She offered no useless objections, uttered no complaints, but heard them with patience, and gave the necessary orders to her servants. But when they had quitted the room, and the miserable wife and mother began to comprehend the extent of the trouble that menaced her, a bitter cry burst from her laboring heart. “Florence, my child--my poor child!” Her daughter, who was lingering in the next room until recalled, heard the shriek, and flew to her mother. She found her lying back in her chair, looking so strangely white that she hastily summoned assistance. The female servants gathered around their lady, and tried every known remedy to revive her, but without success. “A doctor!” cried the half-frantic Florence. “She has fainted. Oh, if papa were but here!” One of the strangers, who had stolen in unchecked in the confusion, put his fingers to Mrs. Heriton’s pulse, then crept softly away. “Heaven help that poor young creature!” he whispered to his companion. “I don’t like to be the first to tell her, but a doctor’s no use. The lady’s dead.” CHAPTER III. THE LEGACY. Eight years had passed over the head of Florence Heriton since the sudden death of her beloved mother, and the gay, happy child of fifteen was transformed into the thoughtful, beautiful woman. Florence had more than fulfilled the promise of her early girlhood. The slim figure had expanded into well-rounded proportions, and if the rosy color and arch expression of her features had departed, they were replaced by a softened sweetness and delicacy even more charming. Mrs. Heriton’s worst misgivings had been realized. The priory had passed into other hands. By slow degrees the rest of her husband’s property had been dissipated in vain attempts to rebuild his fortunes by wild speculations. Friends had grown weary of dissuading and advising, and had given up a connection which only exposed them to urgent entreaties for loans to be repaid on the success of such and such an enterprise. Only Florence clung more closely than ever to the father whom she loved and pitied; and, fancying that her mother’s death had been in some measure the cause of his insatiable restlessness, she tried in every conceivable way to minister to his comfort, and to wile him from those thoughts of achieving riches which tormented him. As they grew poorer they had been compelled to economize more and more, and they were now occupying lodgings in a very quiet part of Brompton.