t with
firelight. She shut her eyes, and a feeling of pain went through her
heart.

"The way of transgressors is very, very hard," she thought. "Shall I
ever keep straight? What a miserable character I must be!"

Just then Mrs. Trevor entered the room. She had not been pleased with
Florence; she had not been pleased with her manner to her son. Mothers
guess things quickly, and she had guessed Maurice's secret many months
ago.

Florence held out her hand wistfully, and looked full at the little
widow.

"I have come to speak to you," she said. "I want to know if you
will"--her lips trembled--"advise me."

"Sit down, my dear," said Mrs. Trevor. She motioned Florence to a seat,
but the girl did not take it.

"I have come to you, as the only one in all the world who can help me,"
continued Florence. "I have something very terrible to say, and I
thought perhaps you would listen, and perhaps you would advise. May I
speak to you just because I am a very lonely girl and you are a woman?"

"If you put it in that way, of course you may speak," said Mrs. Trevor.
"To tell you the truth, I have been displeased with you; I have thought
that you have not been fair."

"To whom?" asked Florence.

"To my son Maurice."

Florence coloured; then she put her hand to her heart.

"You never replied to my letter, Mrs. Trevor."

"What was there to say?"

"Will you tell me now what you thought of it?"

Mrs. Trevor had seated herself by the fire. She held out her small hands
to the grateful blaze; then she looked round at the girl.

"Sit down, child," she said; "take off your hat. If you wish to know
what I really thought, I imagined that you were a little hysterical and
that you had overstated things. Girls of your age are apt to do so. I
was very sorry, for Maurice's sake, that you did not accept my offer;
but otherwise I prefer to be alone."

"I see. Well, I must tell you now that I did not exaggerate. I have been
bad through and through: quite unworthy of your attention and care:
quite unworthy of Mr. Maurice's regard."

"That is extremely likely," said the mother of Mr. Maurice, drawing
herself up in a stately fashion.

"Oh, don't be unkind to me; do bear with me while I tell you. Afterwards
I shall go away somewhere, but I must relieve my soul. Oh, it is so
sinful!"

"Speak, child, speak. Who am I that I should turn away from you?"

"Years ago," began Florence, speaking in a dreary tone, "I was at a
school called C