“Frank Dormer,” she said, with solemn impressiveness, “I shall have gone to my grave long ere you turn your face homeward! I have faith in you--great faith. So much, that, were Florence older, I would thankfully see her yours. But I can do nothing. I have been weak and helpless all my life. I can only strive for strength to leave my dear ones to wiser guardianship than mine. But it will comfort me to hear you promise that, under any circumstances, you will protect and befriend my child if she needs it.” “I promise it, on my soul, Mrs. Heriton,” the young man answered, reverently bending his head. She murmured a blessing, and, seeing that the excitement was too much for her, he rang for her maid. It was their last earthly meeting, as she had predicted; but ere Frank quitted the priory at daybreak, a sealed packet was given to him. It contained a tiny miniature of Florence and her mother, and on the paper that enveloped it was faintly traced the word “Remember!” Mr. Heriton also left the priory that day, on pretext of a little business to attend to at Morpeth; but his lady was not surprised to hear that he had been seen at the coach office when the coach was starting for London. The railways had not then reached Northumberland, and Mrs. Heriton prepared herself for days of suspense, to be endured with what patience she could muster, before she could expect his return, or even a letter to explain the cause of his departure. On the evening of the second day she was reclining in her easy-chair, with Florence sitting at her feet, talking sorrowfully of the absent Frank, when a servant announced the arrival of two strangers. “They want master, please, ma’am; and they wouldn’t be said nay when I told ’em he was out. They’re Lunnoners by the look of ’em.” “Are they gentlemen, Mark--friends of papa’s?” asked Florence, her curiosity aroused by the man’s evident perturbation. Before he could answer, Mrs. Heriton touched her daughter. “Go away, my dear. And, Mark, show these persons in here.” Florence looked dubious. “Let me stay, mamma. You’re not fit to talk to these people, whoever they are; and I will be very reserved and dignified, as Miss Heriton ought to be.” “No, no!” was the hurried reply. “They come on business. Pray go away!” And she reluctantly withdrew. Mrs. Heriton knew that her worst forebodings were realized as soon as her unwelcome visitors entered. But she struggled with the sharp pain that shook her feeble frame, and calmly inquired their errand. It was soon told, though with tolerable gentleness, for the men had a little compassion for the delicate woman who questioned them. Mr. Heriton had rendered himself responsible for the liabilities of the company he had joined, to such an extent that ruin--absolute ruin--must be the consequence. These men had been empowered to take possession of the priory, and would remain until some arrangements could be made.