and directed with a brisk precision that thepoor, little, nervous housekeeper thought wonderful.

Mrs. Blunden liked children—that is, boys; girls weretoo quiet in their habits to please her. Before she hadbeen at Orwell Court three days she had made the acquaintanceof all Walter’s and Fred’s schoolfellows, andorganized cricket and running matches, and archery meetings,at which she presided in state, and gave prizes to thewinners. The sight of her cheerful face and portly figurewas hailed with delight at the vicarage, where she soonmade herself quite at home both with Mr. Lumley andthe prim little lady, his only sister, who resided with him.She even penetrated the secret of Miss Lumley’s soberlooks, and learned that she was losing hope and youth inthe suspense of a long engagement to a curate too poorto marry. Mrs. Blunden immediately set all her energiesto work to procure this young man a living, and, by dintof indefatigable efforts, was successful.

Every one’s services at Orwell Court were then enlistedin the preparation of a simple trousseau for thegrateful bride, Aunt Margaret deprecating any furtherdelays.

Mr. Aylwinne, whose purse was at her command,would sometimes come into the room where the cuttingout and contriving were going on at one table, whileFlorence and her pupils studied at another. He wouldstand by, watching them all with looks which never[Pg 167]brightened into a smile, save when Mrs. Blunden addressedhim, and then Florence could see that it was buta forced attempt to appear gay.

“How is it? You are the only idler among us,” Mrs.Blunden said to him laughingly, one day, as he stoodbeside her.

“Because you never take interest enough in me to giveme occupation,” he retorted.

With another jest, she offered him her scissors; but hedeclined them.

“No, I will not expose my ignorance of female arts andsciences. But if there is anything I can do, you may commandme.”

Mrs. Blunden pointed to a newspaper.

“Read to us. I have been too busy to inquire how theworld goes on; and Florence never cares to know.”

Mr. Aylwinne drew forward a chair, and began glancingdown the columns.

“What will you have? The court movements, the stateof the funds, or the fashions?”

“Neither,” was the reply. “Let us hear the generalnews—the accidents, and robberies, and so on.”

He read two or three police reports, and turned overthe page to find something else likely to interest her; then,starting from his seat, with his eyes riveted on the page towhich he had turned, he carried it to the window, wherefor a few moments he stood absorbed in something thatappeared possessed of some extraordinary interest to him.

Startled by his hasty movement, Florence had raised[Pg 168]her eyes from the drawing she was overlooking. She sawhim turn very pale, flush as deeply, and drop the newspaper;opening the sash, he stepped out onto the lawn,and before Mrs. Blunden missed him he had plunged intothe shrubbery.

“What! Is he gone? I thought he would soon tire ofreading aloud; I detest it myself. Come here, Florence,and tell me whether you think these trimmings should bepink or blue.”

Her niece obeyed so far as to cross the room and say aquiet “Yes,” and “No,” in accordance with Mrs. Blunden’swishes. But when her aunt released her, shesnatched up the newspaper and carried it to her ownroom.

There were two paragraphs on which his eye must haverested, for they were close together. One announced aserious accident to the daughter of Major Dawson, of120 Park Villas, the young lady having been thrownfrom her horse while riding in Rotten Row. The otherreported the death, at San Francisco, in a gaming house,of Lieutenant Mason, son of the late Mr. and LadyCatherine Mason, of the Brae House, Northumberland.

Which of these reports was it that had so powerfullyaffected Mr. Aylwinne? Florence’s jealous heart answered,“The first—the first!” for the injured girl wasone of those fair sisters of whom Mrs. Wilson had spokenwhen the subject of his marriage was touched upon.

Would she die? Or would she recover and becomehis wife?

SUSPENSE.

For two or three days Florence could not resist secretlywatching Mr. Aylwinne. He did not go to town, as shehad expected he would, but he wrote several letters, andseemed unusually impatient for the arrival of the post.There was an inexplicable change, too, in his manner towardherself. Without actually avoiding her, he seemedto hold himself aloof, to address her with increased respectand consideration, and to lower his tones as if somegreat sympathy for her were striving within him.

Florence flushed to the temples as she imagined a reasonfor this. He had missed the newspaper, had guessedwhose hand had abstracted it, and divined the feelingswith which she had discovered his interest in its contents.

Ashamed to have so betrayed herself, she tried to appearcareless and light-hearted, but succeeded so ill thateven Aunt Margaret detected something amiss, and openlywondered what ailed her.

“I cannot understand that girl,” she said to Mr. Aylwinneconfidentially. “I’m sure she has some secret shekeeps from me, which is most ungenerous of her, for sheknows how much I abhor mysteries and deceit.”

“Miss Heriton wants a change,” he answered abruptly.“She must go away from here, or she will have an illness.[Pg 170]Take her to the seaside, Mrs. Blunden, and let mywards go with you. She will then have less time to belonely and brood over her sorrows.”

“Sorrows!” Mrs. Blunden ejacul*ted, almost angrily.“Good gracious! Why, she has none; or, if she has,it’s very unthankful of her! She knows I shall make aprovision for her future, whether she marries or remainssingle, and I’m neither exacting nor ill-natured. Sorrowsindeed!”

“The young have many thoughts they do not alwayscare to publish,” he replied evasively, “and Miss Heritonmay have had troubles in her father’s lifetime which haverobbed her of her natural cheerfulness.”

“It’s more likely that the heat of the weather hasaffected her,” said Aunt Margaret, unable to enter intohis ideas. “I’m afraid she has her mother’s delicate constitution.I was very inconsiderate not to think of thatbefore. Poor child!” she added, all her better feelingsawakening. “I’ve no doubt she has felt languid andpoorly for some time, and would not confess it for fear ofalarming me. I’ll have a physician from London directly,and he shall counsel me where to take her.”

Accordingly Mrs. Blunden dispatched a telegram forone of the highest medical authorities, who arrived beforethe astonished Florence knew he was on his way. Toplease her aunt she saw him, although protesting thatnothing ailed her.

The physician pronounced her nerves weak, prescribeda simple tonic, agreed with Mrs. Blunden that sea air[Pg 171]would prove efficacious, and drove away, and in anotherhour Orwell Court was in commotion, for the business ofpacking commenced directly, Aunt Margaret declaringthat no time should be lost in effecting the contemplatedchange.

Mr. Aylwinne, through the agency of a friend, securedthem a charming cottage at Babbicombe Bay, and madeevery arrangement for the comfort of the party that histhoughtful consideration could devise. He had insistedthat Mrs. Wilson should accompany them, although shestrongly urged the impossibility of leaving him at OrwellCourt alone.

“Don’t be uneasy on my account,” he said; “I shall dovery well. When I begin to get hipped and miss my comfortsI will send for you.”

“What’s that?” cried Mrs. Blunden, who had beenengaged with some one else. “Hipped! Why should yoube? Of course you will go with us.”

No, he answered decidedly—he should not leave homeuntil he had received some letters for which he was dailylooking.

“But you’ll join us?”

He hesitated. He did not know. He could not say.He would be guided by circ*mstances.

She was a little annoyed at her nonsuccess in prevailingwith him, and bade him but a cold farewell. He eitherwould not or did not notice this, but insisted on accompanyingthem to the railway station, at which, owing to[Pg 172]Mrs. Blunden’s impatience, they arrived nearly half anhour before the train was due.

While the boys wandered about the platform, plyingAunt Margaret with questions, and Mrs. Wilson overlookedthe labeling of the luggage, Florence retreated tothe waiting room. Here Mr. Aylwinne found her.

“Don’t let me disturb you, Miss Heriton; I have onlycome to say good-by, and to ask you if there is anythingI can do for you in London, where I purpose going to-morrow?”

She said no, and thanked him coldly, but still he lingered.

