“I have reason to know--that is, I accidentally learned that the inclosure of that note to Miss Heriton was one of Lieutenant Mason’s last acts before quitting England.” Florence uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Is it possible? Heaven forgive me! I judged him more harshly than I should have done had I known that he repented his conduct so far as to do this.” Mr. Aylwinne turned to the window without replying, but Mrs. Blunden cried: “Pish! You could not think worse of him than he deserved. He did but give you back a part of your own. And now let me go. If this wedding is to be a hurried affair, as I suppose it will be in spite of my protest, I must go and talk to my maid about the fashions, and so forth.” When she had bustled out of the room, Florence went softly to where Mr. Aylwinne was moodily standing, and, laying her hand on his arm, she whispered: “You are not angry with me, are you?” “What for?” he replied. “For trying to think your best of that miserable man?” “I was not thinking of him at all, but of you, and your wishes.” He drew her to him fondly. “Were you really? And if Mrs. Blunden can be prevailed upon, will you promise to make no delays? Don’t you see that I am eager to take you right away--to teach you in a sunnier land, and among fresh scenes and faces, to forget all the old haunting associations that now pale your cheek and sadden you?” “But I would not wholly forget them,” said Florence; “for surely in those sorrowful years I have learned lessons that shall make me more humble, more thoughtful for others, more pitiful to the erring, and compassionate to those who need it.” “You are the living image of your mother, my Florence!” he exclaimed admiringly. “It is just in this way that she would have gathered flowers amid the thorns that bestrewed her path. And you are right--I know you are, though I cannot emulate your sweet patience and forbearance. I must still hate those who have injured you, and rail at the fate that separated us so long.” “Did you not yourself propose that we should not speak of that sorrowful past?” she said uneasily, as she saw his eyes flash and brows lower. “True, love--true, I did; and so it shall be. You do well to check me. You must do so always, and I will try to be more careful.” “And yet,” said Florence, trembling a little as she felt that she was approaching a dangerous subject, “and yet I think we should both be happier if there were perfect confidence between us--I mean if we had no reservations; but----” “I understand you, Florence,” he exclaimed, in great agitation, “and I appreciate your motives; but spare me--pray spare me! I lack the courage for such miserable details. Let us be content to know that our love has never wavered, however adverse circumstances have divided us. And it never has, has it, my Florence?”