“You are not aware that once, when you imagined yourself quite unobserved, I beheld you bending tearfully over the miniature of that dear parent whom God so early recalled to his heavenly mansions—that I saw you press your lips to it wildly and passionately; and though you spoke but the simple word “Mother!” the tone in which that word was uttered, was the revelation that I sought. And from that moment I found it easy to realize how the chilling atmosphere of my aunt’s domicil had operated upon your gentle heart, while I felt that had _I_ been transplanted to my present abode at an earlier and more impressible age, I, too, should have learned to wear a mask similar to that which concealed your ardent and sensitive spirit. And the discovery that brought such joy to my soul, gave new life to its former yearnings for your friendship. But toward myself you had never evinced the slightest token of preference—wearing in my presence the exterior which deceived all others; and I could not offer advances which I feared might be intrusive and unwelcome. So I strove to content myself with a silent interest in all your motions, and never until your recent illness allowed myself to imagine that the affection of a faulty, wayward heart like mine, would prove to you an acceptable gift. The occasion to which I refer was during one of my visits to your sick chamber, when, as I rose to leave you, you clasped my hand for the first time with a pressure, while as I spoke formally enough, my pleasure at seeing you recovering so rapidly, a faint color suffused your cheek. It faded instantly, however, and your wonted self-possession returned; but not before my heart had experienced a thrill of delight at the hope, delusive though it may have been, of winning your regard at some future day. It is that hope which has given me courage for my present proceeding—it has emboldened me to ask whether we may not become friends—become _dear_ friends, Florence? “In conclusion, I would say to you that I have to-day received a letter from a distant relative, who lives at the South, urgently pressing me to come and reside with her till the friends of my early youth return from abroad. She writes to me in a spirit of genial, heart-breathed kindness, very welcome to my thirsting soul—and her letter is different, indeed, from the precisely-worded epistle in which my aunt invited me to become a member of _her_ household. It rests with you, Florence, to tell me whether I shall go or stay. My present abode has never been a congenial one; but _your_ friendship would cast a heart-glow around it, and render me perfectly content to remain where I am.