“I do not wish to force myself into your confidence,yet between old friends like you and me a little licensemay be permitted. Give me leave to speak freely, willyou?”

“I do not know what you can mean,” said Florence,surprised at this preamble.

“Indeed! Then perhaps I am premature—perhaps youdo not know. But there is, or, rather, was, a report in oneof the daily papers that I fancied you would wish tohear confirmed or contradicted.”

Florence grew crimson with mortification. Even if heguessed the jealous regret she had been nourishing, it wasindelicate of him thus to allude to it.

“I have heard all I wish to hear,” she exclaimed, andhurried toward her aunt, who now called out that thetrain was in sight.

“I have looked my last on Orwell Court,” thought[Pg 173]Florence when they were actually on their journey, “perhapson its master; nor do I think that I would wish tosee him again, even if a wish would bring him to myfeet. If he has engaged himself to this young girl, howcruel to waver, to keep aloof, now that she is suffering!If the report be false, why torture me with glances andsighs that reveal his affection, even while he plainly sayshe cannot ask me to be his? I will never see him againif it be possible to avoid it, but persuade Aunt Margaretto travel—to take me somewhere out of the beaten track,where even his name cannot reach my ear, and it maybe possible in time to forget him.”

STILL A MYSTERY.

Susan Denham—never a very good correspondent—hadonly written once to Florence since she had beenresiding at Orwell Court, and that was to regret thelength of time Miss Heriton’s letter announcing herfather’s death had lain unopened, owing to her own absencefrom home and subsequent illness.

But soon after Mrs. Blunden had established herself atBabbicombe Bay a letter was forwarded to Florence inSusan’s handwriting. It was written in some agitation.A paper, reporting Lieutenant Mason’s death, had beensent to her from New York, with the paragraph underlined;and though the direction was evidently in a disguisedhand, Susan felt sure that she recognized someof Julia’s bold down strokes, and was now all anxiety toobtain further information concerning her unhappycousin.

“I have often thought,” she wrote, “that she mighthave pursued her misguided husband with the intentionof compelling from him the proofs of her marriage.Perhaps she was with him at the time of his dreadfuldeath, and now lingers in America, too miserable to seekmy sympathy. How can I learn this? Dear Miss Heriton,can you advise or help me? You speak highly ofMr. Aylwinne in your letters, and you say that he hasbeen a great traveler. Do you think he has any acquaintance[Pg 175]with the British consuls in America? Orcould tell me my best way of proceeding to trace Julia’spresent abode? If you can learn this for me withouttouching upon her history more than is absolutely necessary,I shall be very thankful, for in all such matters Iam sadly inexperienced.”

Florence had not the slightest doubt of Mr. Aylwinne’sreadily interesting himself in the affair if he were askedto do so, but she shrank from making any request to himin the present state of her feelings. However, for thesake of the affectionate Susan, she conquered her repugnance;and, having occasion to address him respectingsome books he had promised to procure for Walter, butforgotten, she availed herself of the opportunity. Preventedby Susan’s wish from entering into any explanation,she merely inclosed the paragraph, with the followingwords appended:

“I am very anxious to learn whether this unhappy manwas alone at the time of his death. Can you ascertainthis for me? Or tell me how I may learn fuller particularsof the occurrence than this report contains?”

With an apology for troubling him, she closed her noteand dispatched it; then felt as if she would have givenworlds to recall it, and accused herself of folly and boldnessin thus opening the way for a correspondence withone whom she had resolved to forget. The thought ofSusan waiting eagerly for her reply partially reconciledher to what she had done; but still she tormented herself[Pg 176]with conjectures as to what Mr. Aylwinne must havethought of her letter.

The books for Walter were sent in the course of a dayor two, with a penciled note to the boy, regretting thatthey had been so long forgotten. There was also a postscriptfor Florence:

“Tell Miss Heriton I will attend to her request, and sheshall hear the result of my inquiries shortly.”

This was cold and concise enough; so much so, thatFlorence, whose heart was craving the attentions herreason condemned, felt disappointed. She would not giveway to this, but tried to interest herself in the pursuits ofWalter and Fred, who were out for hours daily, exploringthe rock pools, and bringing home stores of shells, andseaweeds, and marine monsters that frightened Mrs.Wilson and amused Aunt Margaret, who preferred tostay quietly on the beach, with a camp stool and her book.

Coming home one bright, tranquil evening from a longerexcursion than usual, they found Mr. Aylwinne sitting onthe sands with the elder ladies. He shook hands with hiswards, congratulated Florence on the improvement in herlooks, and then sat very silent until she went indoors,when he rose and followed her.

The weary boys had thrown themselves down at Mrs.Blunden’s feet, and no one seemed disposed to move evenwhen Mrs. Wilson put away her knitting needles, andwondered whether she ought not to go in and order tea.

“Florence is there. She will call us when it is ready.Pray sit still,” said Aunt Margaret, who had suddenly[Pg 177]awakened to the fact that there was something significantin the deep blush that mantled on her niece’s cheek whenshe beheld Mr. Aylwinne, and saw no reason why sheshould interfere, if it betokened the dawning of a loveaffair.

Florence had gone into the drawing room and taken offher hat, unconscious that any one had followed her, untilshe turned, and saw in the twilight pervading the apartmentthe object who filled her thoughts.

“Did I startle you?” he asked, without advancing. “Ifancied you would be glad to have the information yousought at the earliest moment. Shall I tell you at oncewhat I have ascertained? Or would you rather hear itwhen——”

“At once, if you please,” she said quickly. “But is itpossible that you have obtained tidings from Californiaalready?”

“I must acknowledge,” he answered, “that I institutedinquiries respecting this matter some time since. I onlyreceived a reply to them yesterday.”

Florence sat down to listen, and he went on in a slow,hesitating manner, as if it pained him to tell the tale ofhis countryman’s disgraceful fate.

“The report you sent me is perfectly correct so far as itgoes. The additional particulars an eyewitness has givenme are too painful to repeat. Lieutenant Mason undoubtedlyprovoked the attack by which he lost his life.”

Florence thought of the poor mother who had never[Pg 178]ceased to hope and pray for her son’s reformation, andcovered her eyes with her hand.

“To the question you asked me, ‘Was he alone?’ I mustanswer ‘Yes.’ But my informant avers that after thedeath a young female——Shall I go on? Is this a talefor your ears?”

“Oh, I beseech you tell me all!” she cried breathlessly.Was the clue found at last? Had Julia indeed followedthe heartless man who had so cruelly deserted her?

Mr. Aylwinne obeyed.

“A young female laid claim to the papers of the deceased,averring that she had a legal right to their possession,and promising to appear at the inquest. Whenthis took place, however, she had disappeared—having, itwas discovered, taken her departure for New York.”

“And this is all?” said Florence inquiringly, finding thathe paused.

“All I have been able to gather at present. But if youcan suggest anything——”

“A thousand thanks,” she answered hastily. “But, no;I must consult my friend.” And then Florence’s headwent down on her hand again with a thrill of pity, as shepictured the struggles and privations Julia must have endured—nay,might now be enduring, a stranger in a strangers’land, too proud to beseech her cousin’s assistance,unless she had been successful in obtaining the proofs ofher marriage.

When she looked up Mr. Aylwinne had gone. He hadreturned to the group on the beach; and when, warned[Pg 179]by the increasing chilliness of the night, they came in, hestill lingered on the sands with his cigar, pacing to and froin the moonlight.

Mrs. Blunden cast a searching look at her niece whenshe came into her room to bid her good night.

“What had Mr. Aylwinne to say to you, Florence?Anything very interesting?”

“No, Aunt Margaret—at least, it would not interestyou. It was merely some information I had asked him toprocure for me.”

