“Blockhead that you are!” was the comment. “Do you not see this, and this? Give me a piece of paper--now a pencil; no, I have one here in my pocket.” Despite his grumbling at the boy’s stupidity, he patiently went over the proposition till the rejoiced lad had thoroughly mastered it. “Now take yourself off to bed!” said Mr. Aylwinne, as he returned the book. “No, don’t thank me; I only came to your aid because I saw that you were boring Miss Heriton most unmercifully. She is too good-natured to you.” “Oh, no, she isn’t!” cried Fred, running up to give her his good-night kiss before he followed his brother from the room. “Seriously,” said Mr. Aylwinne, as Florence was putting books and papers together preparatory to following her pupils, “seriously, I never contemplated your taking so much unnecessary trouble with these boys, and I beg that you will not do it any more.” “Their love amply repays me for it,” she replied. “Ha!” he said gloomily. “Can you still build upon anything so delusive? Is it not a folly that always ends in disappointment?” Florence did not answer. In taking the pencil from his pocket, Mr. Aylwinne had dropped something, and now a restless movement of his foot pushed it toward her. She stooped for it, and, as she raised herself, saw with indescribable feelings that it was a tiny ivory cardcase, her mother’s gift to Frank Dormer before he quitted Heriton Priory. CHAPTER XIV. TOO LATE! Without a word Florence held the cardcase toward its owner. As he took it from her hand he raised it reverently to his lips with apparent unconsciousness of the wounded pride that she was silently struggling to subdue. “You remember this?” he said. “And the night on which it was given to me?” “Why do you speak of it?” Florence retorted, after a pause. “It is among the things of the past.” “True!” he answered mournfully. “And she whose gentle hands bestowed the gift little dreamed of the changed times those she left have seen.” Florence winced. There was something cruel in this remark, coming as it did from one who had been the first to alter. “Are the times changed more than the faces of those who then called themselves our friends?” she cried, with bitterness. For a moment Mr. Aylwinne was silent; then, with gentle earnestness, he said: “Forget those who have been so false to their best feelings, Miss Heriton, and remember only that there are some who would still claim that title if you would permit it.” For a moment her reproachful eyes were raised to his. “Where?” He looked hurt. “What have I done that you should utter this reproach to me? Why have you so persistently avoided every little kindness I have attempted to show you? Florence--Miss Heriton--for your dear mother’s sake let me redeem the promise I made when I bade her farewell. Let me be the friend, or, if need be, the protector, of her orphan child.”