They went upstairs, and the note was, in fact, read before the letter.  “I hope there is nothing wrong at the parsonage,” said Florence.

“You see he says he will come back after one day.”

“Perhaps he has gone to tell them—­of this change in his prospects.”

“No, dear, no; you do not yet understand his feelings.  Read his letter, and you will know more.  If there is to be a change, he is at any rate too much ashamed of it to speak of it.  He does not wish it himself.  It is simply this—­that she has thrown herself in his way, and he has not known how to avoid her.”

Then Florence read the letter very slowly, going over most of the sentences more than once, and struggling to learn from them what were really the wishes of the writer.  When she came to Harry’s exculpation of Lady Ongar, she believed it thoroughly, and said so—­meeting, however, a direct contradiction on that point from her sister-in-law.  When she had finished it, she folded it up and gave it back.  “Cissy,” she said, “I know that I ought to go back.  I do not want to see him, and I am glad that he has gone away.”

“But you do not mean to give him up?”

“Yes, dearest.”

“But you said you would never leave him, unless he left you.”

“He has left me.”

“No, Florence; not so.  Do you not see what he says; that he knows you are the only woman that can make him happy?”

“He has not said that; but if he had, it would be no matter.  He understands well how it is.  He says that I could not take him now—­even if he came to me; and I cannot.  How could I?  What! wish to marry a man who does not love me, who loves another, when I know that I am regarded simply as a barrier between them; when by doing so I should mar his fortunes?  Cissy, dear, when you think of it, you will not wish it.”

“Mar his fortunes!  It would make them.  I do wish it—­and he wishes it too.  I tell you that I had him here, and I know it.  Why should you be sacrificed?”

“What is the meaning of self-denial, if no one can bear to suffer?”

“But he will suffer too—­and all for her caprices!  You cannot really think that her money would do him any good.  Who would ever speak to him again, or even see him?  What would the world say of him?  Why, his own father and mother and sisters would disown him, if they are such as you say they are.”

Florence would not argue it further, but went to her room, and remained there alone till Cecilia came to tell her that her brother had returned.  What weeping there may have been there, need not be told.  Indeed, as I think, there was not much, for Florence was a girl whose education had not brought her into the way of hysterical sensations.  The Burtons were an active, energetic people, who sympathized with each other in labor and success—­and in endurance also; but who had little sympathy to express for the weaknesses of grief.  When her