Mrs. Blunden’s “Oh!” was sharp and suspicious, butFlorence’s was not the face of a young lady who haswithin the last hour accepted or rejected a suitor, and shewas forced to conclude that she was mistaken.

The boys were urgent on the following morning toknow whether their guardian intended remaining.

“You’d better, sir,” pleaded Fred, “for there’s splendidwalks all round about; and if you were here we mighthave a boat and sail to lots of places where the Donnadon’t like to trust us with only old Sam, the boatman. Dostay!”

“Yes, do!” echoed Mrs. Blunden. “I don’t mind confessingthat I find a house very dull when it only containsthree women and some children. I begin to want amusem*nt.”

Mr. Aylwinne smiled at her frankness, while Mrs. Wilsonlooked shocked.

“To-day, at all events, I will devote to la Reine Marguerite;[Pg 180]but whether I am to continue in her suite or notmust depend”—he hesitated and colored a little—“mustdepend on circ*mstances.”

“And what are circ*mstances?” queried Mrs. Blunden.“I can’t understand a lord of the creation being governedby whim or accident, and calling himself the creature ofcirc*mstances. Why not say decidedly I do or I do notchoose to stay?”

“Because,” he answered, in lowered tones, “I am notjust at present master of my own actions. After this candidconfession you will spare me, will you not?”

Mrs. Blunden shook her head, and glanced from himto Florence, as she had done more than once already.But she gained nothing by her scrutiny, for the face ofher niece was turned from her, and she was listening withapparent interest to an extraordinary dream that hadvisited Mrs. Wilson’s slumbers.

“There is something here that I can’t quite comprehend,”muttered Aunt Margaret. “I shall watch themclosely, and draw my own conclusions.”

She had but scant opportunities for carrying out herintentions. Mr. Aylwinne planned one of the sailingexcursions for which the boys had been teasing him, andin high spirits they all set forth, except Florence, who wasanxious to write a long letter to Susan Denham, andstayed at home for this purpose. She related all that shehad learned from Mr. Aylwinne, and advised Susan tosend some advertisem*nts to the New York papers,worded in such a manner that they would be likely to[Pg 181]catch the eye of Julia, and assure her of her cousin’s wishthat she would return to England.

It was late before the boating party returned—so latethat Florence was beginning to feel surprised, if not uneasy,at their absence—when Mr. Aylwinne came in alone.

She threw down her work, and rose to meet him.

“Has anything happened?”

“Nothing that need alarm you. Our friends have beendetained by an hospitable acquaintance of Mrs. Blunden’s,who insists that they stay to take tea with her;and I came to acquaint you with the reason of the delay,and to ask you if you will join them.”

“I had rather not,” said Florence, who still shrankfrom the gay, gossiping people in whom her Aunt Margaretdelighted.

Mr. Aylwinne did not press her going, but he said:

“It is not right that you should lose the whole of thislovely day indoors. Will you not walk along the beach tomeet them?”

A little embarrassed by the request, she would havedeclined, but he said:

“Do not refuse, Florence—I may never ask aught fromyou again.”

Her confusion was greatly increased by the low, deeptones in which he spoke. Scarcely knowing what shedid, she took up her hat, threw a light mantle over hershoulders, and stepped out into the garden. He followed,and, drawing her hand through his arm, led her in thecontrary direction to that he had proposed.

[Pg 182]

If Florence was conscious of this, she made no remark.She knew that the arm on which she rested trembledstrangely, and that the eyes looking down upon her hadin them the same soft light, the same tender affection, thatbeamed in them when Frank Dormer held her to hisbreast the day he saved her from destruction on the banksof the Coquet.

As if he, too, were thinking of that moment, he said:

“Do you remember how you wished you had somethingto give me? And how I answered that if you were thesame Florence on my return that I left I would ask youfor what would be more precious to me than aught elsethe world can contain? You were too young and childishto comprehend me then, or to guess how the only hope Icarried away with me was of returning to ask you to bemine.”

“Why do you persist in referring to these things?” saidFlorence resentfully.

“Do you bid me be silent? Do you bid me leave you?Or will you not say ‘Stay, and leave me no more?’”

She flashed one look of glad surprise at the earnestspeaker; then, checked by the recollection of his strangebehavior, exclaimed:

“Should you ask me this—you, who have yourself acknowledged——”

He would not let her finish the sentence.

“Hush! That is all past and gone now. We are bothfree, and no foolish punctilios shall stand between us.You are the same Florence I have always loved; and there[Pg 183]shall be no more looking back. Never allude to what hasbeen. It maddens me to think of it! For my sake do notrecur to it, for I cannot bear it!”

He left her for a moment as if to recover his self-control;then, drawing her to his side, he gently said:

“If you are the same Florence I loved at the priory—theFlorence whose mother blessed and sanctioned mywishes—I say again, be mine!”

She thought of her fallen fortunes.

“Alas! I am not what I was then!”

“Hush!” he cried, almost sternly. “Have I not saidthat what has happened in all these miserable years ofseparation shall be blotted out?”

“And the obstacles to our union which you have yourselfpronounced——”

“Are they not gone—vanished—swept from our pathsby a Providence kinder to us than we deserved? Nay,Florence, than I deserved, for I have been moody, reckless,repining, often doubting you—yes, even you, whom Ilove so fondly.”

“And I, too, have often been doubtful and depressed,”she faltered, “especially since——” But here she stopped,ashamed to confess how deeply she had felt the estrangementhe had himself pronounced unavoidable. She wastoo much perplexed to be absolutely happy, even thoughthe long-dreamed-of moment had come when Frank Dormertold his love. His mysterious allusions to the pastrequired an explanation he did not seem disposed to give,and this troubled her.

[Pg 184]

He wound his arm around her.

“You shall never be sad again,” he murmured in herear, “if my care and devotion can prevent it.”

But she shrank from him a little, and he saw it.

“What is this, Florence? Have you lost your trust inme? Have you been taught to doubt me? Did he whoseparated us teach you this lesson?”

A cry of pain burst from her lips. She could not hearher father named disrespectfully, however faulty he mighthave been.

“Oh, Mr. Aylwinne, you speak of the dead! For mysake never say such cruel words again!”

“Then you loved him, Florence, in spite of all?” heasked sadly.

“I strove earnestly and faithfully to do my duty; thereforespare me the grief of feeling that you are hard inyour judgment of his actions.”

“You are a true woman,” he said moodily, “ever clingingclosest to those who deserve the least at your hands.”

Angry and hurt, she began to retrace her steps, andthis brought him back to himself. He followed her, andbegan to entreat for forgiveness.

“Florence—dear, dearest Florence, on my honor I willnever pain you in this manner again. I was wrong—Iconfess it. I ought to have admired and imitated yourgenerosity. I tell you, love, these sad years have terriblyaltered me from the Frank you knew. I am harsh in myjudgments, as you truly said, and inclined to look alwaysat the worst side of human nature. But your gentle smile[Pg 185]will exorcise all the demons, and restore me to my betterself. Speak, Florence! Shall we steadily put the bygoneyears behind us, and look forward—always forward?”

She no longer withheld herself from his embrace—sheno longer hesitated to ask herself why he had not said thissooner. His eyes were looking into hers. She knew evenwithout words or promises that she had his love; and ifher tears began to flow fast they were not sorrowful ones.

“You will be mine at once, Florence?” he said, as theyagain walked on together. “As quietly and privately asyou please, but let it be at once.”

“You are too exacting,” she murmured, startled by thesuddenness of the proposal. “I cannot consent to this.”

“What! Do you deny my first request?” he jealouslydemanded.

“Is it not an unreasonable one?” she queried, in herturn. “I have Aunt Margaret to consider; while I shouldwish you to have time to ask yourself what the world willsay to your union with poor me.”

