ecious words,
and I was tempted. But I struggled, I did struggle. It was Miss Franks
who really was the innocent cause of pushing me over the gulf, for she
read the manuscript and said it was very clever, and she showed it to
her brother, the man I am now engaged to, and he said it was clever, and
it was accepted for the _Argonaut_ almost before I knew what I was
doing; and that was the beginning of everything. I was famous. Bertha
was the person who wrote the stories and the essays. I was wearing
borrowed plumes, and I was not a bit clever; and, oh, Mrs. Trevor, the
end has come now, for Mrs. Aylmer has died and has left all her great
wealth to the hospitals, and I have had a letter from Bertha. You may
read it, Mrs. Trevor: do read it. This Is what Bertha says."

As Florence spoke, she thrust Bertha's letter into Mrs. Trevor's hand.

"I will ring for a light," said the widow. She approached the bell, rang
it, and the little rosy-faced servant appeared.

"Tea, Mary, at once for two, and some hot cakes, and bring a lamp,
please.

"I am glad and I am sorry you have told me," she said. "I will read the
letter when the lamp comes. Now warm yourself.

"You poor girl," she said. "I will not touch this letter until I see you
looking better.

"I will read this in another room," she said; "you would like to be
alone for a little."

She left the room softly with Bertha's letter, and Florence still sat on
by the fire. She sat so for some time, and presently, soothed by the
warmth, and weary from all the agony she had undergone, the tired-out
girl dropped asleep.

CHAPTER XLV.

"ALL THE ROSES ARE DEAD."

When she awoke she heard someone moving in the room. There was the
rustling of a paper and the creak of a chair.

"Oh, Mrs. Trevor, have I told you everything?" she said, and she sprang
to her feet, the color suffusing her cheeks and her eyes growing bright.
"And are you going to send me out into the cold? Are you never going to
speak to me again? Are you going to forsake me?"

"No, no; sit down," said a voice, and then Florence did indeed color
painfully, for Mrs. Trevor was not in the room, but Maurice Trevor stood
before the excited girl.

"My mother has told me the whole story," he said.

He looked perturbed, his voice shook with emotion, and his face was
pale, and there was an angry scowl in his eyes. He took Florence's hand
and pushed her into a chair.

"Sit down," he said. She looked up at him dr