but we shall at least be spared the
annoyance of disagreeable visitors."

Imprudent Flora--to think aloud before such a woman as Mrs. Ready. Who
will venture to excuse such an eccentric proceeding? Would not the whole
world blame you for your incorrigible blunder? It had, however, one good
effect. It quickly cleared the room of your intrusive guest; who swept
out of the apartment with a haughty "Good morning." And well she might
be offended; she had accidentally heard the truth, which no one else in
the town dared have spoken boldly out.

Flora was astonished at her want of caution. She knew, however, that it
was useless to apologise; and she felt perfectly indifferent as to the
result; for she did not care, if she never saw Mrs. Ready again; and
such a decided affront would render that event something more than
doubtful.

"Thank heaven! she is gone," burst heartily from her lips, when she
found herself once more alone.

It was impossible for Mrs. Lyndsay to contemplate leaving England
without great pain. The subject was so distressing to her feelings, that
she endeavoured to forget it as much as she could. The manner in which
it had been forced upon her by Mrs. Ready, was like probing a deep wound
with a jagged instrument; and after that lady's departure, she covered
her face with her hands, and wept long and bitterly.

CHAPTER V.

THE TRUE FRIEND.

Flora Lyndsay was aroused from the passionate indulgence of grief by two
arms being passed softly around her neck, and some one pulling her head
gently back upon their shoulder, and kissing her forehead.

"Flora," whispered a sweet, gentle woman's voice; "Dear Flora. I am come
home at last. What, no word of welcome? No kiss for Mary? In tears, too.
What is the matter? Are you ill? Is the baby ill? No--she at least is
sleeping sweetly, and looks full of rosy health. Do speak, and tell me
the meaning of all this!"

Flora was in the arms of her friend before she had ceased speaking. "A
thousand welcomes! dear Mary. You are the very person I most wished just
now to see. The very sight of you is an antidote to grief. 'A remedy
for sore eyes,' as the Irish say. You have been too long away. When did
you arrive?"

"By the mail--about an hour ago."

"And your dear sister--?"

"Is gone to a happier home," said Mary Parnell, in a faltering voice;
and glancing down at her black dress, she continued, "she died happy--so
happy, dear Flora, and now--she is happier