hom he might have married, better and truer in
all other respects than I am, Florence; but there is not one who could
come here, his wife, whose heart could beat with greater truth to you
than mine does.'

'I know it, dear Mama!' cried Florence. 'From that first most happy day
I have known it.'

'Most happy day!' Edith seemed to repeat the words involuntarily, and
went on. 'Though the merit is not mine, for I thought little of you
until I saw you, let the undeserved reward be mine in your trust and
love. And in this--in this, Florence; on the first night of my taking up
my abode here; I am led on as it is best I should be, to say it for the
first and last time.'

Florence, without knowing why, felt almost afraid to hear her proceed,
but kept her eyes riveted on the beautiful face so fixed upon her own.

'Never seek to find in me,' said Edith, laying her hand upon her breast,
'what is not here. Never if you can help it, Florence, fall off from me
because it is not here. Little by little you will know me better, and
the time will come when you will know me, as I know myself. Then, be as
lenient to me as you can, and do not turn to bitterness the only sweet
remembrance I shall have.

The tears that were visible in her eyes as she kept them fixed on
Florence, showed that the composed face was but as a handsome mask; but
she preserved it, and continued:

'I have seen what you say, and know how true it is. But believe me--you
will soon, if you cannot now--there is no one on this earth less
qualified to set it right or help you, Florence, than I. Never ask me
why, or speak to me about it or of my husband, more. There should be, so
far, a division, and a silence between us two, like the grave itself.'

She sat for some time silent; Florence scarcely venturing to breathe
meanwhile, as dim and imperfect shadows of the truth, and all its daily
consequences, chased each other through her terrified, yet incredulous
imagination. Almost as soon as she had ceased to speak, Edith's face
began to subside from its set composure to that quieter and more
relenting aspect, which it usually wore when she and Florence were alone
together. She shaded it, after this change, with her hands; and when she
arose, and with an affectionate embrace bade Florence good-night, went
quickly, and without looking round.

But when Florence was in bed, and the room was dark except for the glow
of the fire, Edith returned, and saying that she could not