“If I had not determined beforehand to let the worldand the world’s opinions have no part in my plans, I hadnot been here, Florence,” he answered, with a gravitywhich contrasted strongly with the playfulness of her ownmanner. “I am no waverer to be blown hither and thitherby the whispers of indifferent people; and let those whothink to meddle with my private concerns look to it! Ibrook no interference from any one!”

The sunshine died out of Florence’s face, and all theold, anxious conjectures began to come back. Could she[Pg 186]be happy as Frank Dormer’s wife if she had to learn thathe had for her sake broken the ties that should havebound him to another?

She was not sorry that Walter and Fred came in searchof them, and prevented any further conversation. But atthe door Mr. Aylwinne sent the boys in and held herback.

“Tell me, Florence,” he whispered, “is it to be as Iwish?”

“Ah, no!” she faltered. “Give me time—a little time!”

“For what?” he demanded, with the earnest gravitythat would have a reply. “For what? Is it for appearancesake? Or because you are not sure that your heartis in my keeping?”

“If you knew——” Florence began, almost indignant atthe implied doubt, then paused. “But no; I will tell younothing more. You ought to know that I am incapable ofplaying the coquette.”

He took both her hands in his, and drawing her to him,kissed her fervently. But at the same moment hebreathed so deep a sigh that Florence, as soon as she wasreleased, stole away in the dark to her own room, tremblingwith some inexplicable fear. What could it mean?What was this cloud that not even the assurance of herlove had banished from his brow?

NOT QUITE HAPPY.

Mrs. Blunden looked volumes at the heavy eyes withwhich her niece appeared at the breakfast table on thefollowing morning; nor did the tender solicitude of Mr.Aylwinne’s manner, as he rose to give Florence a chair,and hovered about her till rewarded with a blush andsmile, escape her notice. She had scarcely patience to sitstill till the meal was ended; and as soon as she had founda pretext for getting rid of Mrs. Wilson and the boys, shebegan to query sharply:

“What’s all this, Mr. Aylwinne—Florence—what’s allthis?”

In much confusion Florence played with her teaspoonwithout any attempt to reply; but her lover’s answerwas prompt and decided:

“It means, Aunt Margaret, that I have asked and obtaineda boon, subject, of course, to your approval. Willyou give me your Florence?”

Mrs. Blunden smiled quizzically.

“You are very polite, certainly; but, judging by what Iknow of my niece, she will follow her own inclinations,whether I say a yea or a nay to them. There, you needn’tredden and pretend to contradict me, child. You have theHeriton temper, like my poor brother, whom it led intoall sorts of follies.”

[Pg 188]

“Shall you consider your niece’s acceptance of my handin a similar light?” Mr. Aylwinne gravely inquired, whileFlorence’s annoyance at her aunt’s blunt speech ended ina smile at the retort it provoked.

“Certainly not,” Mrs. Blunden replied, with a gravityas great as his own, and much more real. “If I were notsatisfied on the score of your worthiness to espouse her, Ishould have taken her away as soon as I had occasion tosuspect your affection.”

“And you see no reason to object to our immediateunion, I hope?” Mr. Aylwinne observed, without appearingto see the embarrassment of his betrothed.

Mrs. Blunden raised her eyebrows.

“Why, this is being in a hurry with a vengeance! Pray,when did you put the momentous question to my niece?In the character of her guardian, I consider that I have aright to know this.”

“Florence and I have understood each other since—lastnight,” he answered, with a little hesitation.

“Last night! And propose to be married to-morrow?”cried Aunt Margaret sarcastically. “Surely, Florence,you are no party to this—well, I really must call it indecoroushaste?”

“My dear Mrs. Blunden,” said Mr. Aylwinne, interposingto prevent Florence’s reply, “if we are assured thatwe love each other, and may hope to spend our future together,what delay is required? Why oppose my wish tocommence our new life as quickly as possible?”

“Since when have you resolved to make Florence your[Pg 189]wife?” her aunt demanded. “Since when have these importantplans been arranged?”

“I knew and loved her before I went to India,” he answeredevasively.

“Humph!” said Mrs. Blunden dryly. “If you havebeen contented to wait patiently all these years, I certainlythink you can exercise sufficient forbearance to let a suitabletrousseau be prepared for your bride, and propersettlements drawn up. What say you, Florence? Haveyou pledged yourself to have no voice in the matter, thatyou sit there so silent?”

“I have already pleaded with Mr. Aylwinne for moretime,” was the murmured reply.

He looked vexed and inclined to be angry as he retorted:

“You certainly did; but when I reminded you that thiswas my first request, I thought you had sufficient trust inme to withdraw your opposition.”

“Nay!” said Mrs. Blunden positively. “I will not giveyou my child—for I consider her in that light—if she is tobe hurried out of the house secretly, as though there wassomething in your choice of which you were ashamed. Ifyou have loved Florence so long, why did you not giveme a hint of your intentions sooner?”

Mr. Aylwinne was silent; and Florence, who had raisedher head eagerly to listen for his explanation, was disappointed.

“Well, good people,” cried Aunt Margaret brusquely,as she gathered up her gloves and handkerchief, “it[Pg 190]appears that I am not to know more than you choose totell me; and perhaps my wishes will be set at naught,after all.”

“No, dear aunt—no—no!” cried her niece, running toher, and throwing her arms around her neck. “Not byme; nor will Mr. Aylwinne be unreasonable. You shallnot have to accuse me of disobedience to your commands,even for his sake. I will be guided by you, Aunt Margaret.”

Tears rose into Mrs. Blunden’s eyes as she heartily returnedthe affectionate embrace. She was appeased bythis entire submission, and half sobbed, half said:

“Child, it will be so hard to part with you that I shouldnot be begrudged the pleasure of having you with me afew weeks longer. I was never really angry with youbut once, my little Florry, and I have repented that eversince. I’m sure,” she added, sobbing still more audibly,“when you wrote, thanking me so gratefully for sendingyou a hundred pounds, and dwelling upon the use it hadbeen and comforts it had procured my poor, foolishbrother, I felt that I had been dreadfully cruel to havewithheld what some one with more Christian charity hadbestowed. By the bye,” she cried abruptly, “who sent youthat money? Was it Mr. Aylwinne?”

“No, madam,” he answered shortly.

“Really, now! And did you know nothing about it?”

For a moment or two he did not reply; but, meeting thequestioning glance of Florence, whose keener perception[Pg 191]had divined that he was withholding something, he saidslowly:

“I have reason to know—that is, I accidentally learnedthat the inclosure of that note to Miss Heriton was oneof Lieutenant Mason’s last acts before quitting England.”

Florence uttered an exclamation of astonishment.

“Is it possible? Heaven forgive me! I judged himmore harshly than I should have done had I known thathe repented his conduct so far as to do this.”

Mr. Aylwinne turned to the window without replying,but Mrs. Blunden cried:

“Pish! You could not think worse of him than he deserved.He did but give you back a part of your own.And now let me go. If this wedding is to be a hurriedaffair, as I suppose it will be in spite of my protest, Imust go and talk to my maid about the fashions, and soforth.”

When she had bustled out of the room, Florence wentsoftly to where Mr. Aylwinne was moodily standing, and,laying her hand on his arm, she whispered:

“You are not angry with me, are you?”

“What for?” he replied. “For trying to think yourbest of that miserable man?”

“I was not thinking of him at all, but of you, and yourwishes.”

He drew her to him fondly.

“Were you really? And if Mrs. Blunden can be prevailedupon, will you promise to make no delays? Don’t[Pg 192]you see that I am eager to take you right away—to teachyou in a sunnier land, and among fresh scenes and faces,to forget all the old haunting associations that now paleyour cheek and sadden you?”

“But I would not wholly forget them,” said Florence;“for surely in those sorrowful years I have learned lessonsthat shall make me more humble, more thoughtfulfor others, more pitiful to the erring, and compassionateto those who need it.”

