Florence waited on her father that night with a kind of protecting tenderness in her voice and manner. This last rash act of his had set the seal on their ruin, and she must nerve herself to that darksome future which was inevitably coming upon them. He had no one but her to care for him. Then she must be brave and energetic, and prepare herself for the worst. Taking up the occupation of her new acquaintances over the way seemed the most feasible method of helping herself when the crash came and Mr. Heriton was forced to acknowledge the necessity. And Florence waited impatiently till the week came round and she could call upon them. Susan Denham was alone when she entered, but her cordial greeting had scarcely been spoken when her cousin joined them. She was a tall, handsome woman, two or three years Florence’s senior, with commanding deportment and an indescribable fascination about her, which she used to laughingly declare was inherited from her Parisian mother. Susan was thrown in the shade beside her handsome, imperious cousin; yet there was something so sweet, or, rather, so good and true in her every look and gesture, that to know her was to love her. You felt instinctively that she was to be depended upon; and that, although no scriptural quotations ever passed her lips, her religion was the guiding principle of her blameless life. After she had taken Florence’s hat and mantle, and given her the softest seat in the bright little room, she sat smilingly by, while Julia talked to their visitor. Florence was quietly amused at the candor with which, after their mutual reserve wore off, both the cousins confessed that they had long wished to make her acquaintance. “Not from precisely similar motives,” Julia acknowledged. “I wanted to know you because you were evidently a lady, intelligent and accomplished; while Susan’s motives were----” She stopped herself in a little confusion, but Florence finished the sentence for her. “Benevolent ones, were they not? She saw me very lonely and friendless, and was eager to do me good. It is precisely because I think she will help me that I have come to you now.” Susan Denham dropped her work in her lap, and listened with grave and encouraging attention. The blood rushed to Florence’s cheeks and temples, but she would not play the coward, and, after a very short pause, she said: “I must frankly tell you that I fear a change for the worse in our circumstances. I must work for papa and myself, and--I want to be a governess.” Susan Denham sighed, and Julia impulsively exclaimed: