“I knew, Florence, by my depression, that your grief called me home.  Some slander has reached your ears.  Is it not so?”

“It is.  I have trusted and doubted, until I scarce know my own mind.”

“Do you feel most at rest when you trust me?”

“I think-yes, I know I do.  Forgive me,” she continued, “if these shadows had not fallen so suddenly on my path, I never should for a moment have lost my trust in you.  I have been shaken, convulsed, and scarce know my best thoughts.”

“You have, indeed.  I know not who have thus disturbed you, but may they never suffer as we both have, and more especially yourself.  I say I know not, and yet my suspicions may not be entirely without foundation.  And now remember, Florence, the moment you feel that I am not what your ideal of a friend and brother should be, that moment we had better part.”

She started, and grew pale.

“I do not allude to the present, or to the scandal which has unnerved and disturbed your state; nor can I expect you who are learning to trust impressions rather than experiences, to feel otherwise than you have.  It was natural.  I only wonder that you did not go at once.  Your remaining has shown me your worth, and a trait of character which I admire.  Now that the ordeal is passed, I shall feel that you are my friend, even though slander, vile and dark, may be hurled against me, as it is possible, for I have a battle to fight for you, my friend, and all womankind.  The rights of woman, which have been ignored, or thought but lightly of, I shall strongly advocate, as opportunity occurs.  I shall be misunderstood, over and underrated in the contest, but for that I care not.  I only am too impatient to see the day when your sex shall not marry for mere shelter, and when labor of all kinds shall be open for their heads and hands, with remuneration commensurate with their efforts.  I am anxiously looking for the time when their right to vote shall be admitted them, not grudgingly, but freely and willingly given; for is not woman God’s highest work, and his best gift to man?  Now, if the shadows come again, in shape of scandal, think you, you can trust me?”

“I can.  I do, and can never doubt again.  Forgive the past.  I was weak-”

“There is nothing to forgive,” said Mr. Wyman, as he leaned over and kissed her forehead.

The seal of brotherhood was set, and Hugh and Florence knew from that hour the bond which bound them, and that it was pure and spotless.

CHAPTER VIII.