“You are the living image of your mother, my Florence!”he exclaimed admiringly. “It is just in this waythat she would have gathered flowers amid the thornsthat bestrewed her path. And you are right—I know youare, though I cannot emulate your sweet patience and forbearance.I must still hate those who have injured you,and rail at the fate that separated us so long.”

“Did you not yourself propose that we should not speakof that sorrowful past?” she said uneasily, as she sawhis eyes flash and brows lower.

“True, love—true, I did; and so it shall be. You dowell to check me. You must do so always, and I will tryto be more careful.”

“And yet,” said Florence, trembling a little as she feltthat she was approaching a dangerous subject, “and yet Ithink we should both be happier if there were perfectconfidence between us—I mean if we had no reservations;but——”

“I understand you, Florence,” he exclaimed, in greatagitation, “and I appreciate your motives; but spare me—pray[Pg 193]spare me! I lack the courage for such miserabledetails. Let us be content to know that our love has neverwavered, however adverse circ*mstances have divided us.And it never has, has it, my Florence?”

To this she could truly answer “No,” and he seemedsatisfied. But the old cloud had not gone, and Florencefelt more than ever that their felicity could not be perfectwhile it was so.

Yet when he tenderly pressed her to promise that shewould be his at the earliest period Mrs. Blunden could beprevailed upon to concede, she knew not how to refuse hisardent prayers. As he basked in the light of her smiles hebecame more and more like the Frank Dormer so wellremembered, so unceasingly regretted. It was only whenan hour of solitude enabled her to review all he had saidthat she was again compelled to acknowledge the gallingfact that there was some important passage of his lifewhich he withheld from her; some act or deed—whetherof his own or another’s—which was an ever-present troubleto his harassed mind, and poisoned even the bliss oftheir reunion.

A WHISPERED WORD.

Mrs. Blunden, having once made up her mind to herniece’s marriage, quickly laid aside all her objections, andwent heart and soul into the preparations she considerednecessary for so important an affair.

Mrs. Wilson was her delighted assistant, for she wassincerely attached to Florence, and considered her worthyto become the wife of Mr. Aylwinne, even though he wasin her eyes of all men the most peerless.

The boys were wild with joy when it was whisperedto them that the Donna would soon become the bride oftheir guardian, and hung about their gentle governesswith an affection that would not be repressed.

Mrs. Blunden proposed that they should remove at onceto London, where the very handsome trousseau she intendedto purchase could be more easily procured; whileMrs. Wilson was impatient to return to Orwell Court, inorder to commence the cleaning and polishing she thoughtthe house and furniture would require before it was fitfor the reception of its lovely young mistress.

Florence was passive in the hands of her aunt, andraised no objections to anything she proposed; but Mr.Aylwinne would not hear of quitting Babbicombe Bay forthe noisy metropolis; and by dint of an obstinacy equal toher own, he finally won from Mrs. Blunden a consent to[Pg 195]stay where she was until the nuptial rite was celebrated.

Florence, naturally domesticated and attached to OrwellCourt, would have liked to go quietly home after hermarriage. Mr. Aylwinne’s prolonged wanderings must, shefancied, have wearied him of other lands; yet it was hewho sketched out a route which must detain them abroadfor many months.

She pointed this out to her lover, and hinted her ownwish that they might at all events return to England intime to keep their Christmas at Orwell Court; but hisanswer, though affectionate, was unsatisfactory.

“I shall not bring my darling back till she has learnedto forget. When she wears the bright, untroubled face ofthe Florence I remember, then, and not till then, shall Ibe content.”

“And do you think it possible that I can ever again bethe gay, careless child you then knew?” she asked, witha sigh. “Or shall I be less dear to you because contactwith the world has taught me to think and to suffer?”

“Hush, love—hush! Whenever your voice takes thatmournful strain it brings back memories that unfit me foreverything. Let me have my way, Florence. If I seemobstinate, it is because I have my own ideas of what willbe best for your happiness.”

“You think of me always and only, dear Frank,” shereplied. “And there are the boys to be considered. I cannothelp remembering their blank looks when they heard[Pg 196]we were going away for an indefinite period. They willbe very lonely, poor children!”

He was pleased at her thoughtful consideration for hiswards, but answered directly:

“They must live as I did for years, upon hope; they willhave one comfort I never had—your letters.”

She smiled and said no more. It seemed almost ungratefulto urge the claims of others any longer, whilehe was so bent upon remembering only hers.

Her speech had, however, set Mr. Aylwinne thinking.He was averse to leaving Walter and Fred with Mrs.Wilson as sole authority over them; for, with the kindestintentions, she was scarcely adapted for such a charge.He had asked Mr. Lumley to take them as boarders atthe vicarage, but the good clergyman had lost his righthand in losing his sister, and was proposing to lessen thenumber of his pupils instead of increasing them.

“We must advertise for a gouvernante for the lads,and put up with her, if she does not prove a second MissHeriton,” Mr. Aylwinne said as he discussed his wisheswith Florence.

She, too, looked thoughtful for a brief interval, butthen her eye lit up with pleasure.

“What will you say if I agree to find you a good, gentlewoman far more capable of managing them than I haveever been?”

“Say! Why, that I will engage with her at once, leavingthe terms to you,” he replied. “But who is this raraavis?”

[Pg 197]

“Her name is Denham—Susan Denham,” said Florence,a shade of pensiveness deepening upon her brow as shespoke. “I learned to know and love her at a time of greatanxiety. I cannot tell you how often her sympathy andgood counsel comforted me.”

Mr. Aylwinne made no reply for a few minutes. Hewas intently watching the downcast face of his betrothed.

“Of what period are you speaking? May I ask?”

“Of the time when we were living in West Street,Brompton,” Florence answered. “I had no other friendthen but Susan Denham.”

“My poor love!” he exclaimed tenderly; then relapsedagain into silence, till she cried, with more cheerfulness:

“Well, what say you? Shall I try and prevail uponSusan to give up her present situation—I know she isnot very well satisfied with it—and come to OrwellCourt?”

“No,” Mr. Aylwinne decisively replied. “I will haveno one about you who can recall the hours it will be thebusiness of my life to prevent your remembering.”

“But Susan is in every way fitted for the duties I proposeher taking,” Florence persisted. “And, indeed, dearFrank, it would please me much to insure and personallyoverlook her comforts.”

“You shall do that. You shall amply repay everyobligation you lie under to this good woman. I will settlean annuity upon her, my dearest, which will give her acompetence for the rest of her life.”

“You are too generous,” Florence murmured, grateful[Pg 198]for his kindness to her friend, yet disappointed that hewould not accede to her wishes. “But I do not thinkSusan would accept such a gift. She has an independentspirit, and would much rather work for what she receives.”

“We must contrive to keep her in ignorance of thesource from whence she derives the income,” was theanswer.

“And Walter and Fred? Indeed, dear Frank, I shouldfeel much easier about our boys if I might leave themin such excellent hands as Susan’s.”

“My dear Florence,” said Mr. Aylwinne, with increasinggravity, “you have a morbid tendency to cherish thevery recollections I seek to banish. You don’t seem tosee that the continual presence of Miss Denham would encouragethis. Love, you must let me do as I propose inthis matter.”

With a little pettishness, Florence withdrew her handfrom his arm.

“And I thought my own idea such an excellent one.Can you not reconcile your pride to letting me have myown way for once?”

“You shall have it, not once, but always, in everything,except what concerns yourself,” he answered, kissing hercheek. “Now go and get your hat, and let us escapebefore Mrs. Blunden pounces upon you for a millineryconsultation. I know it is pending, for I saw her pass thedoor ten minutes ago, with a huge packet of patterns andtrimmings fresh from London.”

