At first she was half inclined to renounce the visit, but her longing for a change from the monotony of her life and thoughts overcame this resolution; and, dressing carefully on the appointed afternoon, she was just starting for Miss Denham’s lodging, when a carriage stopped at the door and Mrs. Margaret Blunden was announced. Owing to the antagonistic temperaments of the brother and sister, they rarely met. Mrs. Blunden was as economical as Mr. Heriton was extravagant, and she had always so strenuously opposed and predicted the consequences of his speculations that her very name was unpleasant in his ears. But his daughter, who recognized her aunt’s warm, generous nature, really loved her, and was always pleased when they met. Mrs. Blunden was a tall, stout, florid lady, so full of health and vigor that Florence looked thinner and paler than ever as she hurried to meet her. Her aunt, instead of bestowing upon her the customary embrace, put back the arms extended to her. “Don’t touch me! Don’t play the hypocrite with me, Florence Heriton!” Astonished at her manner, her niece drew back and surveyed her wonderingly. Mrs. Blunden threw back her shawl as if its soft folds choked her. “What had I done that you should willfully deceive me, child? For your dead mother’s sake I have loved you dearly. Was it worth your while to lie to me?” “Aunt Margaret, you must be laboring under some strange mistake,” Florence replied. “A mistake!” was the vehement retort. “Is it a mistake that you wrote to me yesterday, assuring me that you had not and would not meddle with your legacy? Was it worth while, I ask, to send me this assurance, when you had withdrawn it some days ago? Attempt no further denials, for I have been to the banker, and seen your letter authorizing the withdrawal. Hush! I don’t want to hear any evasions. You have deceived me, and I have done with you forever!” Before Florence could attempt a reply she had given her one more reproachful look and swept out of the room. CHAPTER IV. THE GOVERNESSES. For some time after Mrs. Blunden’s carriage rolled away from the door, Florence remained like one stupefied. As her aunt’s words resounded in her ears, a terrible suspicion grew upon her that there was truth in the tale, and that the money was actually withdrawn. She had a hazy recollection of her father coming to her bedside one evening, when her head was wandering, and asking her to sign a paper he held in his hand. She remembered, too, how, when the circumstance recurred to her memory, she had asked him what he had wished her to write. Ah, and it was this that troubled her more, far more, than the loss she had sustained, for, without the slightest hesitation, he had carelessly answered: “I told you--did I not--that your Aunt Margaret had sent a note of inquiry? If she had not seen your own signature to the reply I have written in your name, we should have had her fussing here to nurse you.”