“Very well--if you can spare the money for the trip--although a letter would do just as well, and papa would take Floy to New York with him any morning and put her in the woman’s care.” “Do you think he would be so kind?” exclaimed Mrs. Banks, reminded by Maybelle’s hints of her scarcity of money, and thinking that she had better save what she had for a little nest-egg for Floy to take with her in case of sickness or other needs, for her salary would be such a miserable pittance. In the end, Maybelle persuaded her to send Mrs. Horton a letter instead of going to New York herself, so at parting with Floy she pressed the five-dollar bill into the girl’s hand, whispering tenderly: “You may need it, dear.” Floy thrust it back, crying out: “It is your little all, I can not take it!” “Yes, you must, my darling, for I shall have more from the sale of the furniture, you know.” Floy kept it reluctantly. She vowed that she never would use it except in case of direst need. And so with tears in her eyes, and her sweet bright face clouded with trouble, she parted from the good woman who had been like a mother to her for almost ten years, and went her way to the city with Mr. Maury, who was acting in good faith toward the girl, and did not dream that his son and daughter, in begging him to give Floy a place in his store, were only using him as a tool to further the nefarious designs they had against the poor girl’s happiness. But the pair of plotters were in haste to get in their cruel work, for they knew that St. George Beresford did not expect to remain away more than a month. In that month they must accomplish the task they had set themselves--to build a wall between Floy and Beresford too high for either to scale, in short, to make that parting at the cottage door an eternal separation. Maybelle had called at the cottage with her father to see Floy off, and when the parting was over she turned to the sobbing Mrs. Banks, and asked, curiously: “What was it that she ran back to whisper to you at the last moment?” Mrs. Banks did not dream how much was involved in her answer. She thought it a matter of little moment, and answered, carelessly: “She told me that if any letters came for her to Mount Vernon to send them to her at once in New York.” “So she has a correspondent?” Maybelle muttered, jealously. “Why, no, indeed, miss; I don’t believe the child ever received a letter in her whole life. I think she must have meant it for fun, for who would write her a letter? She has no relations that she knows of, and no real friend but me, poor little one!” “Perhaps she has a clandestine love affair.” “No, indeed, Miss Maybelle; I’m sure not. She was only joking.” “Well, Mrs. Banks, I must go now. Shall I tell mamma that you will come to-morrow?” “If you please, miss, for I shall get things ready to have the auction sale of my household effects in the morning.”