“As our friend Hugh arranged that we take tea in his home to-night, we will go and meet Miss Evans, who, I think, must be near by this time.”

It was Mr. Wyman’s desire that Miss Evans should be at his house as soon after they were gone as possible, and establish herself within it.  She granted his wish, and requested them to bid her adieu at her own home, which she would close immediately after, and repair to his.

“What an atmosphere she will have to work in,” said Florence, as she arranged a delicate vine over a marble bust.  “But come, it will be lonely for Miss Evans to walk all the way by herself, to-day.”

They met her just turning into the path.  She had a wreath on her arm, Dawn’s parting gift, and a beautiful moss rose-bud in her hair, which Hugh gave her when he bade her good-bye.

“How were they, happy?” were the first words of Florence, anxious to hear a moment later from her dear ones.

“Very happy and bright,” answered Miss Evans, with an inward struggle to keep back a tide of emotion.  Florence clasped her hand, and held it in a manner which said, “Let us be close friends while they are away, and help each other.”

The firm pressure assured her that we may talk without words, they entered the house, and sat down to a nice repast, which Dawn had prepared with her own hands, while the room was fragrant with blossoms which she had gathered an hour before her departure.

After supper they walked in the garden, and when twilight came on, returned to the house, and listened to the charming music which came from the instrument, under Herbert’s magic touch.

“I expect we shall all dream of sunny France, and dreamy Italy,” said Miss Evans, after the music had ceased, and the time for words had come.

“If we expect to dream, we must place ourselves in proper condition; so we must bid you good night, Miss Evans,” said Mr. Temple, rising.

“I did not expect my words to hasten your departure, Mr. Temple.  Can you not stay longer?”

“Not another moment,” he answered, taking his wife’s bonnet and shawl, which she had brought from the hall, and putting them upon her.  “I expect Florence has gone with our good friends.  Come and see us, Miss Evans, soon.  Good night; I will speak for both.  Florence has gone away in spirit.”

At this Florence roused, and kissed Miss Evans good night.  She had no words.  She was very weary, and felt glad to know that her home was not far off, only a pleasant walk, for Hugh would not consent that there should be a great distance between them, so long as the freedom to build where they chose was allowed.

Florence was indeed weary; neither the morrow, nor the deep love and devotion of her husband brought her strength back, but she pined day by day.

Miss Evans carried flowers, Dawn’s favorites, to her each day, with the hope that she would revive.  On the contrary, they only served to keep the spell of languor upon her.  At last her husband grew alarmed, and one evening after she had retired to rest, earlier than usual, he sought Miss Evans, who, hearing his step on the carriage path, knew he was alone, and expected to be summoned to his wife.