"It is all before me," she muttered, "the riches, the honor, the glory. I shall also, if I am dressed well, be beautiful. Mine is the sort of face that requires good decoration; mine is the figure which needs the best clothes. I shall have everything, everything. I ought to be happy; I wonder I am not. I ought to be very happy. Oh, I wish this fire did not burn in my heart, and that horrid, scorching, intolerable feeling, I wish it did not consume me. Oh, I suppose I shall get over it in time; and if life lasted forever I should be the happiest girl in the world; but of course it won't--nothing lasts forever, for age comes even to the youngest, and then--then there is illness and--and perhaps death. And I may not even live to be old. Rich and lucky and fortunate as I am, I may die. I should not like to die a bit--not a bit; I should not be prepared for the other world. Oh, I must shut away the thought, for there is no going back now." Just at this point in her meditations there came a knock at her door. Florence started when she heard the sound. She wished that she had thought of putting out the candle. She could not bear to feel that anyone was coming to see her to-night. Her mother?--she dared not meet her mother alone; she would be prepared in the morning, but she could not meet her mother's searching glance just now. She did not reply at all to the first knock, but the light from the candle streamed out under the door, and the knock was repeated, and now it was more insistent, and a voice said: "It is only me, Florence; it is only me; let me come in." Florence shuddered and turned very pale. She knew the voice: it was the voice of Bertha Keys. If there was anyone in all the wide world whom she would most dread to meet on that unhappy night it was Bertha Keys, the girl who knew her secret. There was no help for it, however. With a shudder Florence arose, crossed the room, unlocked the door, and flung it open. "I am so tired, Bertha," she said; "must you see me to-night?" "I am sorry you are tired," replied Bertha, "but I must see you to-night." Bertha slowly entered the room. When Florence shut the door Bertha turned the key in the lock. "What are you doing that for?" said Florence. "Because I do not wish to be interrupted; I want to see you alone." "But I wish you would not lock the door; it is quite unnecessary--no one will come here at present." "I make certainty sure--that is all," said Bertha. "Don't fuss about the lock. Now, then, Florence, I want to have a straight talk with you; you understand?" "I suppose I do; but I don't think I can comprehend anything to-night." "Oh, yes, you can, you certainly can; you must pull yourself together. You went through that ordeal very well, let me tell you. How do you feel now?" "Miserable," said Florence. Bertha went up close to her, sat down by her, and, suddenly putting her hand under Florence's chin, raised her face, and looked into her eyes.