“Mary, think well ere you reject this kind offer.  Remember how earnestly he entreats that you will come and share his love, his home, and his fortune.  Many privations will be ours, in the land to which we go, and numberless trials assail the poverty-stricken.  All these you can avoid, by accepting this very affectionate invitation.  Think well, Mary, lest in after-years you repent your hasty decision.”

There came a long pause, and hurriedly Florence paced to and fro.  Mary lifted her bowed head, and pushing back her clustering hair, calmly replied, “My heart swells with gratitude toward my noble, generous uncle.  Oh, how fervently I can thank him for his proffered home! yet, separated from you, dear Florry, I could not be happy; my heart would ache for you, and your warm, trusting love.  I fear neither poverty nor hardships.  Oh, let me go with you, and cheer and assist my dear uncle!”

“You shall go with us, my pure-hearted cousin.  When I thought a moment since, of parting with you, my future seemed gloomy indeed, but now I know that you will be near, I am content.”

A short silence ensued, broken by a mournful exclamation from Florence.

“Ah!  Mary, it is not for myself that I regret this change of fortune, but for my proud, haughty father, who will suffer so keenly.  Oh, my heart aches when I think of him!”

“Florry, we must cheer him by those thousand little attentions, which will lead him to forget his pecuniary troubles.”

Florence shook her head.

“You do not know my father as I do.  He will have no comforters, broods over difficulties in secret, and shrinks from sympathy as from a ‘scorching brand.’”

“Still, I think we can do much to lighten his cares, and I pray God I may not be mistaken,” replied Mary.

Florence lifted her head from her palm and gazed vacantly at her cousin, then started from her seat.

“Mary, we must not sit here idly, when there is so much to do, Madame ——­ should know we leave to-morrow, and it will take us all day to prepare for our journey.”

“Do let me go and speak to Madame——­; it will be less unpleasant to me?”

“No, no; I will go myself; they shall not think I feel it so sensibly, and their condolence to-morrow would irritate me beyond measure.  I scorn such petty trials as loss of fortune, and they shall know it.”

“Who shall know it, Florry?”

Her cheek flushed, but without a reply she left the room, and descended the steps which led to Madame ——­’s parlor.  Reaching the door, she drew herself proudly up, then knocked.

“Come in,” was the response.

She did so.  In the center of the apartment, with an open book on the table before him, sat the teacher who officiated at prayers.  He rose and bowed coldly in answer to her salutation.

“Pardon my intrusion, Mr. Stewart.  I expected to find Madame here.”

“She has gone to spend the morning with an invalid sister, and requested me to take charge of her classes, in addition to my own.  If I can render you any assistance, Miss Hamilton, I am at your service.”