For a moment his eye rested on the face of Florence with an expression of overpowering regret; and he held out his hand as if he would have taken hers. But the emotion was so transitory that before she had scarcely detected it he had conquered himself, and, with a word to his wards, left the room. Resolutely subduing her wish to run away, too, and think over what he had been saying, Florence devoted herself to Walter and Fred. Won out of their timidity by her gentle cheerfulness, they soon talked with all the frankness of their age; and as she was careful to avoid any painful subjects, their spirits rose more and more. It was with increasing respect for Mr. Aylwinne’s disposition that she casually learned that these boys had no claim upon him beyond his compassion, for the only relatives their parents possessed had hesitated to burden themselves with two penniless orphans. Only once did Florence find it necessary to turn the current of their thoughts quickly, and that was when Fred, gulping down a great sob, timidly drew his hand over her glossy hair, saying: “It was just like mamma’s--dear, dear mamma’s!” Tears glittered in her own eyes as she kissed the boy; but, starting up, she pointed to a grassy eminence visible from the window, and, declaring there was just time to climb it before lunch, bade them fetch their hats. In high glee, they obeyed, and ere their walk was over Walter’s delight in her companionship broke out in a boyish assurance that everything here was jolly, but she was the jolliest of it all. Leaving them in the courtyard to make friends with the good-tempered old house dog, Florence went into the room where luncheon was generally spread. She could not resist smiling and remembering Mr. Aylwinne’s warning as she saw the profusion of dainties Mrs. Wilson had prepared to tempt the appetites of her young charges. That lady herself, instead of being, as in general, employed in fussily altering the place of this dish and lamenting over the appearance of another, was standing at a window with a very serious visage. She turned round, however, when Florence demanded whether they had kept her waiting. “No, my dear; nor would it have been of any consequence if you had. We will always lunch at whatever hour suits you and the dear children best.” “And Mr. Aylwinne?” asked Florence, with a little surprise at her apparent forgetfulness of his claims to be considered. “My dear, he’s gone. That’s what troubles me now, for I am sure he can’t be well.” “Gone!” Florence could not help repeating, in her astonishment at the unexpected announcement.