"It seems almost like deserting you, mamma; and yet--I do not think that I can help you much--I have not the least influence with the children." Why was it that even Flora knew that her absence at this time would be actually a relief to her mother? How was it that she had proved a burden rather than a helper? She had never put the question fairly to her own heart, and was very glad to substitute for it another. "Does it not seem to you, mamma, as though I might be more useful in London than I am here? I believe that poor dear Ada really likes me; I have some influence with her, I believe: she seemed here to be turning her mind more towards religion than she hitherto had done; but she has no one now to speak to or consult on serious subjects. If I were with her she would be induced for my sake to go to meetings which she would not otherwise attend--it seems to me that it may really be my duty to go to Ada at this time." "It will be your pleasure, at least," said Mrs. Vernon, smiling; "and your happiness is ever near to my heart. I can trust your principles, my Flora; I believe that you will ever act in my absence as you would if my eye were upon you. And the Almighty may, and I trust will, make you, my love, a blessing to others, if you serve Him with a humble, devoted heart and a single eye to His glory." *CHAPTER VIII.* *PLEASURES AND PAINS.* A few days after the conversation recorded in our last chapter took place, Flora, full of youthful hope and joy, sprang into the carriage which was to convey her to the station, and waved again and again a fond farewell to the beloved parent who watched her departure from the gate.