But Mr. Heriton remained insensible to her tears and prayers. The shock of Daniel Bick’s sudden decease, acting on his own weakened frame, had brought on an attack of paralysis; and between his terrible state of helpless unconsciousness and the noisy grief of Mrs. Bick, Florence was almost distracted. The doctor, whom a compassionate neighbor hurried to fetch, inquired if Miss Heriton had no friend who could come to her, and she gave him the address of Susan Denham. But Susan had been drawn from London by a report that her unhappy cousin had been seen at Portsmouth, and, owing to an illness brought on by her long and fruitless quest, did not receive the letter until some weeks after it was written. Before the expiration of that time Florence was fatherless. Mr. Heriton recovered consciousness about an hour before his death; and, as if for the first time really recognizing the depth of his child’s affection, he laid his hand on her bowed head and blessed her in words that sent a grateful throb through her heart long afterward. Mr. Lumley, the clergyman already mentioned, was with him in that last hour; and he came daily to the cottage till he saw that Florence had overcome the first violence of her grief. Mrs. Bick refused to be comforted under her bereavement by anything he could urge. “I knows Dannle’s better off, sir,” she would answer, “and I knows that if he’s only near enough to the Lord’s garden to see them flowers as never fades he’s happy enough; but this ’ere’s the place I’ve lived in all my days along wi’ he, and nobody’ll never make me believe as I can settle down comferable anywhere else.” “Then why leave your cottage?” Mr. Lumley inquired. “Because I’ve got to. I can’t live upon nothing, an’ there’s a home for me along wi’ my sister; but it’s like being prisoned or emegrated; and I must fret, for I can’t help it.” “Then Mrs. Bick’s change of residence will involve your removal, Miss Heriton?” the clergyman observed. “I suppose so,” answered Florence dejectedly. “Indeed, I must have left under any circumstances, for I have here a note from Mrs. Railton stating that her children were so intolerably troublesome that she was obliged to fill up my place directly, and the young lady seems to suit so well that she shall not like to dismiss her.” “May I inquire what you propose doing?” Florence put her hands to her brow. “I scarcely know. I suppose I must return to London; but it is of little consequence--I have no one to exert myself for now.” Mr. Lumley waited till the sobs that burst forth as she said this had been checked; then he said gently: “Will you promise to come to no decision respecting your movements until I have seen you again? I fancy I know of something that will suit you. Will you wait until I can tell you more?”