[Pg 199]

Only too glad to avoid one of the long inflictions withwhich Aunt Margaret tried her patience but too often,Florence obeyed. It was some time, however, before shecould recover her usual tone, for she felt greatly disappointedat his determination with regard to Susan Denham.

He saw that she was vexed, and redoubled his usualtenderness, insensibly leading her thoughts away fromthe disagreeable subject. The morning, too, was a lovelyone—soft and hazy with the fast-falling leaves glitteringin their autumnal tints beneath a cloudless sky.

Insensibly they wandered on, leaving the seaside forthe deep and intricate lanes of the inland country—sometimestalking, sometimes silent; occasionally pausing andresting on a stile or bank, but always happy, for they weretogether; and every glance, every murmured word, spokethe fullness of their content.

At last, with a start and a bewildered look around him,Mr. Aylwinne paused.

“I haven’t the slightest idea where we are, have you?”

Florence laughed gayly at their dilemma, for she was inequal ignorance; and not a creature was in sight, or acottage visible where they could make inquiries.

Mr. Aylwinne pulled out his watch.

“By Jove! It is nearly three hours since we left thehouse! How inconsiderate I am! You must be tired todeath.”

“I did not feel it till you spoke; but I will confess now,[Pg 200]to wishing myself nearer home. We had better return asquickly as we can.”

“By no means; I could not think of letting you walkback. There must be a village somewhere near here, forI can hear the voices of children. Let me go forward andreconnoiter the neighborhood.”

He climbed a bit of rising ground, and returned to saythat he had espied a respectable-looking inn at no greatdistance. There they could doubtless procure a conveyanceto carry them back to the bay, where their absence,if it lasted much longer, would cause uneasiness.

When they reached the inn they were received by a slatternly,sullen-looking woman, who scarcely vouchsafeda civil reply to Mr. Aylwinne’s questions.

“Maybe they could have a chaise—maybe they couldn’t;it was just as her master took in his head.”

“Send him here, then,” said the gentleman imperatively.“And show me the way to a room where this lady can resta while.”

Still muttering, but somewhat awed by his manner, sheobeyed so far as to push open the door of a sitting room.They then heard her screaming to some one upstairs:

“You’re wanted, d’ye hear? Here’s gentry in the parlor,an’ if they wants waiting on you may come and doit! I ain’t going to drudge here while you sits above withyour wine and takes your pleasure, I can tell you!”

There was a muttered retort, and then a quick footstep;and the next minute a smart, dapper man was bowing[Pg 201]and cringing at the door, and, in very oily tones, requestingthe “favior of their horders.”

“Some wine and biscuits, and a vehicle to convey us toBabbicombe Bay as quickly as it can be got ready,” Mr.Aylwinne replied.

“Most certainly, sir. The horse shall be put in thechaise directly. Bless me!” he added, catching a fullerview of Florence’s features. “I beg your parding, I’msure, but it’s Miss Heriton, ain’t it? I hopes there’s nooffense in saying I’m glad to see you so well, miss.”

“Who is this fellow?” Mr. Aylwinne demanded, as hebowed himself out to fetch the wine.

“Do you not remember him? And yet his is a face noteasily forgotten,” Florence replied; and, seeing that hestill looked puzzled, she added: “He is the ci-devant servantof Lieutenant Mason.”

Mr. Aylwinne hissed an oath between his clenchedteeth.

“Could I bring you nowhere but to his house? I willgo and hasten the harnessing of the horses that we mayget away as quickly as possible.”

He hurried from the room as he spoke, almost upsettingthe landlord in his hurry as he entered with a tray.

“The gentleman as took my master’s chambers in theAlbany, I believe? Your husband, miss? Excuse me!”

Florence, annoyed at this impertinence, turned to thewindow without replying; but, nothing daunted, he wenton:

“I hope, miss, I may say without offense that I’m glad[Pg 202]my foolish little whispered words didn’t do you no harm,and that you bears no malice, for I’m a different man towhat I was in those times. I’m married, miss, to thatexcellent creetur you see. A little temperish she is, butwe’ve all our faults, though I’ve repented mine, and hopeI can say I’m a reformed character, thanks to a savinggrace!”

Florence scarcely heard the end of this hypocriticalharangue. The expression he had made use of in the beginninghad greatly astonished her; and though she revoltedat holding any converse with such a fellow, shecould not refrain from asking his meaning.

“To whom did you whisper anything concerning me?To Mr. Aylwinne? And what was it?”

“Oh, miss,” he answered fawningly, “I hope you’ll letbygones be bygones, for there’s no harm done, nor therewasn’t no harm meant. It was only said because he wasinclined to be curious like, and I’m ashamed to say Iwasn’t so particular then as I ought to have been; but,thanks to a saving grace, I’m——”

What he considered himself the disgusted girl did notstay to hear; but, sweeping past him with a gesture ofindignant scorn, she went to the door, and waited theretill Mr. Aylwinne came to say the vehicle was ready.

“Have you had a glass of wine? No? But you mustnot go until you have taken something.”

He was hurrying into the house, when Florence detainedhim.

“I cannot touch anything in this house. Come away.”

[Pg 203]

One glance at her agitated face, and he flung down apiece of gold to the obsequious landlord, and lifted herinto the chaise. Scarcely a word was interchanged duringthe homeward ride, and Florence’s replies to heraunt’s scolding for wandering so far were brief in theextreme. But, instead of going to her own room, shefollowed Mr. Aylwinne to a small apartment to which hegenerally retreated to write letters, etc.

He looked surprised, but instantly rose from the chairinto which he had thrown himself, and came to meether.

“Sit down again, Frank. I have something to ask youto which I must have a truthful reply. You rememberthe first time I encountered you at the Albany? Yes, Isee you do—and how, when doubtful, I suppose, of myidentity, you asked Lieutenant Mason’s servant my name,and he whispered his reply? That whisper containedsomething more than a simple repetition of my name.Tell me—I entreat, I command you—what it was!”

A TARDY EXPLANATION.

While Florence Heriton, her lips quivering, her eyesglittering with excitement, was thus earnestly addressingher lover, Mr. Aylwinne had continued to stand beforeher, an agitated but attentive listener.

But when she ceased speaking, a spasm of pain contractedhis features, and, dropping heavily into his chair,he covered his face with his hand.

“Why do you speak of this?” he asked, in low, uncertaintones. “Let it suffice that I have long known all; andpray do not recur again to a topic so fraught with miseryto both of us.”

“You speak in riddles!” she retorted, her excitementand determination to be enlightened increasing with hisevident reluctance to satisfy her. “You speak in riddles!I have never had anything to conceal, as you would seemto imply. Tell me your meaning frankly; for that manhas aroused within me doubts and fears which nothing butyour explanation can allay.”

He rose, and, coming toward her, would have taken herin his arms.

She stepped back and prevented this; but, without noticingthe repulse, he said affectionately:

“My Florence, if in the first paroxysm of my naturalgrief and distress I permitted myself to think harshly of[Pg 205]you, a more intimate knowledge of my darling’s characterhas made me repent this. I am satisfied that you weredeceived—misled—that you never really knew what youwere doing. And now let us say no more, for I lose allself-command when I think of your wrongs.”

Again Florence put back the hands that were extendedto clasp her.

“Not yet. I must and will know what all this means!Tell me, Frank, I conjure you, what you have heard fromthis man!”

“Do you still persist? Why should you, when you seehow painful it is to me? Have you never imagined thatthat fellow was deep in all his master’s secrets?”

Florence stamped her foot in an agony of impatience.

“I never thought about it. What was it to me? Whytorture me with this hesitation? What was the whisperedword that filled you with such strange thoughts of me?”

With evident reluctance and unwillingness, Mr. Aylwinneat last replied:

“He told me the nature of your errand at the Albany.”

