“Florry is well:  but my uncle has been taken from us.”  Her head sunk on her bosom as she spoke.

“Where is Florence?” and he tightly clasped her hand between his own.

A shudder crept over Dr. Bryant, who had not heard their words, and he walked quickly away.

“Florry is in the tent.  Mr. Stewart, we heard that you were married; can this be true?”

“No, no!  Did your cousin credit the report?”

“Yes; and ere you make yourself known, let me in some degree prepare her for the meeting.”

So saying, she sought Florence, and asked if she were sleeping.

“No, Mary; can I do anything for you?” and she raised her head.

“Yes, Florry, come with me—­I want to speak to you.”

Her cousin accompanied her to the door, and standing so that the tent intervened between them and Mr. Stewart, Mary laid her hand on Florence’s shoulder, and said: 

“I have just learned, Florry, that Mr. Stewart is not married.”

“Mary, Mary! why touch a chord which ever vibrates with the keenest agony?  There is no happiness for me on earth—­I have known that for long, and now I am striving to fix my thoughts, and all of hope that remains, on heaven.”

Mary linked her arm in Florence’s, and gently drawing her forward, replied: 

“God has not promised heaven as the price of every earthly joy and comfort.  Can you not still hope for happiness?”

“Mary, I am parted forever from him whom I have loved so devotedly; yet I cease to repine.  I know my lot, and I will pass through life alone, yes, alone, without a murmur.”

“Not so, Florence—­my own treasured Florence!”

She turned quickly, and was clasped to the heart of him she had sworn to love alone.

“Am I dreaming?” said Florence, gazing eagerly up into the noble face before her.  He lifted his cap from his brow, and bent his head that the light might fall full upon it.  A gleam of perfect joy irradiated her beautiful face, and, leaning her head on his shoulder, she whispered:  “Forgive me—­for I doubted you.”

He bent, and sealed her pardon with a long kiss.

Mary stole away to Mrs. Carlton to impart the good news; Dr. Bryant had already communicated it.  Warmly she sympathized with them in again meeting an old friend; but Mary heeded not her words, for her eyes were riveted on Frank’s stern brow and slightly curling lip.  A mist rose before her, and catching for support at the tent, she would have fallen, had not his strong arm encircled her; and soon she lay motionless in her tent.  He stood and looked on her a moment, then knelt and clasped the cold hands.  Mary had not swooned, though well-nigh insensible, and a low moan of anguish escaped her lips, colorless, and writhing with pain.

“Can I do nothing for you?”

“No, thank you; only do not tell Florry and Mr. Stewart I am ill.  It would only damp the joy of their meeting.”