“Miss Harper!” she called, in a fretful voice, going to her chamber-door. The governess heard, and answered from her room, leaving it at the same time, and coming down toward the chamber of Mrs. Dainty. “Call those children away!” said the mother, sharply. “And see here! When I come home next time, don’t let them beset me like so many hungry wolves. I’ve hired you to take the care of them, and I want the care taken. That’s your business.” Mrs. Dainty was annoyed and angry; and she looked her real character for the time. She was a superior, commanding an inferior, with a complete consciousness of the gulf that stretched between them. Her manner, even more than her words, was offensive to the young governess, whose native independence and self-respect impelled her at once to resign her position and leave the house. “George; Madeline.” She spoke quietly,—almost indifferently. “Why don’t you call them as if you had some life in you?” exclaimed Mrs. Dainty, losing all patience. Miss Harper turned away without a word, and went up-stairs, intending to put on her bonnet and leave the house. Near her room-door she met Uncle John, who had overheard the offensive language of his niece. He saw that the young girl’s face wore an indignant flush, and that both lips and eyes indicated a settled purpose. “What are you going to do?” he asked, letting her see by look and tone that he understood her feelings. “I am going away from here,” she replied, firmly. “You must not do it,” said Uncle John. “Self-respect will not permit me to remain,” answered Florence. “Feeling must yield to duty, my dear young lady,” said Uncle John, with an earnestness that showed how much he was interested. “My duty is not here,” was the slowly-spoken answer. “Our duty is where we can do the most good. I know something of your morning’s trials and wise discipline. You have done nobly, Florence,—nobly. There is good in these children, and you must bring it forth to the light.” “I am but human,” said Florence, with a quivering lip. “You are gold in the crucible,” replied Uncle John. “The fire may be very hot, my dear young friend; but it will leave no mark upon your real character. It is not every spirit that has a quality pure enough to meet life’s higher ordeals. No, no: shrink not from the trials in your way. The lions are chained, and can only growl and shake at you their terrible manes. Go back for the children. For their sakes, draw them to yourself with the singular power you possess. Be to them all their mother fails to be. And always regard me as your friend and advocate.”