een very unfortunate in his speculations, obliged
to sell our plantation and negroes, and now, he says, 'a few paltry
thousands only remain;' but, oh! that is not the worst; I wish it
were, he has sold out everything, broken every tie, and will be here
this evening on his way to Texas. He writes that I must be ready to
accompany him to-morrow night."

She paused, as if unwilling to add something which must be told, and
looked sadly at her cousin.

Mary understood the glance.

"Florry, there is something in the letter relating to myself, which
you withhold for fear of giving me pain: the sooner I learn it the
better."

"Mary, here is a letter inclosed for you; but first hear what my
father says," and hurriedly she read as follows: ... "With regard to
Mary, it cannot be expected that she should wish to accompany us on
our rugged path, and bitterly, bitterly do I regret our separation.
Her paternal uncle, now in affluence, has often expressed a desire to
have her with him, and, since my misfortunes, has written me, offering
her a home in his family. Every luxury and advantage afforded by
wealth can still be hers. Did I not feel that she would be benefited
by this separation, nothing could induce me to part with her, but,
under existing circumstances, I can consent to give her up."

Florence flung the letter from her as she concluded, and approaching
her cousin, clasped her arms fondly about her. Mary had covered her
face with her hands, and the tears glistened on her slender fingers.

"Oh, Florry, you don't know how pained and hurt I am, that uncle
should think I could be so ungrateful as to forget, in the moment of
adversity, his unvaried kindness for six long years. Oh! it is cruel
in him to judge me so harshly," and she sobbed aloud.

"I will not be left, I will go with him, that is if--if--Florry, tell
me candidly, do you think he has any other reason for not taking me,
except my fancied dislike to leaving this place--tell me?"

"No, dear Mary; if he thought you preferred going with us, no power on
earth could induce him to leave you."

Mary placed her hand in her cousin's, and murmured,

"Florry, I will go with you; your home shall be my home, and your
sorrows my sorrows."

A flash of joy irradiated Florence's pale face as she returned her
cousin's warm embrace.

"With you, Mary, to comfort and assist me, I fear nothing; but you
have not yet read your uncle's letter, perhaps its contents may
influence