Mary's eyes were fixed earnestly on his face while he spoke, and though there was no change in his kind, gentle tone, there came an undefinable expression over his noble countenance--an expression in which coldness and sorrow predominated. She could not understand him; yet a shudder crept though her frame, and a sensation of acute pain stole into her heart. She felt as through a barrier had suddenly risen between them, yet could not analyze the cause. "Your servants will take all possible care of the house and furniture during your absence, which, I hope, will be but temporary. They will not be molested; and I am afraid we could not conveniently carry two additional persons. What think you of this arrangement?" "I think with you, that under existing circumstances the servants could not well accompany us; and though they will incur no danger, I regret the necessity of leaving them, particularly should they object." "I hope you will find no difficulty in arranging everything to your entire satisfaction, previous to our departure. You and my sister must consult as to all minor points, and I must look to our preparations. My respects to your cousin. I will see you again to-morrow;" and bidding her good morning, he turned away. "Oh, such a weight is lifted from my heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Carlton. "I can now exert myself as I am called on to do." "Florry will be waiting for me, and we have much to do at home; so good-by," and Mary lifted her pale face for a farewell kiss. Mrs. Carlton affectionately embraced her, and bidding her "make all speed," they parted. CHAPTER XVIII. "'There is a soul just delivered from Purgatory!' It was found to be a frog dressed in red flannel." KIRWAN. Florence having succeeded, as she imagined, in convincing her aunt that it was advisable to remove from San Antonio, slowly proceeded to the churchyard, little dreaming that the door had scarce closed behind her ere Aunt Lizzy, with swift steps, directed her way to the house of the Padre, He was writing, but gave his attention, and heard, with ill-disguised chagrin, that Florence distrusted his promised protection. "Does she doubt in matters of faith, think you?" he eagerly inquired. "Indeed, Padre, I cannot say. All I know is, that she and Mary sat till midnight, reading and talking, and she has not seemed like herself since." "Where shall I find Florence?" said he, taking his hat. "In the churchyard, I think, beside her father's grave." "Say nothing to her, but apparently acquiesce in her plans; and, above all, do not let her dream that you have told me these things." Ah, Florence! who may presume to analyze the anguish of your tortured heart as you throw yourself, in such abandonment of grief, on the tomb of your lost parent? The luxuriant grass, swaying to and fro in the chill October blast, well-nigh concealed the bent and drooping form, as she knelt and laid her head on the cold granite.