“Good night and good-by, dear little friend! I have received my summons, and shall be far away from here when you open your eyes in the morning.” Florence looked aghast. “So soon--so soon? Oh, mamma! Why must he go?” “It is his duty, child,” her mother replied gravely. “Don’t distress him with vain regrets. Bid him adieu, and we will both pray for his successful career and safe return.” Florence put out both her hands. “Dear Mr. Dormer, good-by! And Heaven bless you! I shall greatly miss you. I shall never, never forget you!” “You promise too much,” he answered, trying to laugh. “You will be a happy wife long before I return to England--if I ever do.” Florence raised her eyes to his with dismay. “If ever you come back! Do you mean that we shall not see you again? What--never? Mamma, does he mean it?” She burst into tears, and Frank, more troubled at her distress than he dared express, led her to her mother, who was anxiously looking on. For some few minutes the young girl could not still her passionate weeping. She had never contemplated an utter separation, and it terrified her. “It is like death,” she murmured, “to see any one you love go away with no hope of their returning.” “Mr. Dormer spoke too hastily, Florence,” said her mother. “If he leaves friends here whom he values, he will come back some day to them. Now say good-by once more, and run away, unless you wish to spoil my night’s rest.” Florence instantly obeyed, but her faltering farewell and the wistful glance of her soft eyes made Frank forget himself. He put his arms around her and pressed his lips to her forehead; then turned to the fireplace and shaded his face with his hand till the closing of the door told him she had gone. Then he went to Mrs. Heriton. “Forgive me! If you knew all I feel and suffer at this moment--how dear Florence has become to me--to me, who may never----” He could say no more, but she kindly answered: “Be more hopeful. Look forward to the future with a firm trust in Providence, and remember that Florence is very young, and may still be free when you have achieved a position that warrants your asking her father for her, if you still wish it.” His face glowed with joy. “And would you--would Mr. Heriton ever consent? Ah, madam, you say this to encourage me; but years of patient toil would scarcely place me on a footing with your heiress!” The lady sighed heavily, and pressed her hands to her throbbing heart. “There are many changes in life, and Florence may not be exempt from misfortunes. I have terrible misgivings. A few years, and Heaven only knows where my child may be!” She spoke so low that Frank bent forward to hear her; and, raising herself, she laid her clasped hands in his.