The light was just beginning to dawn, but there was not light enough to work. Florence slipped softly down to the oak parlor; having secured a candle and a box of matches, she lit the candle and placed it on her desk, and, taking out a sheet of manuscript paper, she pressed her face on her hands, once again uttered a wild, passionate prayer, and then, dipping the pen in the ink, waited for inspiration. "Heroism," she said, under her breath. "What did it mean?" All that it really meant rushed over her--self-denial, self-abnegation, the noble courage which comes to those who think of others, not themselves. "I cannot write," she said, passionately. She said the words aloud, dashing down her pen and making a blot on the fair sheet of manuscript paper. At that moment the door was opened and Bertha came in. "I thought I heard a noise," she said; "so it is you? What are you doing there, Florence?" "Oh, nothing, nothing; but why have you come to tempt me?" said Florence. She raised two haggard eyes to the pupil teacher's face. "Not to tempt you, but to help you, poor child. Of course, you will do what I wish. There, Florence, I wrote your essay for you last night. It came over me and I wrote it without much trouble. Here it is, dear; you have only to copy it; put it in your desk for the present, there is plenty of time, and go back to bed, dear, for you look worn out." Florence burst into tears. The next moment she had flung her arms around Bertha's neck and laid her head on her shoulder. "There, there," said Bertha, "there, there, you are overcome, but it will be all right now." CHAPTER XVIII. THE GUESTS ARRIVE. It wanted three days to the Scholarship competition. The girls who were called in the school the lucky three now scarcely spoke on the subject--the other girls watched them anxiously. All lessons, except those in connection with the Scholarship, were suspended so far as Mary Bateman, Kitty Sharston, and Florence Aylmer were concerned. The trial essays, the essays which were to be the supreme test of merit, were all written, and in sealed envelopes were handed in to Mrs. Clavering. Meanwhile exercises on history, French, German, arithmetic, were the order of the hour. The girls were busy all day long. The three faces were somewhat pale, and lines which ought not to have appeared round the young eyes and lips were beginning to make themselves manifest. "I shall be truly thankful when the thing is over," said Mrs. Clavering to Sir John; "this is bad for them, very bad. In particular I do not like Florence Aylmer's expression. The girl thinks too much about this matter. If she fails she will have an illness." "And if she succeeds Kitty will fail or have an illness," said Sir John, restlessly.