"My dear, dear child, what can be the matter?" said Mrs. Aylmer the less. She started up in bed, rubbed her sleepy eyes and stared at her daughter. "What is it, Flo?" "I cannot tell you just yet, mother, but I want you, if ever, ever in the whole course of your life you really loved me, to stand by me now. Something fearful has happened, mother dear, and I cannot tell you at present, but I want you to help me. I want to go back to Dawlish with you; I want to go back by the very first train this morning with you alone, Mummy; I will tell you on the way home what has happened, and then--but I cannot say any more; only come, mother, come. No one else would stand by me--but you will, won't you?" "You frighten me dreadfully, Florence," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I cannot imagine what you are talking about. Have you lost your reason, my poor darling? Has this great, great triumph turned your brain? Oh, my child, my child!" "No, mother," said poor Florence, "I am quite sane; I have not lost my reason. On the contrary, I think I have got it back again; I never felt saner than I do now, but--but you must help me, and there is no time to lose. I have done what I could; you must come away with me, mother, and we must go at once. I have looked up the trains. I'll go myself and wake up one of the servants and get a trap ordered, and we will go. Have you got a little money--that's the main thing?" "I have got five pounds left out of Sir John's cheque." "Then that will be splendid. I only want just enough to get back to Dawlish, to the little old house and to you. Oh, come, Mummy! oh, come!" Florence's words were very brave and very insistent, and Mrs. Aylmer roused herself. She got out of bed, feeling a dull wonder stealing over her. Florence now took the command, and hastened her mother into her clothes, and herself packed her mother's things. "Oh, my dear child, my best dress! don't let it get crushed," said the little widow. Florence's trembling hands smoothed out the rich folds, she placed the dress in the top of the trunk, and before half-past six that morning Mrs. Aylmer was dressed and her things packed. Then Florence went down again through the house and awoke one of the servants, and got her to wake a groom, who put a horse to a trap and brought it round to a side door, and so it came to pass that before seven o'clock that morning Mrs. Aylmer and Florence had left Cherry Court Park forever. When they got into the train poor Mrs. Aylmer turned to Florence and begged for an explanation. "I guess something dreadful has happened, but I can't imagine what it is," she said. "What does this mean, Florence?" "It means, Mummy," said Florence, "that I have done that which no one but a mother would forgive. Listen, and I will tell you."