Mr. Hamilton." He drew her
reluctantly from her seat as he spoke, and whispered Mary to accompany
her.

Drawing her arm round Florence, Mary turned in the direction of their
accustomed rambles, but her cousin said, "I am too weary to walk far,
let us go to our old seat by the river."

The stream was only a few yards distant, and they seated themselves
on a broad, flat stone, beneath a cluster of pomegranate and figs. The
evening was beautifully clear, the soft light which still lingered in
the west mellowing every object, and the balmy southern breeze, fresh
from "old ocean's bosom," rustling musically amidst the branches
above. As if to enhance the sweetness of the hour, and win the
mourners from their sad thoughts, the soothing tones of the vesper
bells floated afar on the evening air; distance had softened them, and
now they sounded clear and Eolian-like. The river eddied and curled
rapidly along at their feet; and ever and anon, the stillness that
seemed settling around was broken by the plunging fish, that gambled
in hundreds amidst its blue waters.

"How calm and holy this stillness seems! Florry, does it not cause
you to lift your heart in gratitude to the 'almighty Giver' of so many
blessings?"

"All things are dark to sorrow;" replied Florence, and folding her
arms across her bosom, she dropped her head wearily upon them.

"Oh, Florry, do not give up so! I cannot bear to hear your despairing
tone. Still hope; your dear father may be spared to us;" and she put
her arms caressingly around her.

"Hope!" echoed Florence; "I have ceased to hope that he will recover.
I know that he cannot; and in a few hours I shall be alone in the
world. Alone, alone!" she repeated the words, as if fully to realize
the misery in store for her. "O God! why hast thou not taken me
before? Take me now; oh, in mercy, take me with him!"

In vain Mary strove to soothe and console her; she remained perfectly
still, her face hid in her arms, and replied not to her anxious
questionings. A long silence ensued, and Mary wept. A feeling of
desolation began to creep over her; a second time she was to be thrown
on the wide, cold world. She thought of her uncle's generosity and
unvaried kindness during the many years she had dwelt under his roof,
and scarcely felt that it was not her own. And then there stole up
the image of her lost mother; the wan, but saint-like face, and the
heavenly smile with which she pointed upward, and bade her c