orence advancing, doubtfully, all at once
stood still, as if she had lost the power of motion. The lady turned her
head.

'Great Heaven!' she said, 'what is this?'

'No, no!' cried Florence, shrinking back as she rose up and putting out
her hands to keep her off. 'Mama!'

They stood looking at each other. Passion and pride had worn it, but it
was the face of Edith, and beautiful and stately yet. It was the face
of Florence, and through all the terrified avoidance it expressed, there
was pity in it, sorrow, a grateful tender memory. On each face, wonder
and fear were painted vividly; each so still and silent, looking at the
other over the black gulf of the irrevocable past.

Florence was the first to change. Bursting into tears, she said from her
full heart, 'Oh, Mama, Mama! why do we meet like this? Why were you ever
kind to me when there was no one else, that we should meet like this?'

Edith stood before her, dumb and motionless. Her eyes were fixed upon
her face.

'I dare not think of that,' said Florence, 'I am come from Papa's sick
bed. We are never asunder now; we never shall be' any more. If you would
have me ask his pardon, I will do it, Mama. I am almost sure he will
grant it now, if I ask him. May Heaven grant it to you, too, and comfort
you!'

She answered not a word.

'Walter--I am married to him, and we have a son,' said Florence,
timidly--'is at the door, and has brought me here. I will tell him
that you are repentant; that you are changed,' said Florence, looking
mournfully upon her; 'and he will speak to Papa with me, I know. Is
there anything but this that I can do?'

Edith, breaking her silence, without moving eye or limb, answered
slowly:

'The stain upon your name, upon your husband's, on your child's. Will
that ever be forgiven, Florence?'

'Will it ever be, Mama? It is! Freely, freely, both by Walter and by me.
If that is any consolation to you, there is nothing that you may believe
more certainly. You do not--you do not,' faltered Florence, 'speak of
Papa; but I am sure you wish that I should ask him for his forgiveness.
I am sure you do.'

She answered not a word.

'I will!' said Florence. 'I will bring it you, if you will let me; and
then, perhaps, we may take leave of each other, more like what we
used to be to one another. I have not,' said Florence very gently, and
drawing nearer to her, 'I have not shrunk back from you, Mama, because
I fear you, or because I dread to be dis