them into her sister’s hands.  “May I open this one from Mrs. Clavering?” Florence nodded her head.  Then the seal was broken, and in one minute the two women were crying in each other’s arms.  “I was quite sure of it,” said Cecilia, through her tears—­“perfectly sure.  I never doubted it for a moment.  How could you have talked of going to Stratton?” At last Florence got herself away up to the window, and gradually mustered courage to break the envelope of her lover’s letter.  It was not at once that she showed the postscript to Cecilia, nor at once that the packet was opened.  That last ceremony she did perform in the solitude of her own room.  But before the day was over the postscript had been shown, and the added trinket had been exhibited.  “I remember it well,” said Florence.  “Mrs. Clavering wore it on her forehead when we dined at Lady Clavering’s.”  Mrs. Burton in all this saw something of the gentle persuasion which the mother had used, but of that she said nothing.  That he should be back again, and should have repented, was enough for her.

Mr. Burton was again absent when Harry Clavering knocked in person at the door, but on this occasion his absence had been specially arranged by him with a view to Harry’s comfort.  “He won’t want to see me this evening,” he had said.  “Indeed, you’ll all get along a great deal better without me.”  He therefore had remained away from home, and, not being a club man, had dined most uncomfortably at an eating-house.  “Are the ladies at home?” Harry asked, when the door was opened.  Oh yes, they were at home.  There was no danger that they should be found out on such an occasion as this.  The girl looked at him pleasantly, calling him by his name as she answered him, as though she too desired to show him that he had again been taken into favor—­into her favor as well as that of her mistress.

He hardly knew what he was doing as he ran up the steps to the drawing-room.  He was afraid of what was to come, but nevertheless he rushed at his fate as some young soldier rushes at the trench in which he feels that he may probably fall.  So Harry Clavering hurried on, and before he had looked round upon the room which he had entered, found his fate with Florence on his bosom.

Alas! alas!  I fear that justice was outraged in the welcome that Harry received on that evening.  I have said that he would be called upon to own his sins, and so much, at least, should have been required of him.  But he owned no sin.  I have said that a certain degradation must attend him in that first interview after his reconciliation.  Instead of this, the hours that he spent that evening in Onslow Terrace were hours of one long ovation.  He was, as it were, put upon a throne as a king who had returned from his conquest, and those two women did him honor, almost kneeling at his feet.  Cecilia was almost as tender with him as Florence, pleading to her own false heart the fact of his illness as his excuse.