“Well? Was there aught in it for which you couldcondemn me?”

“Certainly not, if”—then there was another tormentingpause—“if you still believed yourself a wife.”

Florence recoiled in dismay.

“I a wife! Whose? Lieutenant Mason’s? Nay, hedared not tell you this!”

Mr. Aylwinne smiled bitterly.

[Pg 206]

“Do you think that such a man would hesitate to provefalse to any trust, or that compassion for deceived innocenceis to be found in one so crafty and designing?”

“There was none reposed in him,” she answered. “Itis you—you who have been deceived. I never spoke toLieutenant Mason nor saw him after we quitted thepriory.”

Mr. Aylwinne now looked utterly bewildered. Helonged to believe her, yet what she told him was so completelyat variance with all he had hitherto fancied to betrue, that his mind was thoroughly confused.

In agitation far greater than her own, he exclaimed:

“For Heaven’s sake, Florence, do not palter with me!If a natural womanly shame at the unmerited disgracethat fell upon you has hitherto sealed your lips, to me youmay surely speak openly! Or if I ask what gives youpain, bid me be silent, and I will faithfully obey.”

“Yet answer me this,” she cried: “Have you actuallybelieved me united to Lieutenant Mason—believed that Icame to your house a deserted wife, hiding her shame beneatha name she had no longer a right to bear?”

Mr. Aylwinne did not reply. All his deeply rooted convictionsshaken by her indignant earnestness, he stoodgazing at her in troubled silence.

With rising anger, Florence passionately exclaimed:

“If I have ever felt disgraced in my own sight it isnow that I find you have thought me capable of such infamousconcealments! What! you have been regarding[Pg 207]me all these months as the discarded victim of a villain,and imagined that under such circ*mstances I could permityou to woo me?”

He drew his hand across his brow.

“Mason is dead, and you are free. Did I not carefullyguard against a look or word that should fright you hence,while another had the shadow of a claim upon you? Ican scarcely command my thoughts at this moment; yetsurely I have not been mistaken in supposing that youacknowledged a barrier between us, and acceded to mywish that the wrongs you received at Mason’s handsshould be never adverted to by either of us?”

“No, no!” cried Florence vehemently. “I never comprehendedyour half-sorrowful, half-angry allusions tothe past. I thought it was of papa and his unfortunatespeculations you spoke so angrily. Truth to tell, I havealways supposed that some entanglement you did not careto confess to me occasioned your varying manner andyour declaration that it was too late for us to love eachother.”

“And you have never been another’s, my Florence—mydarling!” Mr. Aylwinne murmured, as he joyfullycaught her to his breast. “How cruelly I have been deceived!How cold—how unkind I must have appearedto you! And yet,” he added, releasing her and againlooking doubtful and unsatisfied, “and yet there is somethinghere I do not understand: I saw you at the Albany—Iheard you crave an interview with the profligate lieutenant,and—oh, Florence!—I was the maddened witness[Pg 208]of your tears and disappointment when you learned thathe had quitted England.”

“And listened,” Florence added, with bitterness, “tothe whispers of a man who is, by your own showing, asvile as his master. I insist that you tell me all he said!”

“For what purpose?” he asked. “Surely you must bewell aware that your own candid statement will outweighanything he may have told me.”

But Florence, whose pride had been aroused by hissuspicions, persisted, and by degrees drew from him thewhole story.

He had partially recognized in the veiled lady waitingto see Lieutenant Mason the form and features of thefair girl he loved devotedly, despite the rejection his suithad received. Shocked to behold her at such a place, hehad questioned the servant, obtained equivocal answers,and bribed him to confess more.

His avarice awakened by the sight of Mr. Aylwinne’sgold, this fellow, who really had nothing to tell concerningFlorence, poured into the ears of his credulous listenerthe history of his master’s connection with Julia Denham.Careful to mention no names, he told it more byhints and half sentences than an open relation of facts;and Mr. Aylwinne left him at last, sadly convinced thatthe beautiful young creature at West Street, Brompton,who had gone through the form of a marriage with LieutenantMason was Florence Heriton—the gentle, trustinggirl whom for years it had been his cherished dream towin.

[Pg 209]

This, then, explained all that had so long perplexedFlorence in his behavior. It was because he believed hermorally if not legally bound to another that he hadavoided her. It was in pure compassion that he had, afterthe first start of surprise, rejoiced that she had found anasylum beneath his roof. Now it became easy enough tofind a meaning for all he had said that had hithertosounded mysterious, as, for instance, his allusions to therecollections of her wrongs as being too painful to bearretrospection.

And then the flush faded from her cheek and left herdeathly pale, for she remembered that she had nothingbut her own simple assurance to oppose to Mr. Aylwinne’sdeeply rooted conviction that she was the unhappy girlLieutenant Mason had wedded and deserted.

Then in her distress, anger at his credulity began tomake itself felt, and, drawing herself up, she proudlysaid:

“I scorn myself when I think how low an estimate ofmy character you must have formed to believe this tale.Could I, the Florence whose early years were spent inlistening to the teachings of my good, prudent mother,have stooped to the secret addresses of a profligate, anda clandestine marriage?”

Mr. Aylwinne seized her hand.

“You are right; and I was mad, blind to be so easilyduped. Only give me your own explanation of your visitsto the Albany, and I promise to be satisfied.”

“That is quickly given. I went as the bearer on each[Pg 210]occasion of a note from my poor father, whom LieutenantMason, by the most specious pretenses, tricked of theonly sum of money remaining to us. It was the knowledgethat he had ruined us that occasioned my dismay.But do you think that I can be satisfied until my innocenceof all connection with this man is fully proved?No, Frank—no! By the memory of my mother I vowthat I will never be your wife till that has been done!”

“Florence,” he cried wildly, “unsay those rash words!Mason is no more, and you know full well that there isno one else who can attest the falsity of his servant’sstory.”

But Florence would stay to hear no more. Repeating:“I will never become your wife till the slur upon my namehas been removed,” she would have fled the room. Mr.Aylwinne saw her intention, and put his back against thedoor.

“You shall not leave me in anger. I have been over-credulous,I know; yet make some excuses for me. Rememberhow I saw you: veiled deeply, and evidently inmuch agitation, earnestly seeking an interview with ayoung and handsome man, notorious for his gallantry.Can you wonder that, seeing you thus, I was only tooready to believe what I was told?”

Florence flung herself upon his breast with a bitter cry.

“No—no; I do not wonder that you thought the worstof me! Neither do you blame me that I keep to my voweven though our separation rends my heart. Your wife,my Frank, must be above suspicion. I could not be happy[Pg 211]if I were yours. The slightest cloud on your brow, theslightest change in your voice, would fill me with dreadthat your suspicions were returning. Ah, Frank, I cannot—darenot give you my hand until no shadow of so fearfulan estrangement can come between us.”

For a moment her lips were pressed to his; and then,resisting all further efforts to detain her, Florence toreherself from his embrace.

CONCLUSION.

Mrs. Blunden was not at all surprised to be told thather niece had gone to her room, pleading excessivefatigue as an excuse for not appearing at the dinnertable. But she was greatly concerned when, in consequenceof the agitation she had undergone and a nightspent in weeping, Florence became seriously ill.

She could not conceal from her aunt that something hadhappened to cause this; nor did Mrs. Blunden rest untilshe was put in possession of all the circ*mstances.

Like all hasty-tempered people, she scarcely waited tohear the end before she began to complain loudly of thelittle confidence that Florence had reposed in her; norcould she be made to understand why her niece had concealedthe secret uneasiness Mr. Aylwinne’s mysteriousallusions had frequently occasioned her.

Finding the suffering girl incapable of answering herreproaches, she then turned the torrent of her wrath uponMr. Aylwinne, declaring his credulity in suspecting aHeriton of allying herself clandestinely with a man ofLieutenant Mason’s character to be quite unpardonable.

