She sank back and smiled. It was the first time Dick had seen her smile, and it brought a wonderful light into her sallow face. Whatever may have been the reason for the singular request, she was evidently much relieved. CHAPTER XXIII. FLORENCE AND REGINALD. The hands of all the clocks in Islington that kept correct time marked the hour of two as Dick stood before the door of 16, Park Street. His hand was on the knocker, when the door was opened, and Florence drew him into the house. "Come upstairs, Dick," she said, panting as if she had been running. "I saw you from the window, and ran down. Oh, Dick, I am so glad to see you--so glad, so glad!" On the landing of the first floor she stopped and kissed him. "Come in, Dick, come in." They entered a comfortably furnished room, and by the aid of the better light he saw that she was struggling to keep back her tears. "Are you well, Florence?" he asked anxiously. "In health? Oh, yes," she answered. "But I am in trouble. That is why I sent for you." "You did right. I am here to help you. You may rely upon me, Florence." "I do, dear. Tell me first. How is my dear mother--and my dear father--how are they, Dick?" "You know how they must be, Florence, loving you as they do. They are in the most terrible trouble about you. Uncle Rob has been hunting all over London for you. I don't wish to distress you, but they have not had a moment's rest. It is right that I should tell you this." "You are quite right, dear. Poor mother and father! It cuts me to the heart, but I could not act in any other way. You shall judge, Dick--you shall judge--and if you condemn me----" "Don't give way, Florence." "I won't. I will be brave. I have been brave to do what I have done. Such a cruel thing, such a cruel, cruel thing!--but it was my duty--my duty! Oh, Dick, if you knew what love was, you would know of what it was capable. I may speak to you, dear, as a sister to a brother, may I not?" "Yes, Florence, as a sister to a brother," he said, quietly. "I can understand now so many things to which I was blind a year ago--what love will lead a woman to do, how it can harden the heart----" "Harden the heart!" he cried. "Was my heart not hardened," she said, piteously, "when I stole away like a thief from the parents who loved and cherished me, knowing, as I knew, that I was bringing misery upon them? Was my heart not hardened when, at the call of love, I trod love under my feet? My prayer was that my separation would not be long, and that, when I was free to speak, they would forgive me and take me to their hearts again. But what can repay them for the suffering I have inflicted upon them--how shall I atone for the wound my own hand has dealt?" "They will not think of it, Florence, if all is well with you, if, when you are free to speak, they approve of what you have done." "Do you doubt it, Dick?" she asked, her hand at her heart.