Too much harassed by the condition of Florence toattach much weight to anything Mrs. Blunden could say,he permitted her to scold and storm unchecked. Hewould wait, he said, till Florence was better and able to[Pg 213]listen calmly to his reasoning. She, at least, would acquithim of knowingly wronging her.

This opportunity, however, Mrs. Blunden did not intendhim to have. Always rash and hot-headed, she determinedto seize on the opportunity of his riding to thenearest town for further advice, to remove her niece, andtake her by express train to London.

But the angry lady’s exordiums and violent angeragainst her betrothed had made Florence so much worsethat she became delirious; and her alarmed aunt soonshowed herself as eager to implore Mr. Aylwinne’s adviceand sympathy as she had been to repudiate it.

“She speaks constantly of some one of the name ofDenham—Julia Denham, I think,” cried the tearful AuntMargaret. “She asks for her frequently. What shall Ido?”

“It must be Susan Denham whose presence she craves,”Mr. Aylwinne answered. “I will go to town and findher.”

His search assisted by an old letter Mrs. Blunden foundin Florence’s desk, he was soon successful. Nor didSusan refuse to return with him.

It was from her lips that he heard the very little sheknew of her cousin’s acquaintance with Lieutenant Mason,and when she spoke simply but affectionately of her continualyearning to discover the retreat of this unhappywanderer, he entered into her feelings and counseled herwith a friendly kindness for which she was very grateful.

When Florence recovered her senses it was to find Miss[Pg 214]Denham watching over her and shielding her from Mrs.Blunden’s well-meant but noisy demonstrations of affection.It was Susan who comforted her when she weptbitterly over the necessity of the separation she had herselfdecreed—comforting her with a hope to which, vagueas it was, Florence fondly clung: that her innocence mightyet be sufficiently proved to permit of Frank’s recall.

Not that he was far off. Although Mrs. Blunden hadbanished him from the house, he hovered around it continually;and Florence, when able to leave her bed for acouch near the window of the adjoining room, saw himsometimes, and gathered fresh consolation from hissteady refusal to accept his dismissal.

On the other hand, however, Mrs. Blunden—all herambition reviving that her niece should marry well—onlywaited the physician’s consent to carry her to new scenesand livelier society, where she fancied Mr. Aylwinnewould soon be forgotten; and Florence, weak and depressed,was no longer in a condition to offer any strenuousopposition to her Aunt Margaret’s plans.

Her nervous horror of hearing them discussed madeher dread Mrs. Blunden’s approach; and one afternoon,when Susan had gone out for a walk and she heard therustle of a silk dress in the apartment, she closed hereyes, in the hope that her aunt would think she slept, andso withdraw.

But the step came nearer, paused beside the sofa onwhich she reclined, and a light, firm touch was laid on herthin fingers.

[Pg 215]

“Miss Heriton!”

She started up at the sound of that voice. A lady,richly dressed, stood beside her, and, throwing back herveil, answered the startled Florence’s cry of recognitionwith a slight smile.

“Not Julia Denham now, nor Julia Mason, the desertedwife; but Madame la Comtesse Morauville, à votre service.”

“I cannot understand,” said Florence confusedly.“Have you seen your cousin?”

Julia dropped the veil over her face and looked rounduneasily.

“No, nor do I wish to see her. I could not bear—thatis, our paths in life are different, and she would not thinkas I do—we never agreed. I am here to serve you, MissHeriton, not to see Susan.”

“Me!”

“Yes, and myself. I have comprehended enough froman advertisem*nt addressed to me to know that my presencewas necessary here. The rest has been explained byMr. Aylwinne, your friend.”

Florence, with rising color, now gazed at her eagerly.

Julia smiled reassuringly.

“Poor child! It was hard that your happiness shouldsuffer! See, here are two of the letters I had from myworthless husband, and here the certificate of the marriageit suited him to deny, and here are your father’snotes imploring the return of the money intrusted to him.Take them all, Miss Heriton, and may they restore your[Pg 216]felicity. Bid Susan clear the brand from my name, and—Heavenbless you both!”

She would have turned away directly, but Florence heldher dress.

“No, Julia, do not leave us thus! Tell me, are youhappy? And why have you concealed yourself so longfrom your friends?”

“Do not try to detain me. I cannot see Susan. I amcontent at present; but I could not remain so if shepleaded with me to forego my present calling. If sheasks you what I said concerning myself, tell her that Ileft England to obtain those papers, and that I went toCalifornia on a twofold errand: partly to fulfill a missionintrusted to me by the French police, in whose serviceI enlisted myself—partly to trace Lieutenant Mason. Iwas successful in both. None dare point at me now asnameless and degraded!”

“But, Julia—forgive me—surely you are not——”

“Not what? A paid servant of France? A spy ofthe police? Bah! They have enriched me—they use mewell—my honor is unimpeachable, and why should not I,who owe the misery of a blighted life to man’s villainy,retaliate now the means are in my power?”

Florence would have argued, pleaded, entreated; butJulia had come prepared to steel herself against suchsolicitations. She had been forced, she said, in hard,reckless tones, into the course she was now pursuing—forcedby the desertion of the husband she had lovedwith all the intensity of her passionate nature, and she[Pg 217]lived now only for herself. Then, hurriedly repeatingher adieus, she extricated herself from the invalid’s feeblehold, and departed.

Susan Denham afterward made repeated attempts tosee her, or draw her into a correspondence, but in vain.Through a friend of Mr. Aylwinne it transpired that shemarried a wealthy Parisian financier, and became famousin the fashionable world for her brilliant entertainments.She thus secured the riches and distinction which werethe dream of her girlish vanity; but whether she found insuch things the happiness she had then anticipated herfriends in England never knew.

For some time after Julia left her, Florence sat withthe letters lying on her lap untouched. Her womanly interestin the fate of her visitor made her forgetful for awhile of her own. But by and by an arm stole gentlyaround her, and she turned to find herself in the embraceof the much-tried Frank Aylwinne.

She held the letters toward him, but he would not lookat them. He held her in his arms, and in her smile andjoyous welcome he saw the harbingers of the happiness heonce more hoped would be his.

How Mrs. Blunden scolded, and protested that shewould never, never consent to a renewal of the engagementwe need not repeat; for, before she had discoveredthe audacious intruder, he had won from the blushingFlorence a promise to be his as soon as Mr. Lumley couldcome to perform the nuptial rite.

When Aunt Margaret had exhausted her invectives, it[Pg 218]was easy to conciliate her, and within a fortnight ofJulia’s strange visit Mr. Aylwinne and his bride left Englandfor the south of France, where Florence soon recoveredher health, or only retained sufficient traces of herlate illness to make the tender assiduities of her husbandvery delightful.

Susan Denham went to Orwell Court, after all, to takecharge of Walter and Fred. Her regret for her cousinonly made her more gentle and thoughtful for others; andthe boys, though awed at first by her gravity, soon learnedto regard her as second only to the Donna.

Nor were they alone in discovering Susan’s excellentqualities, for when Florence and Frank came back toOrwell Court, Mr. Lumley confided to his old collegefriend the attachment he had formed for Miss Denham,who did not prove insensible to the good vicar’s suit.

But it was not at Orwell Court, dearly though sheloved it, that Florence was destined to spend her marriedlife. Mr. Aylwinne had been for some months negotiatingfor the purchase of Heriton Priory, and the title deedsof the estate were his gift to his bride on the first anniversaryof their wedding day.

On the banks of the Coquet, where Florence spent herown sunny girlhood, her children will sport and play; andthe sobering recollections of the troubled years spent sinceshe quitted those lovely scenes have chastened the joy ofreturning to it the fondly loved and contented wife ofFrank Dormer.

THE END.

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